Magdalen’s eyes were full of tears.  She had been from the first deeply attracted both by the words and by the personality of John Clarke, and sometimes she had had intimate talks with him on spiritual matters, which had made an indelible impression upon her heart.

She now busied herself diligently in making ready for his reception that pleasant sunny chamber which her father had selected.  The great canopied beds of the day were too heavy and ponderous to be easily moved; but smaller couches and abundant bedding were quickly collected, and the room began to glow with the masses of flowers that Freda brought in from the garden and woodland beyond.  The place was fragrant with the breath of cowslip and primrose, whilst, as the light faded from the west, the dancing flames of the log fire on the hearth gave a cheery air of welcome.

The sisters stood clasping hands as their friend was brought in by the bearers, and tenderly laid upon one of the two soft couches made ready—­one beside the window, and one in a warmer situation near to the hearth.

It was upon this one that he was laid first, and Magdalen caught her breath in a little sob as she gazed upon his face—­it was so thin and sunken, so absolutely colourless.  The eyes were closed, and though there was an expression of deep peace and happiness upon the face, it looked to her more like the face of one who has triumphed in death than of one who is living and breathing yet.

Dalaber flung himself upon his knees beside the couch with a lamentable cry upon his lips.

“My master! my master! my friend!” he cried, and at the sound of these words and the familiar voice the long lashes quivered and slowly lifted themselves, and they saw the dim, sweet smile steal over the wan face.

“Is that Anthony?  I cannot see.  God bless thee, my son!  He is giving me all I could ask or wish.”

Dr. Langton signed to his daughters to come away.  The patient had no strength for further greetings then.  Freda’s eyes were blind with tears as she found herself hurrying from the room, and Magdalen threw herself into her husband’s arms, weeping aloud in the fulness of her heart.  He held her closely to him; he too was deeply moved.

“But we must not grieve for him, my beloved; as he himself has said so many times during these days, ’To depart, and to be with Christ, is far better.’  He goes forth so joyfully into the great unseen that we must not seek too much to hold him back.  His Lord may have need of him elsewhere.  In truth, he is more fit for heaven than earth.”

“He dies a martyr, if any ever did!” spoke Freda, choking back her tears, and speaking with shining eyes.  “He has laid down his life for a testimony to the truth.  What martyr can do more than that?”

“Is there no hope of his life?” asked Magdalen, still clinging to her husband’s arm.

“Your father fears not,” answered Arthur; “and in sooth, after hearing the story of their imprisonment, I think the same myself.  Oh, the patience, the sweetness, the self forgetfulness, with which he has borne all!  One could weep tears of blood to think that such things are done to living saints on earth in the name of religion.”