There was a short silence. Knowles put his hand gently on the
other's arm.

"Stephen," he hesitated, "you're a stronger man than I. I know
what you are; I've watched you from a boy. But you're wrong
here. I'm an old man. There's not much I know in life,--enough
to madden me. But I do know there's something stronger,--some
God outside of the mean devil they call `Me.' You'll learn it,
boy. There's an old story of a man like you and the rest of your
sect, and of the vile, mean, crawling things that God sent to
bring him down. There are such things yet. Mean passions in
your divine soul, low, selfish things, that will get the better
of you, show you what you are. You'll do all that man can do.
But they are coming, Stephen Holmes! they're coming!"

He stopped, startled. For Holmes had turned abruptly, glancing
over at the city with a strange wistfulness. It was over in a
moment. He resumed the slow, controlling walk beside him. They
went on in silence into town, and when they did speak, it was on
indifferent subjects, not referring to the last. The Doctor's
heat, as it usually did, boiled out in spasms on trifles. Once
he stumped his toe, and, I am sorry to say, swore roundly about
it, just as he would have done in the new Arcadia, if one of the
jail-birds comprising that colony had been ungrateful for his
advantages. Philanthropists, for some curious reason, are not
the most amiable members of small families.

He gave Holmes the roll of parchment he had in his pocket,
looking keenly at him, as he did so, but only saying, that, if he
meant to sign it, it would be done to-morrow. As Holmes took it,