David shivered. One hour had already passed of the day on which he had promised to give Diana his decision; yet, after hours of deliberation, he was no nearer arriving at any definite conclusion. "My God," he prayed, "give me light. Ah, give me a clear unmistakable revelation of Thy will!" * * * * * The hours from one to two, and from two to three, are apt to hold especial terrors for troubled souls--for lonely watchers, keeping vigil. This is the time of earth's completest silence, and the sense of the nearness of the spirit-world seems able to make itself more intimately felt. The cheerful cock has not yet bestirred himself to crow; the dawn has made no rift in the heavy blackness of the sky. The Prince of Darkness invades the world, unhindered. The Hosts of Light stand by, with folded wings; their glittering swords close sheathed. "This is your hour, and the hour of darkness." Murder, robbery, lust, and every form of sin, lift their heads, unafraid. Christian souls, waking, shudder in nameless fear; then whisper: "Keep me, O keep me, King of Kings, Beneath Thine Own almighty wings!" and sleep again, in peace. * * * * * Next comes the coldest hour--the hour before the dawn. This is the hour of passing souls. Death, drawing near, enters unchecked; and, ere the day breaks and busy life begins to stir again, the souls he has come to fetch, pass out with him; and weary watchers close the eyes which will never see another sunrising, and fold the hands whose day's work in the world is over. All life, in this hour, is at its lowest ebb. * * * * * From one to two, David prayed: "Give me light! Oh, my God, give me light!" Evil thoughts, satanic suggestions, diabolic whisperings, swarmed around him, but failed to force an entrance into the guarded garrison of his mind. The clock struck two. * * * * * The study lamp grew dim, flickered spasmodically; and, finally, went out. David reached for matches, and lighted one candle on the table at his elbow. He saw his Prayer-book on the floor, picked it up, and glanced at the open page. "Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to take unto Himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground----" David smiled. It seemed so simple a solution to all earthly difficulties:--"we therefore commit his body to the ground." It promised peace at the last. Who would read those words, over the forest grave in Central Africa? Would he be borne, feet foremost, down the aisle of the Church of the Holy Star--his church and Diana's--or would he be carried straight from his own hut to the open grave beneath the mighty trees? It would not matter at all to his wasted body, which it was; but, ah, how much it would matter to the people he left behind! "Oh God, give me light--give me light!"