irl. His heart ached, as
if it were Clemency's upstairs, lying miserably asleep under the
influence of the drug, which alone could protect her from indescribable
pain. His mind projected itself into the future, and realized the
possibility of such suffering for her, and for himself. The honey-sting
of pain, which love has, stung him sharply.

Gordon seemed to divine his thoughts. "God grant that you may never have
to undergo what I am undergoing, boy," he said. Then he added, "It was
in poor Clara's blood, her mother before her died the same way. Clemency
comes, on her mother's side at least, of a healthy race, morally and
physically, although the nervous system is oversensitive. If my poor
sister had been happy, she would have been alive to-day. And as far as I
know of the other side, there was perfect physical health, although he
had that abnormal lack of moral sense that led one to dream of
possession. Did you notice how much less evil he looked when he was
dead, even with that frightfully disfigured face?"

"Yes."

"There are strange things in this world," said Gordon with gloomy
reflection, "or else simple things which we are strange not to believe.
Sometimes I think people will have to take to the Bible again in that
literal sense in which so many are now inclined to disregard it. Well,
Elliot, I honestly feel that you have nothing to fear in taking poor
little Clemency. I should tell you if I thought otherwise. She will
make you happy, and I can think of no reason to warn you concerning any
possible lapses, in either her physical or her moral health, and I have
had her in my charge since she first drew the breath of life. Come, my
son, it is late, and we have a great deal to do to-morrow. This awful
business has made me neglect patients. I have to see Clara again, and
get what rest I can." Gordon looked older and wearier than James had
ever seen him, as he bade him good-night, old and weary as he had often
seen him look. A sudden alarm for Gordon himself came over him. He
wondered, after he had entered, his room, if he were not strained past
endurance. He recalled his own father's healthy, ruddy face, and Gordon
was no older.

He lay awake a while thinking anxiously of Gordon, then his own happy
future blazoned itself before him, and he dreamed awake, and dreamed
asleep, of himself and Clemency, in that future, whose golden vistas had
no end, so far as his young eyes could see. The sense of relief from
anxie