loved her all these weeks?"

"Since first I saw her."

"My friend!" Hamlen raised himself unsteadily in his weakness, refusing
assistance, until he stood upon his feet. Then supporting himself with
one hand, he raised the other to his forehead in salute.

"You, sir, are a great man!" he said with dramatic fervor. "You not only
possess ideals, but actually live up to them! A world that can produce
one such as you is entitled to my respect, and is a place worth living
in!"

"Cease!" Huntington cried, genuinely embarrassed by Hamlen's tribute.
"Leave me out of this, for this is your day. To rise superior to the
habit of twenty years, to let the world knock you down time after time,
and finally come up smiling with an acknowledgment that it was your
fault after all, to stand ready to pool issues with that world which you
have always considered your enemy, is an exhibition of character which
puts you so far beyond the rest of us that you couldn't see us if we
saluted you.--I thought my happiest moment came when I discovered
unexpectedly that Merry loved me; now you have taken me to heights
beyond.

"I believe you," Hamlen answered him, his voice weak from the strain of
the interview, but his eyes bright with excitement and his face
radiant,--"I believe every word you say. For one of your great
brotherhood to find himself at last means more to you than any personal
happiness,--such is the strength of the fetish! I wonder if the girl is
big enough to share you with your other idol!"

"Have no fears," Huntington laughed contentedly. "She will worship at
the shrine with devotion equal to my own, and my fellow-worshipers shall
bow the knee to her."

The nurse gave Huntington a reproving glance when she came for her
patient, but Hamlen would not permit even a suggestion that his friend
had been unmindful of his weakness.

"It's all right," he reassured her. "I know I'm excited, I know that
I've pulled too hard on my strength, but something has come to
me--inside here--which no doctor could ever give me. You'll see. Take me
away now and I'll be as docile as a child.--But, Huntington, please
telephone Marian that instead of coming to see me, I'd rather go to her.
I would prefer to tell her what I have to say down there where the trees
are cousins to my trees, and the language of the flowers can fill in the
words when I find my own speech inadequate.--She'll understand."

* * * * *

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