Oh, Lord, Thou hidest Thy face, And the battle-clouds prevail; Oh, grant me Thy sweet grace, That I may not utterly fail. Fighting alone to-night, With what a beating heart! Lord Jesus in the fight, Oh! stand not Thou apart!” He made no comment at all when she had ended the poem, but in truth it had filled his mind with other thoughts. And the dim, dreary streets through which they walked, and the gradually increasing light in the east, seemed like a picture of his own life, for there dawned for him in his sadness a clearer revelation of the Unseen than had ever before been granted him. CHAPTER XXIII. It seemed to Sigrid that she had hardly gone to bed before it was time to get up again; she sleepily wished that Londoners would give dances at more reasonable hours, then, remembering all that had happened, she forgot her own weariness and turned with an eager question to Swanhild. It was the little sister’s daily duty to go in and wake Frithiof up, a task of some difficulty, for either his bad habit of working at night during his lonely year in town, or else his illness, had left him with a tendency to be wide awake between twelve and two and sound asleep between six and seven. “You haven’t called him yet, have you?” asked Sigrid, rubbing her eyes. “No, but it is quite time,” said Swanhild, shutting up her atlas and rearing up in the bed where she had been luxuriously learning geography. “Oh, leave him a little longer,” said Sigrid. “We were so late last night, and his head was so bad, that I don’t suppose he has had much sleep. And, Swanhild, whatever you do, don’t speak of the dance to him or ask him any questions. As ill luck would have it Lady Romiaux was there.”