We rarely know the supreme moments of our lives till they are past. We open laughing the letter which contains awful tidings; we look up brightly to see the unclosing of the door-- "Which lets in on us such disabling news, We ever after have been graver."[15] It was with a lightened heart, and almost a smile, that Celia asked if her brothers (as she considered both) had seen Philip; and full of apprehension as her heart had been all day, she did not guess the answer from the dead silence that ensued. Harry was the first to speak, and he addressed himself to Sir Edward. "You, or I?" was his enigmatical question. "You," answered Edward, shortly. "Celia, darling!" began Harry, looking back at her with deep compassion in his eyes; and he got no further. And then she knew. "O Philip, Philip!" broke in a bitter wail from the lips of the sister who had learned to love Philip so much. "Are you sure? Have you seen him?" she asked, turning first to Harry and then to Edward, hoping against hope that there might be some mistake. "I have seen him," replied Edward; and her hope died away. "Celia," resumed Edward, "listen, dear sister. I have seen Philip; there can be no mistake on that score. He will be brought here soon. But I have seen also something else, for which, knowing him as I do, I thank God so much that as yet I have hardly begun to grieve at all. He lies just where he fell at the head of his troops, after one of the finest and bravest charges that I ever witnessed in my life: his face turned to God and the foe. But this lay close to his heart. Look at it." Celia took from her brother's hand the little book which he held out to her. She saw at once that it was a Testament, but the leaves were glued together with a terrible red, at which Celia shuddered as she tried to open them. "The first leaf," was Edward's direction. She recognized Philip's well-known hand as she turned to it. At the head of the fly-leaf Lady Ingram's name and address were faintly pencilled; and below were a few lines in darker and fresher lead. Celia dashed the intrusive tears from her eyes before she could read them. "'Wherefore He is able to save to the uttermost them that come unto God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them.'[16] 'Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.'"[17] The little book trembled in Celia's hand, and she broke into a fresh shower of uncontrollable weeping. Her companions allowed her to indulge her sorrow for a few moments in silence. Then Edward said gently, "Who shall tell his mother?" "I will," she answered, ceasing her tears by a violent effort; and she left the room, and went up-stairs at once. Lady Ingram was seated at her knotting. "Where have you been?" she asked, without looking at her step-daughter, for just then the knotting was at a difficult point, and required all her attention.