ave been his, only that he had turned his back
upon it, crying out childishly for a shadowy happiness? Did she mutter
to herself also, "Oh, the blindness of these men!"?

There is an old saying, greatly credited by the generality of people,
that hearts are often caught at the rebound,--that in their painful
tossings from uneven heights and depths, and that sad swinging over
uncertain abysses, some are suddenly attracted and held fast; and
there is sufficient proof to warrant the truth of this adage.

The measurements of pain are unequal: different natures hold different
capacities. A trouble that seems very real at the time, and full of
stings, may be found later on to be largely alloyed by wounded
self-love and frustrated vanity. Sound it with the plumb-line of
experience, of time, of wakening hopefulness, and it may sink fathoms,
and by and by end in nothingness, or perhaps more truly in just a
sense of salt bitterness between the teeth, as when one plunges in a
waning tide.

Not that Archie realized all this as he paced his room that night: no;
he was very strangely moved and excited. Something, he knew not what,
had again stirred the monotony of his life. He had been sick and sad
for a long time; for men are like children, and fret sometimes after
the unattainable, if their hearts be set upon it. And yet, though he
forbore to question himself too closely that night, how much of his
pain had been due to wounded vanity and crossed wilfulness!

It was long before he could sleep, for the sudden broadening of the
prospective of his future kept him wide awake and restless. It was as
though he had been straining his eyes to look down a long, gray vista,
where he saw things dimly, and that suddenly there was a low light on
the horizon,--not brilliant, not even clear; but it spoke of
approaching daybreak. By and by the path would be more plainly
visible.

There was great excitement at the Friary on the next day. They had
found it hard to get rid of Dick the previous night; but Sir Harry,
who read his aunt's tired face rightly, had carried him off almost by
sheer force, after a lengthy leave-taking with Nan in the passage.

It was only Mrs. Challoner who was tired. Poor woman! she was fairly
worn out by the violence of her conflicting feeling,--by sympathy with
Nan in her happiness, with pleasure in Dick's demonstrative joy, and
sorrow at the thought of losing her child. The girl herself was far
too much excited for sl