were wet. His strong, aged face was set as though looking onward and
upward, with the joyful expression habitual to it.

Trenholme and his friend were not insensible to the picture. They were
remarking upon it when the old man came into their midst. There was
something more of keenness and brightness in his mien than was common to
him; some influence, either of the healing summer or of inward joy,
seemed to have made the avenues of his senses more accessible.

"Sirs," he said, "do you desire the coming of the Lord?"

He asked the question quite simply, and Trenholme, as one humours a
village innocent, replied, "We hope we are giving our lives to advance
His kingdom."

"But the _King,_" said the old man. "He is coming. Do you cry to Him to
come quickly?"

"We hope and trust we shall see Him in His own time," said Trenholme,
still benignly.

"His own time is suddenly, in the night," cried the old man, "when the
Church is sleeping, when her children are planting and building,
selling, buying; and marrying--that is _His time_. We shall see Him. We
shall see His face, when we tell Him that we love Him; we shall hear His
voice when he tells us that He loves us. We shall see Him when we pray;
we shall hear Him give the answer. Sirs, do you desire that He should
come now, and reign over you?"

The labourers bestirred themselves and came nearer. The old man had