"Who painted the portrait in your house?" I asked.
"My will," he said; "I am no artist."
"Is it like Mary?"
"Yes."
"Then I have this day seen her."
He looked up, great tears falling from his eyes, and asked,—
"Where?"
I took him to the gallery of the clouds, and showed him my vision, and repeated the words spoken to me up there, the words for him only,—the others were full of mystery still. He held seemingly no part therein.
"Will a murderer's prayer add one ray of joy to the angel who has come out on the sea to save me,—me, twice saved, oh! why?"—and Mr. Axtell laid his hand upon my head in blessing.
"Twice saved," I said, "that the third salvation may be Christ's."