which indeed did
not despond at all then, though it felt the weight of life's
undertakings and drawbacks. And the warm rain, and yellow,
sun-coloured mist of this April day, had no likeness to the
cold, pitiless, pelting December storm. Yet passing all the
times between, his mind went back constantly to that first
one. He felt over again, though as in a dream, its steps of
loneliness and heart-sinking -- its misty looking forward -- and
most especially that Bible word '_Now_' -- which his little
sister's finger had pointed out to him. He remembered how
constantly that day it came back to him in everything he
looked at, -- from the hills, from the river, from the beat of
the horses' hoofs, from the falling rain. 'Now' -- 'now' -- he
remembered how he had felt it that day; he had almost
forgotten it since; but now it came up again to his mind as if
that day had been but yesterday. What brought it there? Was it
the unrecognized, unallowed sense, that the one of all the
world who most longed to have him obey that word, might be to-
day beyond seeing him obey it -- for ever? Was it possibly,
that passing over the bridge of Mirza's vision he suddenly saw
himself by the side of one of the open trap-doors, and felt
that some stay, some security he needed, before his own foot
should open one for itself? He did not ask; he did not try to
order the confused sweep of feeling which for the time passed
over him; one dread idea for the time held mastery of all
others, and kept that day's ride all on the edge of that open
trap-door. Whose foot had gone down there? -- And under that
thought, -- woven in with the various tapestry of shower and
sunshine, meadow and hillside, that clothed his day's journey
to the sense, -- were the images of that day in December -- that
final leaving of home and his mother, that rainy cold ride on
the stage-coach, Winnie's open Bible, and the 'Now,' to which
her finger, his mother's prayers, and his own conscience, had
pointed all the day long.

It made no difference, that as they went on, this April day
changed from rain and mist to the most brilliant sunshine. The
mists rolled away, down the river and along the gulleys of the
mountains; the clouds scattered from off the blue sky, which
looked down clear, fair, and soft, as if Mirza's bridge were
never under it. The little puddles of water sparkled in the
sunshine and reflected the blue; the roads made haste to dry;
the softest of spring airs wafted