Then his look changed. Some one had come into the room softly as Master Caleb read, and was standing behind his chair. It was Dorothy, and there was a smile on her face that made her beautiful. She took the Book out of the hands that had dropped it, turned over the pages quickly, and began to read. If you have ever heard music change from long chords of wailing sadness into a burst of triumphant harmony, if you have seen the sun break from behind a cloud, you have known what we felt then. 'Behold, I show you a mystery,' she began. Yes, a greater mystery than any that their earthly labour could bring to light, even the mystery of immortality. She did not raise her voice as she went on, but all through it there thrilled the glorious faith and triumph of the thought that 'death is swallowed up in victory.' And as she uttered the solemn thanksgiving to Him who giveth us the victory her father spoke again. 'Thanks be to God,' he repeated after her, raising his hand feebly, and in the silence it seemed as if the Conqueror Himself drew nigh, and stood by the dying bed. * * * * * The great bell of Morechester Minster was tolling heavily, each slow stroke falling upon the ear like a blow, and the blinds were all drawn down in the little house under the shadow of the Minster tower when Caleb Morton came home. He left Dorothy, as she wished to be left, alone. The faithful old woman, who had been for years their only servant, was taking care of her. For the rest she was better by herself, now that the watching was ended, and the life-long blank and sorrow begun. After he knew that it was her wish to be undisturbed during those first bitter days, Master Caleb was hardly willing even to enter Morechester, lest she should hear of it by some means and think that he had been unmindful of a wish of hers. But his heart yearned over her, and either late at night or in the very early morning he ventured secretly now and then to the back door of the house to ask for tidings of her. The great question that was for ever in his thoughts was this: What would Dorothy do in the life that lay before her? Her father had said truly that it was but very little he had to leave her. His one brother, the hard-worked doctor of a poor Highland parish, was scarcely likely to be better off than he had been. To him, however, her only near relation, Dorothy had written, and till the answer to this letter came, she would fain let the future rest.