if I am compelled to do so without hope."

David resumed his walk for a moment, and then pausing again before his
friend, said, "Mantel, a few years ago my soul was so sensitive to truth
and duty that I was accustomed to regard its intuitions as the will of
God revealed to me in some sort of supernatural way. I acted on the
impulses of my heart without the slightest question or hesitation, and
during that entire period of my life I cannot remember that I was ever
for a single time seriously mistaken or misled. While I obeyed those
intuitions and followed that mysterious light, I was happy. When I
turned my back on that light it ceased to shine. It has been more than
two years since I have thought I heard the voice of God or felt any
assurance that I was in the path of duty. But now the departed vision
has returned! I have had as clear a perception of my duty as was ever
vouchsafed me in the old sweet days, and I shall obey it if it costs me
my life."

So deep was his earnestness that Mantel seemed to catch his enthusiasm
and be convinced. But in another instant the old mocking smile had
returned.

"Would you be so tractable and obedient if the old beggar were in better
health?" he said, opening and shutting the leaves of a book which was
lying on the table, and looking out from under half-lifted eyelids.

At this insinuation David winced, and for a moment seemed about to
resent it. But he restrained himself and replied gently, "The same
distrust of my motives has arisen in my own mind. I more than half
suspect that if, as you say, the old beggar were young and strong, my
heart would fail me. But the knowledge that I could not do my duty if