The first garden is the Garden of Sleep. On the very edge of the cliff stands--or rather, there stood when last I was there, and for aught I know to the contrary there is still standing to-day--the tower of a ruined church. The rest of the church fell into the sea years ago, but the tower still remains, its wall on one side running down sheer with the cliff. Such of the churchyard as the encroaching sea has not yet swallowed lies to the backward of the tower, and all around it are fields, which in their season are clothed with scarlet and other delights, for it is the land of poppies. "It was rather cruel of the sea to wake up all the sleeping people when they were resting so peacefully," said Fay with a shiver, as we sat in the sunshine on the low bank which encloses what is left of the churchyard. I hastened to comfort her. "It didn't wake them up, sweetheart. They wakened up long ago, and had been living and serving and praising somewhere else, years before the sea washed away their worn-out, cast-off bodies." "I feel as if they had been drowned," Fay persisted: "drowned in their sleep." "Silly little child," I said, putting my arms round her, "to think that the people themselves were washed away with their poor old bodies! And they weren't even the bodies they were wearing at the time: they were old, worn-out things. And do you think, too, that when the church was washed away, the Spirit that sanctified the church was washed away also?" Fay nestled up to me. "Of course not." "No," I continued: "as the Spirit which sanctified this old church still lives and moves and works among men to-day, so the spirits which inhabited those old bodies live and move and work to-day, either here on earth or in other spheres. The temples made with hands, and the temples not made with hands, may pass away and perish; but the Life that transformed them from mere dwelling-places into temples of God abides for ever." "You really are very comforting, Reggie, and have such beautiful thoughts. I really think you've got an awfully nice mind--much nicer than most people's." "Not a millionth part as nice as yours, sweetheart." "Much, _much_ nicer. I really haven't got a very nice one, as minds go. I'm jealous, and selfish and frivolous, and all sorts of horrid things." I put my hand over the small scarlet mouth. "Hush, hush! I cannot allow anybody--not even you--to say a word against my wife."