The wind wailed and sobbed round the house, and burst in at the door as
Lady Mercy entered.
She saw the man. His clothes were worn and old, but she beheld only his
face; that face which even the poor who almost worshipped him thought
ugly, was beautiful to her; it told of love and charity. She knew his
life had been lived for others.
"Ah, you have come at last!" he cried. "Welcome. I so feared I should
die without any one to continue my work, and I asked the Wind that
sprung up in the early hours to waft me some one hither."
"He has obeyed you. I am named the Windflower; but, sir, you too have a
beautiful title; they call you the Prince of Pity. Who are you?"
"I am an unworthy follower of the man Christ."
"You are then a Christian?"
"I said the _man_ Christ. I belong to no Church. I profess no creed."
"What do you do?"
"My child," he said, and his voice sounded sorrowful like the sobbing of
the sea, "my life's work is all in these simple lines,--
"'Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.'"
"You are then he whom I seek. You are Terah, the breather of good. But,
sir, you seem ill. Can I help you?"
"Yes, care for my poor. Be to them all the Wind is to you; rock them
into life, soothe them into death; sob with them in grief, shout with
them in joy. I am going away."
"Whither?"
"To the earth, to rest and peace at last."
"Not to heaven?"
"My child, have you lived in the great city and not learned that we can
imagine no heaven so lovely as the joy of our hearts when we do a good
action? I am on the verge of that sleep which knows no awakening. The
Halls of Death lead not unto Life."
Mercy was dazed with the beauty of the man's soul. It filled his eyes
with a radiance which overwhelmed her.
"I have found Terah," she cried, looking heavenwards, and clasping her
hands in an ecstasy of happiness. "The world is bright again. My ideal
is true. Beautiful, merciful; and self an immolated sacrifice. Why have
I lost my youth in seeking him to lose him now?"
A distant voice seemed to float on the wind. "Had he lived you must have
died. The good action has its reward here and hereafter. He has passed
through the Halls of Death unto the House of Life. Be content, you have
been much blessed. The Ideal is realised in heaven."
The room was filled with a perfume as of many flowers. The wind sobbed
out a requiem. Lady Mercy's face shone with a great light. She looked
down. The Prince of Pity lay dead.
On the site of Greenleaf Court a beautiful house now stands, every
window full of flowers. Designed by a great architect, all the poor of
the district were employed to help in its erection. It is called the
"House of Pity." In the large hall, where the hungry are fed and the
sorrowful are comforted, the following inscription is wrought on the
wall in letters of gold, wreathed with windflowers:--
[Illustration: REJOICE WITH THEM THAT DO REJOICE AND WEEP WITH THEM THAT
WEEP]
_SECOND EDITION._