exempt. Thee seemed indeed a man of the world when jesting at the
table, but now I see thy true self Thee is right, Richard Morton; thee
can speak to me as to thy friend."

"I fear your surmise is true, Mrs. Yocomb; for in two instances to-day
have I caught glimpses of burdens heavier than mine." She looked at me
hastily, and her face grew pale. I relieved her by quietly continuing:

"Whether you have a burden on your heart or not, one thing I know to
be true--the burdened in heart or conscience would instinctively turn
to you. I am conscious that it is this vital difference between your
spirit and that of the world which leads me to speak as I do. Except
as we master and hold our own in the world, it informs us that we are
of little account--one of millions; and our burdens and sorrows are
treated as sickly sentimentalities. There is no isolation more perfect
than that of a man of the world among people of his own kind, with
whom manifestations of feeling are weaknesses, securing prompt
ridicule. Reticence, a shrewd alertness to the main chance of the
hour, and the spirit of the entire proverb, 'Every man for himself,'
become such fixed characteristics that I suppose there is danger that
the deepest springs in one's nature may dry up, and no Artesian shaft
of mercy or truth be able to find anything in a man's soul save arid
selfishness. In spite of all that conscience can say against me--and
it can say very much--I feel sure that I have not yet reached that
hopeless condition."

"No, Richard Morton, thee has not."

"I honestly hope I never may, and yet I fear it. Perhaps the turning-
point has come when I must resolutely look my old life and its