ly ministered for so long a time. They had taken the flock, the
shepherd must follow. He should have led.

He had fought, oh, he had played the man for the honor of the poor lambs
committed to him. Had he done right? Should he not have stood dumb
before the shearers? They had shot him and stabbed him and beaten him
into insensibility. The last thing he had heard was the shriek of one
woman, the piteous appeal of another. They thought he was dead, but he
was living. Why had he not died?

How could God be so cruel? This was war. This ruined sanctuary, these
broken men and women who had sought only to serve Him! Was there a God
indeed? Faith, hope, what were they? Assurance, trust? Words, words! Ah,
how he suffered.

[Illustration: "It is He," whispered the priest. "His sorrow was
greater than mine."]

It was bitter cold and yet he burned with fever. The tremors of pain so
exquisite that they might almost be counted pleasure shot through his
ruined, torn, broken figure, yet he recked little of these. It was the
shame, the shame. He had been zealous for the Lord of Hosts. There was
no God. Men were not made in any image save that of hell. He could not
move hand or foot, but he could see. He could speak. He could curse God
and die.

As his lips framed that anathema he saw vaguely the figure of a
stranger; a slender, wasted body, dark stains upon it in the moonlight.
It wore some kind of curious headgear. The man stared. The light was
reflected from the sharp points of long thorns. A cloth was fastened
about the loins. The figure stood very straight in the desecrated Holy
of Holies. A light seemed to come from its face. Its eyes looked at the
man with great pity. Slowly the figure raised its arms. Slowly the arms
extended themselves; there were blood-stains in the palms of the hands.

"It is He," whispered the priest. "His sorrow was greater than mine.
Lord, I believe."

He knew nothing more save that a great peace had suddenly stolen around
him.




VIII

The Broken Hearte

William Babington Maxwell (18661938) was a British novelist. He was a son of novelist Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Though nearly 50 years old at the outbreak of the First World War, he was accepted as a lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers and served in France until 1917.

Cyrus Townsend Brady (December 20, 1861 January 24, 1920) was a journalist, historian and adventure writer. His most well-known work is Indian Fights and Fighters. He was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, and graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1883. He was also a deacon in the Episcopal church. His first wife was Clarissa Guthrie, who died in 1890. His second wife was Mary Barrett.

Rebecca Sophia Clarke (1833-1906), also known as Sophie May, was an American author of childrens fiction. Using her nieces and nephews as inspiration, she wrote realistic stories about children. She wrote 45 books between 1860 and 1903. The most popular being the Little Prudy books. She lived most of her life in her native town of Norridgewock, Maine, where she lived out her life with her sister, who was also a successful author.