astonishing how disease clips a man from the
artificialities of the world! Lying lonely upon his bed, moaning,
writhing, suffering, his soul joins on to the universe of souls by only
natural bonds. The factitious ties of wealth, of place, of reputation,
vanish from his bleared eyes; and the earnest heart, deep under all,
craves only heartiness!

The old craving of the office silence comes back,--not with the proud
wish only of being a protector, but--of being protected. And whatever
may be the trust in that beneficent Power who "chasteneth whom he
loveth," there is yet an earnest, human yearning toward some one, whose
love--most, and whose duty--least, would call her to your side; whose
soft hands would cool the fever of yours, whose step would wake a throb
of joy, whose voice would tie you to life, and whose presence would make
the worst of Death--an Adieu!

As you gain strength once more, you go back to Nelly's home. Her
kindness does not falter; every care and attention belong to you there.
Again your eye rests upon that figure of Madge, and upon her face,
wearing an even gentler expression as she sees you sitting pale and
feeble by the old hearth-stone. She brings flowers--for Nelly: you beg
Nelly to place them upon the little table at your side. It is as yet the
only taste of the country that you can enjoy. You love those flowers.

After a time you grow strong, and walk in the fields. You linger until
nightfall. You pass by the cottage where Madge lives. It is your
pleasantest walk. The trees are greenest in that direction; the shadows
are softest; the flowers are thickest.

It is strange--this feeling in you. It is not the feeling you had for
Laura Dalton. It does not even remind of that. That was an impulse, but
this is growth. That was strong, but this is strength. You catch sight
of her little notes to Nelly; you read them over and over; you treasure
them; you learn them by heart. There is something in the very writing
that touches you.

You bid her adieu with tones of kindness that tremble,--and that meet a
half-trembling tone in reply. She is very good.

----If it were not too late!

IV.

_Manly Love._

And shall pride yield at length!

----Pride!--and what has love to do with pride? Let us see how it is.

Madge is poor; she is humble. You are rich; you are a man of the world;
you are met respectfully by the veterans of fashion; you have gained
perhaps a kind of brilliancy of position.