Back and forth, along the great aisle, with slow and heavy footsteps--back and forth, until the long night waned away, and the muffled tread of the sufferer seemed to become regular, unceasing, continuous, as part of the very course of nature itself--all night long, back and forth, wrestling sorely with his sudden, mighty grief, the young man trod the desolate aisle, and his bosom heaved with anguish, but not a single word escaped his compressed, ashy lips. The first faint light of dawn mottled the eastern sky; then the glad sunlight streamed far out along the peaceful sea, and the freshness of the morning laughed from earth and heaven. Then went he slowly unto a window opening unto the east, and the sun was rising gloriously, and then the man raised up his right hand reverently, and, gazing away into the glowing heavens, with trembling lips and broken heart, he murmured: "Yea! He doeth all things well; and blessed be his name!" But the first great sorrow of his life had fallen upon him; that which ages a man in a single day; that which breaketh off and casteth far from him all the brightness and freshness of his youth forever, and setteth him henceforth face to face with the hard and bitter realities of life, making all of the beautiful past only a dim and blessed memory of happiness, the light and sweetness whereof his lip shall taste no more on earth. The youth was a man now; tried in the furnace of affliction; exercised by grief; strengthened and hardened and chastened by the bitter cup of woe. Quietly he departed from the church; with calm, unfaltering tread he went back unto the bishop; and then unwaveringly he asked for, and unflinchingly heard, the pathetic details of the martyrdom. And the kind-hearted old man said unto him: "Son, thou triest thy heart too bitterly. If thou desirest to be alone, I can give thee a room unto thyself, and thou canst abide quietly with me until thou shalt feel better able to assume thy pastoral charge." "I thank thee much, bishop, for thou art very kind. But God forbid that private grief should ever keep me from a sacred task! I will even preach to my people in the Baucalis church this morning. For I know"--and then the right hand momently began its rhythmic movement, the mesmeric light gleamed in his somber eyes, the strong, bold head sprang forward upon the lithe, serpentine neck, and, with a light, plaintive hiss in every tone that cut through the hearer’s heart, he continued--"for I know that Theckla would even have it so if she could counsel me." The good old bishop sprang toward and embraced him, crying out: "My son! my son! Thou art of the splendid stuff of which God maketh martyrs! May he console and comfort thee, and feed thee with the bread of everlasting life!"