d--said the words were true.

"You do me more honour than I do myself," he said, not so lightly as he
meant to say it. "I do not care. I see nothing to care for."

"You refuse to see it--" Mr. Linden said gently and sorrowfully.

Dr. Harrison's brow darkened--it might be with pain, for Mr. Linden's
words were the echo of others he had listened to--not long ago. In a
moment he turned and spoke with an impulse--of bravado? Perhaps he
could not have defined, and his companion could not trace.

"I refuse to see nothing!--but I confess to you I see nothing
distinctly. What sort of an 'orbit' would you propose to me?"

The tone sounded frank, and certainly was not unkind. Mr. Linden's
answer was in few words--"'To them who by patient continuance in well
doing seek for glory and honour and immortality, eternal life'."

Dr. Harrison remained a little while with knitted brow looking down at
his hands, which certainly were in an order to need no examination.
Neither was he examining them. When he looked up again it was with the
frankness and kindliness both more defined. Perhaps, very strange to
his spirit, a little shame was at work there.

"Linden," he said, "I believe in you! and if ever I enter upon an orbit
of any sort, I'll take up yours. But--" said he relapsing into his
light tone, perhaps of intent,--"you know two forces are necessary to
keep a body going in one--and I assure you there is none, of any sort,
at present at work upon me!"

"You are mistaken," said Mr. Linden,--"there are two."

"Let's hear--" said the doctor without looking at him.

"In the first place your conscience, in the second your will."

"You have heard of such things as both getting stagnant for want of
use--haven't you?"

"I have heard of the one being half choked by the other," said Mr.
Linden:

"It's so warm this afternoon that I can't contradict you. What do you
want me to do, Linden?"

"Let conscience do its work--and then you do yours."

A minute's silence.

"You do me honour, to believe I have such a thing as a
conscience,"--said the doctor again a little bitterly. "I didn't use to
think it, myself."

He was unaware that it was that very ignored principle which had forced
him to make this speech.

"My dear friend--" Mr. Linden began, and he too paused, looking off
gravely towards the brightening horizon. "Then do yourself the honour
to let conscience have fair play," he went on presently,--"it is too
delicate a stream