"'Yea speedily was he taken away, lest that wickedness should alter his understanding, or deceit beguile his soul. "'He, being made perfect in a short time, fulfilled a long time. "'For his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted he to take him away from among the wicked.'" And these words fell like heavenly dew on every heart. There was no comfort and honour greater than this to offer even a mother's heart. A happy sigh greeted the blessed verses, and there was no occasion to speak. There was no word that could be added to it. Then Ian had a happy thought for before a spell-breaking word could be said, he stepped softly to the piano and the next moment the room was ringing with some noble lines from the "Men of Harlech" set to notes equally stirring: "Men of Harlech, young or hoary, Would you win a name in story, Strike for home, for life, for glory, Freedom, God and Right! "Onward! 'Tis our country needs us, He is bravest, he who leads us, Honour's self now proudly leads us, Freedom! God and Right! Loose the folds asunder! Flag we conquer under! Death is glory now." The words were splendidly sung and the room was filled with patriotic fervour. Then the Bishop gave Ragnor and Thora a comforting look, as he asked, "Who wrote that song, Ian?" "Ah, sir, it was never written! It sprang from the heart of some old Druid priest as he was urging on the Welsh to drive the Romans from their country. It is two verses from 'The Song of the Men of Harlech.'" "In olden times, Ian, the bards went to the battlefield with the soldiers. We ought to send our singers to the trenches. Ian, go and sing to the men of England and of France 'The Song of the Men of Harlech.' Your song will be stronger than your sword." "I will sing it to my sword, sir. It will make it sharper." Then Rahal said, "You are a brave boy, Ian," and Thora lifted her lovely face and kissed him. Every heart was uplifted, and the atmosphere of the room was sensitive with that exalted feeling which finds no relief in speech. Humanity soon reacts against such tension. There was a slight movement, every one breathed heavily, like people awakening from sleep, and the Bishop said in a slow, soft voice: "I was thinking of Boris. After all, the dear lad may return to us. Surgeons are very clever now, they can almost work miracles." "Boris will not return," said Rahal. "How can you know that, Rahal?" "He told me so." "Have you seen him?" "Yes." "When?" "On the afternoon of the eleventh of this month." "How?" "Well, Bishop, I was making the cap I am wearing and I was selecting from some white roses on my lap the ones I thought best. Suddenly Boris stood at my side." "You saw him?" "Yes, Bishop. I saw him plainly, though I do not remember lifting my head." "How did he look?"