ing of bloody visions, while
the restful pool in the woods tempted him to its cool rest. For a moment
he gave way to the thought that all had ended for him on earth. Then he
braced himself for his fight, went down to chat cheerfully with Martha,
and ate her tasty breakfast with relish. He saw that his manner pleased
the simple heart, the strong, heroic mother, the guardian of so many
graves.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ROAD TO NOTHINGNESS.

"Whatever trouble you're a-sufferin' from," said Martha, as he was
going, "I can tell you one sure thing about it. Time changes it so's you
wouldn't think it was the same trouble a year afterwards. Now, if you
wait, and have patience, and don't do anything one way or another for a
month, you'll be real glad you waited. Once I would have been glad to
die the minute after sorrow came. Now I'm glad I didn't die, for I've
learned to see things different somehow."

His heart was being gnawed at that moment by horrible pain, but he
caught the force of her words and took his resolve against the seduction
of the pool, that lay now in his vision, as beautiful as a window of
heaven.

"I've come to the same thought," he answered. "I'll not do anything for
a month anyway, unless it's something very wise and good. But I'm going
now to think the matter over by myself, and I know that you have done me
great service in helping me to look at my sorrows rightly."

She smiled her thanks and watched him as he struck out for the hills two
miles away. Often had her dear sons left the door for the same walk, and
she had watched them with such love and pride. Oh, life, life!

By the pool which tempted him so strongly Horace sat down to study the
problem of his future.

"You are one solution of it," he thought, as he smiled on its beautiful
waters. "All others failing to please, you are here, sure, definite,
soft as a bed, tender as Martha, lovely as a dream. There will be no
vulgar outcry when you untie the knot of woe. And because I am sure of
you, and have such confidence in you, I can sit here and defy your
present charm."

He felt indeed that he was strong again in spite of pain. As one in
darkness, longing for the light, might see afar the faint glint of the
dawn, he had caught a glimpse of hope in the peace which came to him in
Martha's cottage. It could come again. In its light he knew that he
could look upon the past with calmness, and feel no terror even at the
name of Sonia. He would enc