What a transformation that beautiful church had undergone since he saw it last! If the yard was the hospital for out-patients, the church was the ward where those lay who could not be removed. It was crammed from end to end with men and boys--the wounded and the dying. Their mats were placed on the floor, so close together that it was hard to move among them. Still, the first thought of relief and softness came to Jack as he stood there and looked around him. There at least love reigned, not hate. Once more he was amongst beings who were human, and who pitied and helped one another. He did not see Miss Celandine there, but an Armenian woman, with a sweet, serene face, came towards him and enquired what he wanted. He showed her the babe. "Can you save it?" he asked. "We will try," she answered, taking it gently from him. "Poor little one! I fear it is too late. Does it belong to you? Is it perhaps your little grandchild?" she asked, looking up at him. It occurred to Jack that the question was a strange one; but--was anything strange now? He answered, "No; I found it just now, beside its dead mother. I know not who they are." "Where is Miss Celandine, Anna Hanum?" asked a servant, coming up. "There is a boy here in great distress, who wants to speak with her." "She will be here just now," said the woman who was speaking to Jack. "Where is the boy?" He came running in after the messenger, pale and crying, as one in sore trouble. He seemed to know Anna Hanum, and began to pour out to her his tale of sorrow. Its burden was, "I have denied my Lord. I have denied the Lord Jesus Christ! Will He ever forgive me?" "How was it, my poor child?" the woman asked pityingly. "They killed my father and my mother," he said. "Then they held a knife to my throat, and asked me to be a Moslem and save my life. In my terror I said--I know not what. But it must have been 'yes,' for they spared me, took me to a Turkish house, and gave me food. They kept me shut up until now, when I ran away and came here. Will Christ ever forgive me? Oh, do you think He will ever forgive me?" Ere she could answer, there came a faint weak voice from one of the sufferers lying at their feet. "Christ will forgive you. Only, you have lost a grand opportunity." Something in the voice sent a thrill of strange, sweet memories through the heart of John Grayson. He turned towards the spot from whence it came. "Who said that?" he asked. A man, horribly mutilated, pointed out to him a boy who was lying beside him, with a light rug thrown over him. Threading his way with difficulty through the mats on which the patients lay, Jack came to his side and knelt down. He saw a young face, white, wasted and drawn with pain, yet full of a strange, unutterable peace. And he knew it was the face he loved best in the house of Meneshian--after the _one_ through whom his heart had got its death blow. "_Gabriel!_" he said.