was called among us the place of despair."

"You mean--" and though the little Pilgrim had been made free of fear,
at that word which she would not speak, she trembled, and the light grew
dim in her eyes.

"Well!" said her new friend, "and what then? The Father sees through and
through it as He does here: they cannot escape Him: so that there is
Love near them always. I have a son," he said, then sighed a little, but
smiled again, "who is there."

The little Pilgrim at this clasped her hands with a piteous cry.

"Nay, nay," he said, "little sister; my friend I was telling you of, the
angel, brought me news of him just now. Indeed there was news of him
through all the city. Did you not hear all the bells ringing? But
perhaps that was before you came. The angels who know me best came one
after another to tell me, and our Lord himself came to wish me joy. My
son had found the way."

The little Pilgrim did not understand this, and almost thought that the
painter must be mistaken or dreaming. She looked at him very anxiously
and said--

"I thought that those unhappy--never came out any more."

The painter smiled at her in return, and said--

"Had you children in the old time?"