Easter Day--one of the God-blest mornings in the sweet of the year when it is happiness enough to be alive. Mona is setting her house in order and feeling as if she were doing everything for the last time. When she thinks she has finished she suddenly remembers that she has not had breakfast. But that does not matter now. How thirsty she is, though! So she brews herself a pot of tea and drinks two strong cups of it. The church bells begin to ring, and she determines to go to church--also for the last time. Why not? It is true she intends to do something which good people would condemn, but it is no use thinking of that now. How sweet the air outside is, with the odour of the violets and the gorse and with that tang of salt that comes up from the sea! The young birds, too, how merrily they are singing! It is a pity! A great pity! She is late. The bells have ceased to ring, and there is nobody on the road. It had taken her long to dress--she had felt so tired and had had to sit down so often. The service has begun when she reaches the church. Through the inner door, which is half open, she can see the congregation on their knees and hear the vicar reading the General Confession, with the people repeating it after him. She cannot go in just now, so she stands by the porch and waits. The Sunday-school children, kneeling together on the right of the pulpit, are bobbing their heads up and down at intervals--they are so happy and proud in their new Easter clothes. She, too, used to be proud and happy in her Easter clothes. It is almost heartbreaking. Life looks sweet now, death being at the door. When the voices cease and she is about to enter, some of the congregation look round at her. She feels as if they are thinking of her as the kind of woman-penitent who in the old days used to stand at the door of the church in her shame. That stops her, and she remains where she is standing. The service goes on--the psalms and lessons and hymns appropriate to the day. At length comes the last hymn before the sermon: “_Jesu, lover of my soul,_ _Let me to thy bosom fly...._” Mona has known it all her life, yet it seems as if she had never understood it until now. “_While the gathering waters roll,_ _While the tempest still is high._” She is in tears before she is aware of it. The sermon begins, and the vicar’s voice comes out to her in the open air and mingles with the twittering of the birds in the trees and the bleating of the lambs in the fields. It is about the last days of Jesus--His death and resurrection, the hatred of His enemies and the desertion of His friends--all the dreadful yet beautiful story. “He might have avoided His death, but He did not do so. He died of His own free will. Why? Because He was confirmed in the belief that His death would save the world.”