"I don't see how they can,"—said Faith timidly.
"They do—sometimes,—standing aloof like those ice-peaks. You can see the white garments, but no glory transfigures them. Such a face as Stephen's, Miss Faith, is worth a journey to see."
Faith thought so; wondered how many such faces he had seen. Her meditations plunged her too deep for words.
"What are you musing about?—if I may ask," Mr. Linden said presently.
She coloured but answered, "I was thinking what one must be, to have a face like Stephen's."
"That is the promise, you know—from 'glory to glory.' 'From grace to glory' must come first. 'What one must be'—yes, that is it. But it is good to measure the promises now and then."
Faith laid that last remark up in her heart, enshrining it in gold, as it were. But she said nothing.
"How is it with you?" he said turning his eyes full upon her,—"you have not told me lately. Are the clouds all gone?"
Her look met his, wistful, and simple as her answer.
"I see the light through."—