"I ought to have gone last night," he said. "Such a storm as it was, and poor old father all alone up there in that dangerous place!" Tardy thoughts of duty rose within his breast, and faint pulses of filial affection, long passed away, began once more to make themselves felt. He willingly joined Mrs. Power as with rapid steps she trod the narrow path which led along the top of the cliff. The storm had passed away, but the sea still flung itself sullenly upon the shore. As they neared the spot, Madelaine gave an exclamation of distress. "Look what a huge piece of the crag has gone!" she said. "I thought Robin was exaggerating when he told me half the cottage had fallen down, but it is much worse than I expected." "It’s a good thing the kitchen is at the landward end," remarked Ben. "I see it is standing yet." They were soon at the little garden gate, but though it was wide open, they found their way barred. It now hung uselessly over a great empty gap, its broken rails flapping drearily in the wind. A long crack down the middle of what remained of the house showed where the next slip would probably come. The portion next the cliff had already given way and the rafters were even now overhanging the edge. Some bricks from the chimney loosened as they approached, and they heard them clatter down the roof and fall with a dull thud on the beach below. "Surely father will not be against leaving the place now!" said Ben. "If we get him out before the whole thing goes down, we shall be lucky." He vaulted over the low wall, and in a few strides had crossed the garden plot. Mrs. Power scrambled after him and reached the door almost as soon as he did. In spite of the peril and the ominous sounds of sliding and cracking which surrounded them on every hand their steps were arrested on the threshold. Old Timothy was lying asleep on his pillow as they entered, his white hair scarcely whiter than his face. No sign of fear was on it, and he seemed breathing as peacefully as a child upon its mother’s arm. Beside him in the bed lay Julius, flushed and feverish, moving his head restlessly from side to side. As they stood, the first rays of the rising sun burst through the little latticed window and shone full on the old man’s face. He felt the glow through his closed eyelids, and opened them with a startled glance. Springing up in his bed, he stretched out his arms to the light, apparently dazzled with the sudden brightness. "It is the glory of God!" he cried--and to Madelaine his homely features seemed transfigured with a radiance that was divine. "It is the blessed Angel of Death, and he has come to bear me up to the city of gold." Folding his hands as if in prayer, he closed his eyes and reverently bowed his head. "I’m waiting, old friend," he said. "I’m waiting, and I’m wholly ready to go." Suddenly the frail figure relaxed its tension and fell back upon the pillow. "He’s gone," whispered Ben.