Arthur stopped—­from exhaustion, Tom thought; but what between his fear lest Arthur should hurt himself, his awe, and his longing for him to go on, he couldn’t ask, or stir to help him.

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow.  “I don’t know how long I was in that state—­for more than a day, I know; for I was quite conscious, and lived my outer life all the time, and took my medicines, and spoke to my mother, and heard what they said.  But I didn’t take much note of time.  I thought time was over for me, and that that tomb was what was beyond.  Well, on last Sunday morning, as I seemed to lie in that tomb, alone, as I thought, for ever and ever, the black, dead wall was cleft in two, and I was caught up and borne through into the light by some great power, some living, mighty spirit.  Tom, do you remember the living creatures and the wheels in Ezekiel?  It was just like that.  ’When they went, I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, the voice of speech, as the noise of an host; when they stood, they let down their wings.’  ’And they went every one straight forward:  whither the spirit was to go, they went; and they turned not when they went.’  And we rushed through the bright air, which was full of myriads of living creatures, and paused on the brink of a great river.  And the power held me up, and I knew that that great river was the grave, and death dwelt there, but not the death I had met in the black tomb.  That, I felt, was gone for ever.  For on the other bank of the great river I saw men and women and children rising up pure and bright, and the tears were wiped from their eyes, and they put on glory and strength, and all weariness and pain fell away.  And beyond were a multitude which no man could number, and they worked at some great work; and they who rose from the river went on and joined in the work.  They all worked, and each worked in a different way, but all at the same work.  And I saw there my father, and the men in the old town whom I knew when I was a child—­many a hard, stern man, who never came to church, and whom they called atheist and infidel.  There they were, side by side with my father, whom I had seen toil and die for them, and women and little children, and the seal was on the foreheads of all.  And I longed to see what the work was, and could not; so I tried to plunge in the river, for I thought I would join them, but I could not.  Then I looked about to see how they got into the river.  And this I could not see, but I saw myriads on this side, and they too worked, and I knew that it was the same work, and the same seal was on their foreheads.  And though I saw that there was toil and anguish in the work of these, and that most that were working were blind and feeble, yet I longed no more to plunge into the river, but more and more to know what the work was.  And as I looked I saw my mother and my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you, Tom, and