In the bright enthusiasm of their youth they forgot the words of Alexander, “It is to ages and decades of ages we must look;” nor perhaps did he always remember them himself. But the next thought of Clémence was one very natural to the still aching heart of the bereaved mother. “If only our little Rosebud could have lived to see it too,” she said. “Ay,” said Ivan. Then after a pause he added, “But she sees Christ, which is far better.” CHAPTER XL. MORNING CLOUDS. “Waft, waft, ye winds, His story; And you, ye waters, roll, Till like a sea of glory It spreads from pole to pole; Till o’er our ransomed nature The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign.” Bright days followed for Clémence and Ivan--days of noble striving and endeavour, of “taking root downwards” in thought and experience, and of “bearing fruit upwards” in loving helpful toil for others. Their little Rosebud was not forgotten. The baby guest whose visit was so brief that it seemed to come and go like a dream left an abiding blessing behind her. Heaven looked nearer and more real to the parents whose treasure was there already; and labour felt more sweet for Him who had her in his keeping. Thenceforward the tender, introspective spirit of Clémence grew more and more into the glad undoubting faith of Ivan. Nor did the little cot remain empty; for God sent them other gifts--in the course of the next three years two baby boys came to gladden their home. Meanwhile the stirrings of new life seemed to pervade ever more and more the land in which they lived. It was something like what the early Reformation era had been in the elder lands of Europe. Nor was it only the rich and great who shared the blessing; to the poor also the gospel was preached. One morning late in spring, when the frost and snow had at last disappeared and the Neva was navigable again, Ivan stood on the quay watching what was then to the inhabitants of St. Petersburg a strange sight and new. Amidst the numerous boats that cleft the blue waters with the aid of sail and oar came an unfamiliar monster, panting and puffing on its rapid way with an air of conscious power, while a dense column of steam issuing from its funnel bore witness to the triumph of modern science. Ivan gazed and wondered, until his attention was distracted by an exclamation in a voice he knew--“_Great St. Nicholas!_” Turning a little, he saw beside him a sergeant of artillery, who was lifting up one hand in amazement. “Michael Ivanovitch!” he cried. “I am heartily glad to see you. And so you have got your promotion,” he added, touching his epaulette. “Yes, Barrinka; and two orders,” returned Michael, proudly showing the badges to Ivan. “We have just been sent here from Moscow, where we were stationed since September twelve-months.”