qualities.
Outstepping the Pharisee, who thanked God that he was not like other
men, Adam thanked himself, and fed his vanity by the assurance that had
the Polperro folk followed his lead and his advice they would now be
walking in his footsteps; instead of which they had despised him as a
leader and rejected him as a counsellor, so that, exasperated by their
ignorance and stung by their ingratitude, he had cast them off and
abandoned them for ever; and out of this disappointment had arisen a dim
shadow of some far-off future wherein he caught glimpses of a new life
filled with fresh hopes and successful endeavors.

From the moment his heart had opened toward Eve her image seemed to be
associated with these hitherto undefined longings: by the light of her
love, of her presence, her companionship, all that had been vague seemed
to take shape and grow into an object which was real and a purpose to be
accomplished; so that now one of the sharpest pricks from the thorn of
disappointment came of the knowledge that this hope was shattered and
this dream must be abandoned. And, lost in moody retrospection, Adam sat
stabbing desire with the sword of despair.

"Let me be! let me be!" he said in answer to some one who was trying to
rouse him.

"Adam, it's me: do look up;" and in spite of himself the voice which
spoke made him lift his head and look at the speaker. "Adam, I'm so
sorry!" and Eve's face said more than her words.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," returned Adam sullenly.

"I want you to forgive me, Adam," continued Eve.

"I've nothing to forgive."

"Yes, you have;" and a faint flush of color came into her cheeks as she
added with hesitating confusion, "You know I didn't mean you to take
what I said as you did, Adam; because"--and the color suddenly deepened
and spread over her face--"because I do care for you--very much indeed."

Adam gave a despondent shake of his head. "No, you don't," he said,
steadily averting his eyes; "and a very good thing too. I don't know who
that wasn't forced to it would willingly have anything to do with such a
God-forsaken place as this is. I only know I'm sick of it, and of myself
and my life, and everything in it."

"Oh, Adam, don't say that--don't say you're sick of life. At least, not
now;" and she turned her face so that he might read the reason.

"And why not now?" he asked stolidly. "What have I now that I hadn't
before?"

"Why, you've got me."

"You? You said you c