cleansing, sanctifying power was made known, and seemed to inspire
him with a new life, joy, and hope. He was no longer feeling
himself necessarily crushed by the fetters of death, or only
delivered from absolute peril by a mechanism that had lost its
heart, but he could enter into the glorious liberty of the sons of
God, in process of being saved, not in sin but FROM sin.

It was an era in his life, and Tibble heard him sobbing, but with
very different sobs from those in the Pardon chapel. When it was
over, and the blessing given, Ambrose looked up from the hands which
had covered his face with a new radiance in his eyes, and drew a
long breath. Tibble saw that he was like one in another world, and
gently led him away.

"Who is he? What is he? Is he an angel from Heaven?" demanded the
boy, a little wildly, as they neared the southern door.

"If an angel be a messenger of God, I trow he is one," said Tibble.
"But men call him Dr. Colet. He is Dean of St. Paul's Minster, and
dwelleth in the house you see below there."

"And are such words as these to be heard every Sunday?"

"On most Sundays doth he preach here in the nave to all sorts of
folk."

"I must--I must hear it again!" exclaimed Ambrose.

"Ay, ay," said Tibble, regarding him with a well-pleased face. "You
are one with whom it works."