“‘Never man spake like this Man,’” he said. “His Sermon on the Mount is for everyday life, and this, His last address, is for the evening, when the working day is over and rest is near. I have not done all that I might have done; but I am really tired, and shall be as glad of my rest as if I had deserved it. I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, for Thou, Lord, only makest me to dwell in safety. Margaret, what a marvellous conqueror of men is this Jesus Christ!” “Ah, yes!” said Margaret, with glowing eyes; “and all the world must surely call Him Lord some day.” “Someday. Yes. I wonder which day it will be, Margaret. I think we could sing now, dear. Let it be, ‘Jesu, lover of my soul.’” They sang it together—there is no hymn like it for such a time. Harris had a good bass voice and Margaret a sweet mezzo-soprano; and the hymn rose softly but melodiously to heaven. It is a fine prayer, and at the same time a grand ascription of praise. When it was ended, Harris repeated the collect, “Lighten our darkness,” and Margaret the Lord’s. Prayer, and both hearts were calmed. “It is time you were in bed, dear,” Margaret said; “you are so tired.” “Yes, I think I shall sleep well to-night. Hark! the boys in the street are crying the state of the poll! See if Whitwell is all right, dear.” “A magnificent majority,” said Margaret, holding the paper towards him. “Hurrah! I am very glad! The old bad times are past. The new aristocracy of character takes its proper place. The best men, the true kings, whom God will crown, will be henceforth the rulers of men. I hope you will live long to enjoy it all, Margaret. As for me I shall be satisfied when——” He fell back, and Margaret thought he had fainted. She called Ann Johnson to open all the doors, while she tried to restore him. John Dallington and Dr. Stapleton at that moment came to bring the news of the election, and, seeing the door open, entered. “He is faint!” cried Margaret, in agony. But Dr. Stapleton said, gently, “It is more than faintness. It is perfect peace.” CHAPTER XXXI. FROM DARENTDALE TO HIGH SEATHORPE. All was peace. It was impossible to look upon the stately face and form of the dead man and not feel that Christ had laid His hand upon the white brow, and said, “Peace, be still.” The doubts and impatience which had characterised him in his earlier years were set at rest once for all. The strife was over, the misgivings were quieted, and if the questions were not yet answered, the questioner was asleep in deep repose. Margaret could not at first believe that the kind heart which had loved her, and the lips which had blessed her, were still for ever. “Dr. Stapleton, surely you can revive him,” she said, “and bring him back again to life, if only for a few weeks.” “I would if I could, perhaps,” he said; “but no mortal power could do it, and you should be thankful that he is spared the suffering which we feared.”