He suddenly perceived that a third presence was by his side. He knew it for the happy mother and beloved wife. Again the image of the spectrum altered. He was born again. There came to him with new, intenser meaning the doctrine of the Trinity and through it the mystic union of husband, wife and child in the Father’s Love. After a further lapse of time which was measureless, the ecstasy of the human father was terminated by the sound of a key turning in the door of the room. Instantly the spell was broken and he realized that he was fondling the face of a corpse. The vicar rose from his knees as the doctor entered the room. He stood by the bed, shivering now with strange happiness, while the doctor lifted the hand and looked at the face of his patient. “I was afraid,” said the doctor in a hushed voice, “that he would not be able to receive the deputation. Dear fellow! He is now with the souls in whom he believed.” “And who believed in Him,” said the vicar in a tone that the doctor could hardly recognize. “Yes, there were souls who believed in him,” said the doctor in a matter-of-fact voice which had a kind of gentle indulgence. “There must have been. More than one of our poor old men here died with his name on their lips. You would hardly believe what an influence he had among us. We shall miss him very much. In his way he was a true saint, a real teacher, and he has left this place better than he found it.” “If only he could have received the homage that awaited him,” the vicar whispered. “Yes, if only he could have done so! But it is written otherwise. Still, we all feel that a very remarkable honor has been paid to one of our inmates. By the way, isn’t it Aristotle--or is it Plato?--who says that it is a part of probability that many improbabilities will happen?” XLVII AS the vicar and the doctor left John Smith’s cell, there came out of the deep shadows of the long corridor a figure, old, forlorn, very infirm. With a haunted look this rather grotesque creature shuffled forward, and fixing tragic eyes upon the doctor’s face muttered in an alien tongue: “He is risen. He is risen.” The doctor reproved him sharply. “Why, Goethe, what in fortune’s name are you doing here! Go at once to your own side and don’t let me see you here again. Strict instructions were given that none of the patients were to be seen in the west wing just now. I must look into this. Go at once to your own side.” The old man slunk away, still muttering softly, “He is risen. He is risen.”