“No, I haven’t told you. And I don’t mean to tell you till I see fit.”

“And when, pray, will that be?”

“When I have your promise in writing that you will give her no trouble about what is past and gone.”

“I will give you that promise—always provided she can prove that what was past and gone is come again. I shall insist upon that!”

“Most properly, sir! You shall not have to wait for it.—And now, if you will take me to the post-office,” responded the blacksmith, “I will send a telegram to Richard, warning him to hold his tongue.”

“Good! Come!”

They walked to the carriage, and Simon, displacing the footman, got up beside the coachman. He was careful, however, to be set down before they got within sight of the post-office.

The message he sent was—

“I know all, and will write. Say nothing but to your mother.”

— Thirty-Eight —

Revelation

When Richard reached London he went straight to Clerkenwell. There he found Arthur, in bed and unattended, but covered up warm. The room was tidy but very dreary. When Richard related to Arthur his success with sir Wilton, he thanked him with such a shining face that Richard saw in it the birth of saving hope.

“And now, Arthur,” he said, “you must get better as fast as you can. The first minute you are able to be moved, we’ll ship you off to my grandfather’s where Alice was.”

“Away from Alice?”

“Yes. But you must remember there will be more for her to eat, and more money to get things comfortable with by the time you come back. Besides, you will grow well faster, and then perhaps we shall find some better work for you than that hideous clerking and money-counting.”

The joy on Arthur’s face was nearly all the reward Richard needed for what he had done and sacrificed for the sake of his brother. He made a fire, set on the kettle, and went to buy some things that he might have a nice supper ready for Alice when she came home. Next he found two clean towels and covered the little table, forgetting all his troubles in the gladness of ministration, and the new life that hope gives. If only we believed in God, how we should hope! And what would not hope do to reveal the new heavens and the new earth—that is, to show us the real, true, and gracious aspect of those heavens and that earth in which we now live so sadly, and are not at home, because we do not see them as they are, do not recognize in them the beginning of the inheritance we long for!

When Alice came in she heard Arthur cough and hurried up the stairs, but before she reached the top of the second landing she heard such a merry laugh that she was filled with wonder and gladness. What could have made Arthur laugh like that? She opened the door and there sat the only joy of their life, their brother Richard, looking much like himself again. What a healer, what a strength-giver is joy! She sprang forward and burst out weeping.