the strife of tongues—the reward promised by one who knew not what he said and denied what he asserted—Blessed are the meek, the peacemakers, the merciful, for they shall inherit the earth, be named the children of God, and find mercy."
Oliver, white to the lips, with his wife kneeling now beside him, turned the page and read one more short paragraph, marked as being the latest news.
"It is understood that the Government is in communication with Mr. Felsenburgh."
II
"Ah! it is journalese," said Oliver, at last, leaning back. "Tawdry stuff! But—but the thing!"
Mabel got up, passed across to the window-seat, and sat down. Her lips opened once or twice, but she said nothing.
"My darling," cried the man, "have you nothing to say?"
She looked at him tremulously a moment.
"Say!" she said. "As you said, What is the use of words?"
"Tell me again," said Oliver. "How do I know it is not a dream?"
"A dream," she said. "Was there ever a dream like this?"
Again she got up restlessly, came across the floor, and knelt down by her husband once more, taking his hands in hers.
"My dear," she said, "I tell you it is not a dream. It is reality at last. I was there too—do you not remember? You waited for me when all was over—when He was gone out—we saw Him together, you and I. We heard Him—
