The older woman stood looking into the fire; then slowly and measuredly
she said, "There are times, in life, when everything seems dark, when
the brain reels, and we cannot see that there is anything but death.
But, if we wait long enough, after long, long years, calm comes. It may
be we cannot say it was well; but we are contented, we accept the past.
The struggle is ended. That day may come for you, perhaps sooner than
you think." She spoke slowly and with difficulty.

"No, it can never come for me. If once I have loved a thing, I love it
for ever. I can never forget."

"Love is not the only end in life. There are other things to live for."

"Oh, yes, for you! To me love is everything!"

"Now, you must go, dear."

The younger woman stood up. "It has been such a comfort to talk to you.
I think I should have killed myself if I had not come. You help me so. I
shall always be grateful to you."

The older woman took her hand.

"I want to ask something of you."

"What is it?"

"I cannot quite explain to you. You will not understand. But there are
times when something more terrible can come into a life than it should
lose what it loves. If you have had a dream of what life ought to be,
and you try to make it real, and you fail; and something you have killed
out in your heart for long years wakes up and cries, 'Let each man play
his own game, and care nothing for the hand of his fellow! Each man for
himself. So the game must be played!' and you doubt all you have lived
for, and the ground seems washing out under your feet--." She paused.
"Such a time has come to me now. If you would promise me that if ever
another woman comes to seek your help, you will give it to her, and try
to love her for my sake, I think it will help me. I think I should be
able to keep my faith."

"Oh, I will do anything you ask me to. You are so good and great."

"Oh, good and great!--if you knew! Now go, dear."

"I have not kept you from your work, have I?"

"No; I have not been working lately. Good-by, dear."

The younger woman went; and the elder knelt down by the chair, and
wailed like a little child when you have struck it and it does not dare
to cry loud.

A year after; it was early spring again.

The woman sat at her desk writing; behind her the fire burnt brightly.
She was writing a leading article on the causes which in differing
peoples lead to the adoption of Free Trade or Protectionist principles.

The woman wrote on