water, and fixes itself to its old acquaintance, the helve. Now, had he
wished to coach it up to heaven in a fiery chariot like Elias, be as rich
as Job, strong as Samson, and beautiful as Absalom, would he have
obtained the wish, do you think? In truth, my friend, I question
it very much."

"I can't comprehend what you mean. Sad stuff you are talking."

"I cannot help that; 'Rabelais is to be blamed for it. I am quoting him,
and it is to be found in his Prologue to the Chapters on the 'Moderation
of Wishes.' And a propos of 'moderate wishes in point of hatchet,' I
want you to understand that I ask but little from Heaven. I fling but
the helve after the hatchet that has sunk into the silent stream. I want
the other half of the weapon that is buried fathom deep, and for want of
which the thick woods darken round me by the Sacred River, and I can
catch not a glimpse of the stars."

"In plain English," said Audley Egerton, "you want--" he stopped short,
puzzled.

"I want my purpose and my will, and my old character, and the nature God
gave me. I want the half of my soul which has fallen from me. I want
such love as may replace to me the vanished affections. Reason not,--I
throw the helve after the hatchet."




CHAPTER XXI.