so little beauty, reward, in his whole past. Once, thirty years before,
he had gone abroad for six weeks, and he remembered the trip with a
thrill of wonder that anything so lovely could have come into his sombre
life--the voyage, the bit of travel, the new countries, the old cities,
the expansion, broadening of mind he had felt for a time as its result.
More than all, the delight of the people whom he had met, the unused
experience of being understood at once, of light touch and easy
flexibility, possible, as he had not known before, with good and serious
qualities. One man, above all, he had never forgotten. It had been a
pleasant memory always to have known him, to have been friends with him
even, for he had felt to his own surprise and joy that something in him
attracted this man of men. He had followed the other's career, a career
full of success unabused, of power grandly used, of responsibility
lifted with a will. He stood over thousands and ruled rightly--a true
prince among men. Somewhat too broad, too free in his thinking--the old
clergyman deplored that fault--yet a man might not be perfect. It was
pleasant to know that this strong and good soul was in the world and was
happy; he had seen him once with his son, and the boy's fine, sensitive
face, his honest eyes, and pretty deference of manner, his pride, too,
in his distinguished father, were surely a guaranty of happiness. The
old man felt a sudden generous gladness that if some lives must be
wasted, yet some might be, like this man's whom he had once known, full
of beauty and service. It would be good if he might add a drop to the
cup of happiness which meant happiness to so many--and then he smiled at
his foolish thought. That he should think of helping that other--a man
of so little importance to help a man of so much! And suddenly again he
felt tears that welled up hotly.

He put his gray head, with its scanty, carefully brushed hair, back
against the support of the worn armchair, and shut his eyes to keep them