We re-entered, from this room, the dainty reception hall opening upon the front veranda and outer steps. Here Mrs. Wickham drew me to a seat beside her and said:
"Now, tell me everything of the dear home and all its blessed inmates."
Holding each other's hands as we talked, she questioning, I answering, things too sacred to be repeated here were dwelt upon for hours. At last she said, rising hastily:
"I will leave you for a little while—nay, you must not go," as I would have risen, "there is much yet to be said; wait here, I will return."
I had already learned not to question the judgment of these wiser friends, and yielded to her will. As she passed through the doorway to the inner house, I saw a stranger at the front entrance and arose to meet him. He was tall and commanding in form, with a face of ineffable sweetness and beauty. Where had I seen him before? Surely, surely I had met him since I came. "Ah, now I know!" I thought; "it is St. John, the beloved disciple." He had been pointed out to me one morning by the river-side.
"Peace be unto this house," was his salutation as he entered.
How his voice stirred and thrilled me! No wonder the Master loved him, with that voice and that face!
"Enter. Thou art a welcome guest. Enter, and I will call the mistress," I said, as I approached to bid him welcome.
"Nay, call her not. She knows that I am here; she will return," he said. "Sit thou awhile beside me," he continued, as he saw that I still stood, after I had seen him seated. He arose and led me to a seat near him, and like a child I did as I was bidden; still watching, always watching, the wonderful face before me.
"You have but lately come?" he said.