n possibly be anything except a benefit,
because God orders all happenings, and God loves us. There you have
Judith's creed; and upon my word, I believe there is a great deal to be
said for it."

"And this is you," she cried--"you who wrote of Troilus and Timon!"

"I lived all that," he replied--"I lived it, and so for a long while I
believed in the existence of wickedness. To-day I have lost many
illusions, madam, and that ranks among them. I never knew a wicked
person. I question if anybody ever did. Undoubtedly short-sighted
people exist who have floundered into ill-doing; but it proves always
to have been on account of either cowardice or folly, and never because
of malevolence; and, in consequence, their sorry pickle should demand
commiseration far more loudly than our blame. In short, I find
humanity to be both a weaker and a better-meaning race than I had
suspected. And so, I make what you call 'sugar-candy dolls,' because I
very potently believe that all of us are sweet at heart. Oh no! men
lack an innate aptitude for sinning; and at worst, we frenziedly
attempt our misdemeanors just as a sheep retaliates on its pursuers.
This much, at least, has Judith taught me."

The woman murmured: "Eh, you are luckier than I. I had a son. He was
borne of my anguish, he was fed and tended by me, and he was dependent
on me in all things." She said, with a half-sob, "My poet, he was so
little and so helpless! Now he is dead."

"My dear, my dear!" he cried, and he took both her hands. "I also had
a son. He would have been a man by this."

They stood thus for a while. And then he smiled.

"I ask your pardon. I had forgotten that you hate to touch my hands.
I know--they are too moist and flabby. I always knew that you thought
that. Well! Hamnet died. I grieved. That is a trivial thing to say.
But you also have seen your own flesh lying in a coffin so small that
even my soft hands could lift it. So you will comprehend. To-day I
find that the roughest winds abate with time. Hatred and self-seeking
and mischance and, above all, the frailties innate in us--these buffet
us for a while, and we are puzzled, and we demand of God, as Job did,
why is this permitted? And then as the hair dwindles, the wit grows."

"Oh, yes, with age we take a slackening hold upon events; we let all
happenings go by more lightly; and we even concede the universe not to
be under any actual bond to be intelligible. Yes, that i