"No men living have less excuse for being so. The phenomenon of death
alone ought to set that matter at rest in any reasoning mind. The
impalpable is gone, and the material perishes. It is so plain that he
that runs might read, one would think. That sudden change from volition
to inertia is, in itself, conviction to every right-seeing mind."

"Yet I wish we knew more," I mused, aloud. "We ought to know more, it
seems to me. God has not told us half enough for our satisfaction. It is
so cruel to leave us in the dark, lit only by partial flashes of
lightning. If we were certain of the future, we could bear separation
better from those we love. It would not seem so hopeless."

"If we were certain of the future, we would not bear it all," he
remarked, "but grow impatient and exacting like children who rise in the
night to examine the Christmas stocking, rather than wait until morning.
Most often we should join those we loved rather than bide our time if
we were certain. Moreover, what merit would there be in faith or
fortitude? No, Miriam, it is best as it is, believe me. Every thing is
for the best that God has done; we must not dare to question the ways
any more than the will of the Eternal."

"You ought to have been a preacher, Dr. Pemberton," I said, smiling
sadly, "instead of a physician."

"No, my dear little girl, I ought to have been just what I am, since it
was God's will. And now be calm and self-sustaining until I come again,
which will be before long, I think."

I tried as far as in me lay to regard the instructions of my kind friend
and physician (and happy are those who unite both in one person), but,