it affects; still the melancholy Indian walked before his tent, his
hands clasped behind him, his chin in the beard on his breast. Let us
presume to follow his reflections.

"Fifty years! A lifetime to all but me. Lord, how heavy is thy hand when
thou art in anger!"

He drew a long breath, and groaned.

"Fifty years! That they are gone, let those mourn to whom time is
measured in scanty dole."

He became retrospective.

"The going to Cipango was like leaving the world. War had yielded to
contentions about religion. I wearied of them also. My curse is to weary
of everything. I wonder if the happiness found in the affection of women
is more lasting?"

He pursued the thought awhile, finishing with a resolution.

"If the opportunity comes my way, I will try it. I remember yet the
mother of my Lael, though I did not understand the measure of the
happiness she brought me until she died."

He returned then to the first subject.

"When will men learn that faith is a natural impulse, and pure religion
but faith refined of doubt?"