bright; but when I looked at them I remembered the
little children that had died in her arms, and I knew that her hopes
had not died with them, but by that suffering had been transformed. As I
heard her talk, my own hopes lifted themselves above their ordinary
level.

Husband and wife stood together, and I noticed that the white shawl that
was crossed Quakerwise over her thin shoulders seemed like a counterpart
of his careful dress, that the white tresses that were beginning to show
among her black ones were almost like a reflection of his white hair. I
felt that in some curious way, although each had so distinct and strong
a personality, they were only perfect as a part of the character which
in their union formed a perfect whole. They stood erect and looked at us
with frank, kindly eyes; we all found to our surprise that we were
saying what we thought and felt, and not what we supposed we ought to
say.

As I talked and looked at them, the words that I had heard came back to
my mind. "His wife is the daughter of a murderer, and he has come up
from the lowest, vilest life." Some indistinct thought worked through my
mind whose only expression was a disconnected phrase: "I saw a new
heaven and a new earth."

In the years since then I have learned to know the story of Toyner and
his wife. Now that they are gone away from us, I will tell what I know.
His was a life which shows that a man cut off from all contact with his
brother-thinkers may still be worked upon by the great over-soul of
thought: his is the story of a weak man who lived a strong life in a
strength greater than his own.

CHAPTER II.

In the days when there were not many people in Fentown Falls, and when
much money was made by the lumber trade, Bartholomew Toyner's father
grew rich. He was a Scotchman, not without some education, and was
ambitious for his son; but he was a hard, ill-tempered man, and
consequently neither his example nor his precepts carried any weight
whatever with the son when he was grown. The mother, who had begun life
cheerfully and sensibly, showed the weakness of her character in that
she became habitually peevish. She had enough to make her so. All her
pleasure in life was centred in her son Bart. Bart came out of school to
lounge upon the streets, to smoke immoderately, and to drink such large
quantities of what went into the country by the name of "Jamaica," that
in a few years it came to pass that he was nearly always