“I grant it all.”

“Then, what would Lucifer do?  He would save you from the dangers of the world, whether you would or not.  He would take away any need of volition or choice on our part.  Do what we would, sink as deep into sin as we could, he would save us notwithstanding, without a trial, without a purging process, with all our sins upon us; and in this condition we are expected to go on to perfection, and become kings and priests unto God our Father, exercising power and dominion over our fellow creatures.  Think of it!  Evil would reign triumphant.  Celestial order would be changed to chaos.”

The other said not a word.  He could not answer his brother’s array of arguments.

“Dear brother,” continued Homan, “never before have I received such sorrow as when I saw you follow that rebellious Son of Morning.  Henceforth quit his company.  I fear for him and his followers.”

“But he has such power over me, Homan.  His eloquence seems to hold me, and his arguments certainly convince me.  But I must go—­and brother, come with me to the assembly which we are to hold.  Many will be there from far and near.  Will you come?”

“I cannot promise you, Sardus.  Perhaps I may call and see what is said and done.”

Then they parted.

Homan went to the gathering of which Sardus had spoken, and as had been intimated, he met many strange faces.  Everywhere in the conversation, serious topics seemed to be uppermost.  The singing was not as usual.  The music, though always sweet, was sadder than ever before, and a discord seemed to have crept into the even flow of life’s sweet strain.  Homan had no desire to talk.  He wandered from group to group with a smile for all.  Sardus was in a heated discussion with some kindred spirits; but Homan did not join them.  Under the beautiful spread of the trees and by the fountains, sat and walked companies of sons and daughters of God.  Ah, they were fair to look upon, and Homan wondered at the creations of the Father.  No two were alike, yet all bore an impress of the Creator, and each had an individual beauty of his own.

Strolling into an arbor of vines, Homan, did not observe the fair daughter seated there until he turned to leave; and then he saw her.  She seemed absorbed in thought, and her eyes rested on the shiftings throngs.

“A sweet face, and a strange one,” thought he, as he went up to her and spoke: 

“Sister, what are you thinking about?”

She turned and looked at him, and then a pleased smile overspread her face.

“Shall I tell you?”

“Do, I beg of you.  May I sit here?” He seated himself opposite.

“Yes, brother, sit.  My thoughts had such a strange ending that I will tell you what they were.  I have been sitting here looking at these many faces, both new and old, and studying their varied beauties; but none seems to me to answer for my ideal.  So I have been taking a little from each face, putting all together to form another.  I had just completed the composition, and was looking admiringly at the new form when you came and—­and—­”