em. Believe that I do this without regret, and freely enjoy the
happiness that comes to you."

"I will, but not as I once should; for though I feel that you need
neither sympathy nor pity, still, I seem to take so much and leave you
nothing."

"You leave me myself, better and humbler than before. In the fierce half
hour I lived not long ago, I think a great and needful change was
wrought in me. All lives are full of such, coming when least looked for,
working out the end through unexpected means. The restless, domineering
devil that haunted me was cast out then; and during the quiet time that
followed a new spirit entered in and took possession."

"What is it, Adam?"

"I cannot tell, yet I welcome it. This peaceful mood may not last
perhaps, but it brings me that rare moment--pity that it is so rare, and
but a moment--when we seem to see temptation at our feet; when we are
conscious of a willingness to leave all in God's hand, ready for
whatever He may send; feeling that whether it be suffering or joy we
shall see the Giver in the gift, and when He calls can answer cheerfully
'Lord here am I.'"

It _was_ a rare moment, and in it Moor for the first time clearly saw
the desire and design of his friend's life; saw it because it was
accomplished, and for the instant Adam Warwick was what he aspired to
be. A goodly man, whose stalwart body seemed a fit home for a strong
soul, wise with the wisdom of a deep experience, genial with the virtues
of an upright life, devout with that humble yet valiant piety which
comes through hard-won victories over "the world, the flesh, and the
devil." Despite the hope that warmed his heart, Moor felt poor beside
him, as a new reverence warmed the old affection. His face showed it
though he did not speak, and Warwick laid an arm about his shoulders as
he had often done of late when they were alone, drawing him gently on
again, as he said, with a touch of playfulness to set both at ease--

"Tell me your plans, 'my cup of gold,' and let me lend a hand toward
filling you brimful of happiness. You are going home?"

"At once; you also."

"Is it best?"

"Yes; you came for me, I stay for you, and Sylvia waits for both."

"She says nothing of me in this short, sweet note of hers;" and Warwick
smoothed it carefully in his large hand, eyeing it as if he wished there
were some little word for him.

"True, but in the few letters she has written there always comes a
message to you, though you