He lost himself in the large lustre, which was more and more what he had from the first wished it to be--as dazzling as the vision of heaven in the mind of a child.

He wandered in the fields of light; he passed, among the tall tapers, from tier to tier, from fire to fire, from name to name, from the white intensity of one clear emblem, of one saved soul, to another.

It was in the quiet sense of having saved his souls that his deep strange instinct rejoiced.

This was no dim theological rescue, no boon of a contingent world; they were saved better than faith or works could save them, saved for the warm world they had shrunk_ _from dying to, for actuality, for continuity, for the certainty of human remembrance.
By this time he had survived all his friends; the last straight flame was three years old, there was no one to add to the list.

Over and over he called his roll, and it appeared to him compact and complete.