The speaker’s face flushed and glowed; Hilary Vireo, always glad and strong in look and bearing, was grandly joyful when the power of the gospel he had to preach came upon him; the gospel of a full, perfect, and unstinted hope.

“Is that what you tell your simple people?” asked Christopher Kirkbright, fixing deeply eager eyes upon him.

“Yes; just that.  In simplest words, changed and repeated often.  It is the whole burden of my message.  What other message is there, to men’s souls?  ‘Repent, and receive the remission of your sins!’ Build your city of refuge, Mr. Kirkbright, and show them a beginning of the fulfillment.”

Whist and euchre tables not far off were breaking up, just before lunch, with laughter and raised voices.  Ladies were coming down from the deck.  In the stir, Mr. Vireo rose and went away.  Christopher Kirkbright carried his Bible back into his state-room, and shut the door.

CHAPTER XII.

LETTERS AND LINKS.

That same September morning, Miss Euphrasia, sitting in her pretty corner room at Mrs. Georgeson’s,—­just returned to her city life from the rest and sweetness of a country summer,—­had letters brought to her door.

The first was in a thin, strong, blue envelope, with London and Liverpool postmarks, and “per Steamer Calabria,” written up in the corner, business-wise, with the date, and a dash underneath.  This she opened first, for the English postmarks, associated with that handwriting, gave her a sudden thrill of bewildered surprise:—­

“MY DEAR SISTER,—­Within a very few days after this will reach you, I hope myself to land in America, and to see if, after all these years, you and I can do something about a home together.  We learn one good of long separations, by what we get of them in this world.  We can’t help beginning again, if not actually where we left off, at least with the thought we left off at, ’live and fresh in our hearts.  The thought, I mean, as regards each other; we have both got some thoughts uppermost by this time, doubtless, that we had not lived to then.  At any rate, I have, who had ten years ago only the notions and dreams of twenty-one.  I come straight to you with them, just as I went from you, dear elder sister, with your love and blessing upon me, into the great, working world.

“Send a line to meet me in New York at Frazer and Doubleday’s, and let me know your exact whereabouts.  I found Sherrett here, and had a run to Manchester with him to see Amy.  That’s the sort of thing I can’t believe when I do see it,—­Mary’s baby married and housekeeping!  I’m glad you are my elder, Effie; I shall not see much difference in you.  Thirty-one and forty-three will only have come nearer together.  And you are sure to be what only such fresh-souled women as you can be at forty-three.”

With this little touch of loving compliment the letter ended.