The stateliness of death was upon the still face of his father when the son gazed upon it for the last time. A wonderful peace and beauty, which had never been seen before, was there; and as Arthur looked through his tears he saw that all the wrinkles which care had made were smoothed away, and something of the youthfulness which he remembered had returned. Did it mean anything or nothing, he wondered, this calm which is always so comforting to those who look upon their dead? Love made him tender; but neither it nor sorrow could make him unmindful of facts. His father had not really been an irreligious man. He had known his Lord’s will; but in many things he had not done it. He had gone home to God with the cry of mercy on his lips and in his heart; and his son believed in nothing so entirely as in the compassion of the Father, as Christ represented Him. Arthur was not afraid; but he wondered where the dead man was now, and how it fared with him. His father had appeared to be entirely engrossed with the world of money-making and business; and what sort of preparation was that for the hereafter which was before him? Had the habit of worldliness so hardened his heart that it had kept the weary wanderer from going back to the Father? Arthur was thankful that he had heard the dying lips pray, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” What issues might have hung upon the prayer for the man who was passing away he could not tell, but there was infinite comfort in it for the one who remained. Yet he mourned for what might have been. He knew enough of his own heart, with its weaknesses and sins, to understand how a man’s prayer has at the last to take the deprecating tones of humility and confession. In the silent hours of his life he had dared to pray with Moses, “Show me Thy glory,” and he to whom that is an answered prayer must needs abhor himself in dust and ashes. He understood how natural it was that a good and great man should have asked that the only epitaph upon his tomb should be— A guilty, weak, and helpless worm, On Thy kind arms I fall; Be Thou my strength and righteousness, My Saviour, and my all. Arthur Knight had uttered these words for himself many a time. But still he knew, and never failed to realise, that there is another side to it all. He delighted to dwell on the heroic side of Christ’s men. He believed that what St. Paul said every disciple of Jesus might say, “I can do all things through Christ, who strengtheneth me,” and that the inspiring song of victory which the Apostle raised might be echoed by every one whom faith made strong: that the Christian indeed should live so grand a life that he also might declare at the last, “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”