,
unable to control him!"

"The Reverend Manetho Glyphie, my cousin by adoption,--and sometimes a
devil!" muttered Balder, musingly. "I had forgotten him."

People are more prone to err in fancying themselves righteous, than
the reverse; nevertheless, the course and limits of self-deception are
indefinite. It is within possibility for a man to believe himself
wicked, while his actual conduct is ridiculously blameless, even
praiseworthy! Although intending to mislead Balder, Manetho's
utterances were true to a degree unsuspected by himself. He was more
true than had he tried to be so, because truth lay too profound for
his recognition!

"A shallower man," he resumed, "would bear a grudge against the hand
that clutched his throat; but I own no relationship to the madman you
chastised. And there are deep reasons why I must set your father's son
above all other men in my regard."

"My father seldom spoke of you, and never as of an especial friend,"
interposed the ingenuous Balder.

"He knew not my feeling towards him, nor would he have comprehended
it. It is a thing I myself can scarce understand. To the outward eye
there is juster cause for hatred than for love.

"I will speak openly to you what has hitherto lain between my heart
and God. Before Thor saw your mother, I had loved her. My life's hope
was to marry her. Thor came,--and my hope lingered and died. For it,
was no resurrection." Here Manetho broke all at once into sobs,
covering his face with his hands; and when he continued, his voice was
softened with tears.

"Thor called her to him, and she gladly went. He stormed and carried
with ease the fortress which, at best, I could hope only slowly to
undermine. She loved him as women love a conqueror; she might have
yielded me, at most, the grace of a condescending queen. I kept
silence: to whom could I speak? I had felt great ambitions,--to become
honored and famous,--to preach the gospel as it had not yet been
preached,--all ambitions that a lover may feel. But the tree died for
lack of nourishment. See what is left!"

He opened out his arms with a gesture wanting neither in pathos nor
dignity. Balder could not but sympathize with what he felt to be a
genuine emotion.

"Amidst the ruins of my Memphis, I kept silence. I hated--myself! for
my powerlessness to keep her. In my hours of madness I hated her too,
and him; but that was madness indeed! Deeper down was a sanity that
loved him. Since he had made my