urging upon taking him home in their carriage;
Clara kissed him, Mrs. Van Kirk introduced
him to her lady acquaintances as "our friend,
Mr. Birch," and Edith held his hand so long in
hers that he came near losing his presence of
mind and telling her then and there that he
loved her. As his eyes rested on her, they
became suddenly suffused with tears, and a vast
bewildering happiness vibrated through his
frame. At last he tore himself away and wandered
aimlessly through the long, lonely streets.
Why could he not tell Edith that he loved her?
Was there any disgrace in loving? This heavenly
passion which so suddenly had transfused
his being, and year by year deadened the
substance of his old self, creating in its stead
something new and wild and strange which he
never could know, but still held infinitely dear
--had it been sent to him merely as a scourge to
test his capacity for suffering?

Once, while he was a child, his mother had
told him that somewhere in this wide world
there lived a maiden whom God had created
for him, and for him alone, and when he should
see her, he should love her, and his life should
thenceforth be all for her. It had hardly
occurred to him, then, to question whether she
would love him in return, it had appeared so
very natural that she should. Now he had