“No,” said Colin, rising; “I have never contemplated that possibility, and I have no wish to do so now. Let us postpone the discussion. Nothing anybody can say,” the young man continued, holding out his hand to meet the feverish, thin fingers which were stretched towards him, “can make me afraid of God.” “Not if you had to meet Him this night in judgment?” said the solemn voice of the young prophet, who would not lose a last opportunity. The words and the look sent a strange chill through Colin’s veins. His hand was held tight in the feverish hand of the sick man--the dark hollow eyes were looking him through and through. Death himself, could he have taken shape and form, could scarcely have confronted life in a more solemn guise. “Not if you had to meet Him in judgment this night?” “You put the case very strongly,” said Colin, who grew a little pale in spite of himself. “But I answer, No--no. The Gospel has come for very little purpose if it leaves any of His children in fear of the Heavenly Father. No more to-night. You look tired, as you may well be, with all your exertions, and after this rough weather--” “The rough weather is nothing to me,” said Meredith; “I must work while it is day--the night cometh in which no man can work.” “The night has come,” said Colin, doing the best he could to smile; “the human night, in which men do not attempt to work. Don’t you think you should obey the natural ordinances as well as the spiritual? To-morrow we will meet, better qualified to discuss the question.” “To-morrow we may meet in eternity,” said the dying man.