The doctor is leaving Miss Annie Laurie’s room--the cry is over--there is only now a feeble sound of weeping; but a shadow strangely still and sombre has fallen upon the house, and the descending step rings like a knell upon the stairs. What is it?--what is coming?--and what did it mean, that melancholy cry? Alas! a voice out of a startled soul--a cry of wild and terrified recognition--acknowledgment. Years ago, age came gently to this dwelling--gently, with light upon his face, and honour on his grey hairs. There was no entrance for him through the jealous door; but now has come another who will not be gainsaid. Gather the children, Reaper--gather the lilies--take the corn full in the ear--go to the true souls where thought of you dwells among thoughts of other wonders, glories, solemn things to come--leave this chamber here with all its poor devices. No such presence has ever stood within its poverty-stricken walls before. Go where great love, great hope, great faith, great sorrow, sublimer angels, have made _you_ no phantom--leave this soul to its toys and delusions--it is a poor triumph--come not here. Hush, be still. They who have sent him have charged him with a message; hear it how it rings slow and solemn into the ear of this hushed house. “There is a way, and it shall be called the way of holiness; the wayfaring man, though a fool, shall not err therein.” Stay your weeping, poor fool--poor soul; prayers have gone up for you from the succoured hearts of some of God’s poor. Unawares, in your simplicity, you have lent to the Lord. Your gracious debtor gives you back with the grand usury of heaven--gives you back opportunity--hope--a day to be saved--lays aside those poor little vanities of yours under the cover of this, His great magnanimous divine grace--and holds open to your feeble steps the way, where wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err any more for ever. “I’ll let you pass, Miss Menie, if you’ll bide a moment,” said Jenny, wiping her eyes; “he says it’s no the fever he thocht it was, but just a natural decay. Did you hear yon? she wasna looking for Him that’s at the door, and he’ll no wait lang where ance He’s gien His summons--pity me! I would like to see him coming the road mysel, afore I just found him at my door-stane.” The room is very still; through the quiet you can only hear the panting of a frightened breath, and now and then a timid feeble sob. She has to go away--knows and feels to the depth of her heart that she must go upon this solemn road alone; but, with a sad panic of terror and curiosity, she watches her own feelings, wondering if this and this be death.