wouldn't join it,
Aldous--our poor little Association!"

Aldous's strong lip quivered.

"Let me think of something I _did_ join in," he said.

Hallin's look shone on him with a wonderful affection.

"Was there anything else you didn't help in? I don't remember it. I've
dragged you into most things. You never minded failure. And I have not
had so much of it--not till this last. This has been failure--absolute
and complete."

But there was no darkening of expression. He sat quietly smiling.

"Do you suppose anybody who could look beyond the moment would dream of
calling it failure?" said Aldous, with difficulty.

Hallin shook his head gently, and was silent for a little time,
gathering strength and breath again.

"I ought to suffer"--he said, presently. "Last week I dreaded my own
feeling if I should fail or break down--more than the failure itself.
But since yesterday--last night--I have no more regrets. I see that my
power is gone--that if I were to live I could no longer carry on the
battle--or my old life. I am out of touch. Those whom I love and would
serve, put me aside. Those who invite me, I do not care to join. So I
drop--into the gulf--and the pageant rushes on. But the curious thing is
now--I have no suffering. And as to the future--do you remember Jowett
in the Introduction to the Phaedo--"

He feebly pointed to a book beside him, which Aldous took up. Hallin
guided him and he read--

"_Most persons when the last hour comes are resigned to the order of
nature and the will of God. They are not thinking of Dante's 'Inferno'
or 'Paradiso,' or of the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' Heaven and Hell are not
realities to them, but words or ideas_--_the outward symbols of some
great mystery, they hardly know what_."

"It is so with me," said Hallin, smiling, as, at his gesture, Aldous
laid the book aside; "yet not quite. To my _mind_, that mystery indeed
is all unknown and dark--but to the heart it seems unveiled--with the
heart, I see."

A little later Aldous was startled to hear him say, very clearly and
quickly:

"Do you remember that this is the fifth of October?"

Aldous drew his chair closer, that he might not raise his voice.

"Yes, Ned."

"Two years, wasn't it, to-day? Will you forgive me if I speak of her?"

"You shall say anything you will."

"Did you notice that piece of news I sent you, in my last letter to
Geneva? But of course you did. Did it please you?"

"Yes, I was glad of it," said Al