"Yes, it is glorious,--but I think 'glorious' and 'glory' have drifted a little apart upon the tide of human speech. Glory, always seems to my mind a warm, glowing, effulgent thing,--but ice-peaks may be glorious. The old painters encircled the heads of their saints with a 'glory' and you could not imagine that a cold light." Faith listened, with the eyes of one first seeing into the world of wonder and beauty hidden from common vision. She did not answer, till her thoughts came back to the road they were travelling, and catching her breath a little she said, "_This_ isn't a cold light." "No, truly. And just so far as the saints on earth walk in a cold light, so far, I think, their light is less glorious." "I don't see how they can,"--said Faith timidly. "They do--sometimes,--standing aloof like those ice-peaks. You can see the white garments, but no glory transfigures them. Such a face as Stephen's, Miss Faith, is worth a journey to see." Faith thought so; wondered how many such faces he had seen. Her meditations plunged her too deep for words. "What are you musing about?--if I may ask," Mr. Linden said presently. She coloured but answered, "I was thinking what one must be, to have a face like Stephen's." "That is the promise, you know--from 'glory to glory.' 'From grace to glory' must come first. 'What one must _be_'--yes, that is it. But it is good to measure the promises now and then." Faith laid that last remark up in her heart, enshrining it in gold, as it were. But she said nothing. "How is it with you?" he said turning his eyes full upon her,--"you have not told me lately. Are the clouds all gone?" Her look met his, wistful, and simple as her answer. "I see the light through."-- "'Unto the perfect-day'!" Mr. Linden said, his smile--slight as it was--bringing a sort of illumination with it. After a few minutes he turned to her again. "Miss Faith, one whom Christ has called into his army should wear his uniform." "What, sir?"--she said, the colour starting readily. "With the private vows of allegiance, there should be also a public profession." "Yes,"--she said, "I suppose so.--I am willing--I am ready." Timid, modest, even shrinking as she was, more in view of the subject than of her adviser, her face was as frank as the day. His hand quitted the reins a moment, taking hers and giving it a sort of 'right-hand-of-fellowship' clasp, glad and warm and earnest, as was his look. "I am not going to ask you anymore questions," he said,--"you will tell me if there are any you wish answered." Her "Thank you" was a little breathless. For a while the old horse jogged on in his easy way, through the woods and the fall flowers and the sunny glow; and the eyes of the two travellers seemed to be busy therewith. Then Faith said with a little timid touch upon her voice, "Mr. Linden--I suppose it was you that put a little green book in my basket last night?"