approach of that funeral group,—­that hearse-like burden of the perished brightness, the joyous innocence, the sunny smile, the radiant hair, the sweet frank eyes—­the all of beauty that was once Maryllia!  Then, unaware of his own actions, he went forward giddily, blindly and unreasoningly—–­till, coming face to face with the little moving group of awed and weeping people, all of whom halted abruptly at sight of him, he suddenly stretched forth his hands as though they held a book at arm’s length, and his voice, tremulous, yet resonant, struck through the hush of sudden silence.

“I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord:  he that believeth on Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:  and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die!”

A tragic pause ensued.  Every face was turned upon him in tearful wonder.  Dr. Forsyth came quickly up to him.

“Walden!” he said, in a low tone—­“What is this?  What are you saying?  You are not yourself!  Come home!”

But John stood rigidly inert.  His tall slight figure, fully erect, looked almost spectral in the mists of the gathering night.  He went on reciting solemnly,—­

“I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth.  And though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God:  whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold and not another!”

Here there was a general movement of consternation in the little crowd.  Parson Walden was beginning to read the burial service!  Then men whispered to one another,—­and some of the women burst out crying bitterly.  Dr. Forsyth became alarmed.

“John!” he said, imperatively—­“Rouse yourself, man!  You are ill—­I see you are ill,—­but I cannot attend to you now!  Try not to delay me, for God’s sake!  Miss Vancourt is seriously injured—­but I may save her life.  She is not dead.”

Something snapped like a broken harp-string behind Walden’s temples,—­the horrible tension was relieved.

“Not dead—­not dead?” he muttered—­“Not dead?  Forsyth, are you sure?”

“Sure!”

His face changed and softened,—­a sudden sweet moisture freshened his eyes.

“Thank God!” he murmured.

Then he looked about him like a man suddenly wakened from sleep.  He was still unable quite to realise his surroundings or what he had done.

“Forgive me!” he said, pathetically—­“I am afraid I have been a trouble to you!  I’ve been studying too much this afternoon,—­and—­ and—­I don’t know why I came out here just now—­I’ll—­I’ll go in.  Will you let me know how—­how—–­”

Forsyth nodded comprehensively.

“You shall know everything—­best or worst—­to-morrow,”—­he said—­ “But now go in and lie down, Walden!  You want rest!”