The other occupant of an easy chair I presume you would also recognize, though he, I think, is more changed than Elsie; but you would like the change. I don't remember whether I told you that Freeman Vance was a handsome man. A year ago, if you are a careful student of human nature, you would have been a little troubled over the face. Handsome dark eyes, but with an unrest about them that made you not sure of his future. Handsome, quiet mouth, but with a look of strength about it, or of firmness; and to be firm in a wrong direction means obstinacy—means danger. And about the whole man there had been a certain something which told you that he thought himself master of himself; and when a man thinks that, wise people know that he is a slave. But he was changed. What is the change which comes into these handsome, manly faces, when their owners give themselves over, body and soul, into the keeping of the King? Is it a stamp of the King's signet ring? Is it a hint of the coming fulfillment—"We shall be like Him when we shall see Him as He is"? Whatever it is, you saw it plainly on Freeman Vance's face. "It is singular that it rains." This was what he was saying. "Why?" The word mellowed into a happy little laugh. The laugh said: "Let it rain, and let the wind sigh and moan among the leafless branches; I don't care in the least; the night, and the darkness, and the sighing are as nothing to me; they are all 'without,' and I am hedged in, and sheltered, and safe, and happy." "It rained, that night, you know. I remember just how the drops sounded on the window-pane, and how the wind moaned, and shook the trees angrily because it could not get in at you. It seemed to know that it would never be able to touch you, and to know, also, that in a few minutes I would have to come out to it in the darkness and be whirled whither it would." "What a dreadful picture!" Still there was content in the voice. "I remember the night, and the rain, and the wind; but I did not think you noticed it, or cared whether it touched me or not. Carrie said I offended you that evening." "Poor Carrie! It is difficult to conceive of a young lady making less of life than she is doing." "How is it with Ben? He is getting on well, is he not?" "Splendidly! The dear fellow! I saw him last night. Some memory of old times came over us, and he spoke of that very evening; said he should have reason to remember it forever; though it was words spoken on the first day of your coming, during the walk up from the depot, he said, which set him to thinking." "No one ever acted less as though he were thinking! I was sure that he was simply amused with me, as a little country dunce. Many a time he helped to make it hard for me."