“‘_Yet doth He devise means_ (d’you understand that?) _devise means that His banished be not expelled from Him!_’ This covers your case. I don’t know what the means will be. That’s for you to find out. They’ll tell you yonder.” He nodded towards the now silent Lower Establishment as he scribbled on a pass. “Take this paper over to them and report for duty there. You’ll have a thin time of it; but they won’t keep you a day longer than I’ve put down. Escort!” “Does--does that mean there’s any hope?” the man stammered. “Yes--I’ll show you the way,” Judas whispered. “I’ve lived there--a very long time!” “I’ll bear you company a piece,” said John, on his left flank. “There’ll be Despair to deal with. Heart up, Mr. Littlesoul!” The three wheeled off, and the Convoy watched them grow smaller and smaller across the plain. St. Peter smiled benignantly and rubbed his hands. “And now we’re rested,” said he, “I think we might make a push for billets this evening, gentlemen, eh?” The pickets fell in, guardians no longer but friends and companions all down the line. There was a little burst of cheering and the whole Convoy strode away towards the not so distant Gate. The Saint and Death stayed behind to rest awhile. It was a heavenly evening. They could hear the whistle of the low-flighting Cherubim, clear and sharp, under the diviner note of some released Seraph’s wings, where, his errand accomplished, he plunged three or four stars deep into the cool Baths of Hercules; the steady dynamo-like hum of the nearer planets on their axes; and, as the hush deepened, the surprised little sigh of some new-born sun a universe of universes away. But their minds were with the Convoy that their eyes followed. Said St. Peter proudly at last: “If those people of mine had seen that fellow stripped of all hope in front of ’em, I doubt if they could have marched another yard to-night. Watch ’em stepping out now, though! Aren’t they human?” “To whom do you say it?” Death answered with something of a tired smile. “I’m more than human. _I_’ve got to die some time or other. But all other created Beings--afterwards....” “_I_ know,” said St. Peter softly. “And that is why I love you, O Azrael!” For now they were alone Death had, of course, returned to his true majestic shape--that only One of all created beings who is doomed to perish utterly, and knows it. “Well, that’s _that_--for me!” Death concluded as he rose. “And yet--” he glanced towards the empty plain where the Lower Establishment had withdrawn with their prisoner. “‘Yet doth He devise means.’” THE SUPPORTS (_Song of the Waiting Seraphs._) _Full Chorus._ _To Him Who bade the Heavens abide yet cease not from their motion, To Him Who tames the moonstruck tide twice a day round Ocean---- Let His Names be magnified in all poor folks’ devotion!_ _Powers and Gifts._