"'She has a soul to save--a very precious soul. Mark you, if works could save a soul, hers would be secure. And I have thought sometimes God cannot judge her harshly; for consider of how much value the life of one such woman must be in such a community as this! You should observe how the men respect her. And yet we have the divine assurance that works without grace are naught; and her carelessness on sacred matters is appalling. If, when I am gone'-- and it struck me sharply that not only the western mountains but the cemetery gate lay in the direction of his nod, and that the gate lay nearer--'if you could speak to her now and then--ah, you can hardly guess how it would rejoice me some day when I return, bearing'--and his voice sank here--'bearing, please God, my sheaves with me!' "'But why,' I urged, 'go farther, when work like this lies at your hand?' "'I have thought of that; but only for a moment. It may sound presumptuous to you; I am very young; but there is bigger work for me ahead, and I am called. I cannot argue about this. I _know_. I have a sign. Look up at the mountain, yonder--high up, above the quicksilver mines. Do you see those bright lights flashing?' "Sure enough, above the disused works a line of sparkling lights led the eye upwards to the snow-fields, as if traced in diamonds. The phenomenon was certainly astonishing, and I couldn't account for it. "'You see it? Ah! but you didn't observe it till I spoke. Nobody does. Miss Montmorency, when I pointed it out, declared that in all the time she has lived here she never once noticed it. Yet the first night I came here I saw it. My window looks westward, and I pulled the curtain aside for a moment before getting into bed. It had been dark as pitch when the coach dropped me; but now the moon was up, over opposite; and the first thing my eyes lit on was this line of lights reaching up the mountain. When I woke, next morning, it was still there, flashing in the sun. I think it was at breakfast, when I asked Miss Montmorency about it, and found she'd never remarked it, that it first came into my head 'twas meant for me. Anyhow, the idea's fixed there now, and I can't get away from it. I've asked many people, and there's not one can explain it, or has ever remarked it till I pointed it out.' "His hand trembled on his stick, and a fit of coughing shook him. While we stood still I heard a banjo in a saloon across the road tinkle its long descent into the chorus of 'Juliana'--" 'Was it weary there In the wilderness? Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?' The chorus came roaring out and across the street; ceased; and the banjo slid into the next verse. "'I wish they wouldn't,' said the Bishop, taking the handkerchief from his lips and speaking (as I thought) rather peevishly. "'It's a weariful tune.' "'Is it? Now I don't know anything about music. It's the words that make me feel wisht.'