agerly; "just what
I am studying for day and night!"

"But you must use moderation," said Mr. Britton, smiling at the younger
man's enthusiasm; "you are young, you have years before you in which to
do this work, and this constant study, night and day, added to your
regular routine work, is too much for you. You are looking fagged
already."

"If I am, it is not the work that is fagging me," Darrell replied,
quickly, his tones becoming excited; "Mr. Britton, I must work; I must
accomplish all I can for two reasons. You say I have years before me in
which to do this work. God knows I hope I haven't got to work years like
this,--only half alive, you might say,--and when the change comes, if it
ever does, you know, of course, I cannot and would not remain here."

"I understand you would not remain here," said Mr. Britton slowly, and
laying his hand soothingly on the arm of his agitated companion, "but
you can readily see that not only your education, but your natural trend
of thought, is along these lines; therefore, when you are fully restored
to your normal self you will be the more--not the less--interested in
these things, and I predict that no matter when the time comes for you
to leave, you will, after a while, return to continue this same line of
work amid the same surroundings, but, we hope, under far happier
conditions."

Darrell shook his head slowly. "It does not seem to me that I would ever
wish to return to a place where I had suffered as I have here."

Mr. Britton smiled, one of his slow, sad, sweet smiles that Darrell
loved to watch, that seemed to dawn in his eyes and gradually to spread
until every feature was irradiated with a tender, beneficent light.

"I once thought as you do," he said, gently, "but after years of
wandering, I find that the place most sacred to me now is that hallowed
by the bitterest agony of my life."

Without replying Darrell unconsciously drew nearer to his friend, and a
brief silence followed, broken by Mr. Britton, who inquired, in a
lighter tone,--

"What is the other reason for your constant application to your work?
You said there were two."

Darrell bowed his head upon his hands as he answered in a low,
despairing tone,--

"To stop thinking, thinking, thinking; it will drive me mad!"

"I have been there, my boy; I know," Mr. Britton responded; then, after
a pause, he continued:

"Something in the tenor of your last letter made me anxious to come to
you. I though