talked of our two selves, our trivial plans and doings.

"Tom left something to you," said Norah, rising, "not in his will, that
was only a few lines. He told me to give it to you, with his love."

She brought it to me. It was the picture he had always treasured, his
first success; a child looking on death; "The Riddle" he had named it.

We spoke of him, of his work, which since had come to be appraised at
truer value, for it was out of fashion while he lived.

"Was he a disappointed man, do you think?" I asked.

"No," answered Norah. "I am sure not. He was too fond of his work."

"But he dreamt of becoming a second Millet. He confessed it to me once.
And he died an engraver."

"But they were good engravings," smiled Norah.

"I remember a favourite saying of his," continued Norah, after a pause;
"I do not know whether it was original or not. 'The stars guide us. They
are not our goal.'"

"Ah, yes, we aim at the moon and--hit the currant bush."

"It is necessary always to allow for deflection," laughed Norah.
"Apparently it takes a would-be poet to write a successful comic opera."

"Ah, you do not understand!" I cried. "It was not mere ambition; cap
and bells or laurel wreath! that is small matter. I wanted to help. The
world's cry of pain, I used to hear it as a boy. I hear it yet. I meant
to help. They that are heavy laden. I hear their cry. They cry from dawn
to dawn and none heed them: we pass upon the other side. Man and woman,
child and beast. I hear their dumb cry in the night. The child's sob
in the silence, the man's fierce curse of wrong. The dog beneath the
vivisector's knife, the overdriven brute, the creature tortured for an
hour that a gourmet may enjoy an instant's pleasure; they cried to me.
The wrong and the sorrow and the pain, the long, low, endless moan God's
ears are weary of; I hear it day and night. I thought to help."

I had risen. She took my face between her quiet, cool hands.

"What do we know? We see but a corner of the scheme. This fortress
of laughter that a few of you have been set apart to guard--this
rallying-point for all the forces of joy and gladness! how do you know
it may not be the key to the whole battle! It is far removed from the
grand charges and you think yourself forgotten. Trust your leader, be
true to your post."

I looked into her sweet grey eyes.

"You always help me," I said.

"Do I?" she answered. "I am so glad."

She put her firm white hand in mine.