While that remains,
the irremediable, the irredeemable cannot be. If there arose a grief
in the heart of one of his creatures not otherwise to be destroyed,
he would take it into himself, there consume it in his own creative
fire--himself bearing the grief, carrying the sorrow. Christ
died--and would die again rather than leave one heart-ache in the
realms of his love--that is, of his creation. 'Blessed are they who
have not seen and yet have believed!'"
Over his head the sky was full of shining worlds--mansions in the
Father's house, built or building.
"We are not at the end of things," he thought, "but in the
beginnings and on the threshold of creation! The Father is as young
as when first the stars of the morning sang--the Ancient of Days who
can never grow old! He who has ever filled the dull unbelieving
nations with food and gladness, has a splendour of delight for the
souls that believe, ever as by their obedience they become capable
of receiving it."
CHAPTER LXII.
THE CRYPT.
"When are you going down again to the chapel, Mr. Grant?" said lady
Arctura: she was better now, and able to work.
"I was down last night, and want to go again this evening by
myself--if you don't mind, my lady," he answered. "I am sure it will
be better for you not to go down till you are ready to give your
orders to have everything cleared away for the light and air to
enter.
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