hat we are in doubt about ourselves, but sometimes,
like to-day, you understand, one finds oneself bitten by the sharp tooth
of the world, and a despair courses through the veins and blinds the
eyes, and then, in the midst of the bitterest throe, comes a great
visioning."

I heard her and understood, and my heart leapt as it had not done for
long. Think of it, Herbert, fifty-three and still young! When was it
that I last fluttered with joy? Ah, yes, that time the summer and the
woods had a great deal to do with it, and a few words spoken by a boy. I
think Barbara's majesty of attainment through vicarious breaking of
spirit a greater cause for rejoicing.

_And then, in the midst of the bitterest throe, came a great visioning._
When pain is good and to be thanked for, how good life is! By this alone
may you know the proportion and the value of the good of being.
Three-quarters of the world are broken spirited, but from out the
wreckage a thought-shape, and it is well. The Vision fastens upon us,
and what was full seems shrunken, what whole and of all time a passing
bit, an untraceable flash. And that is well, for the dream recalls the
hope, and the heart grows hardy with hoping and dreaming.

So Barbara.

And you? You do not repine because of these things. Let the Grand Mujik
mutter a thousand heresies, let three-quarters of the world accept and
live them, you would not think the unaspiring three-quarters
broken-spirited. You would hail them right practical. And if you held a
thought as firmly as your sister holds the thought of love, and you
found yourself alone in your esteem of it, you would part from it and go
over to the others. You would not be the fanatic your sister is, to stay
so much the closer by it that of necessity she must doubt her own
allegiance, fearing in her devotion that, without knowing it, she, too,
is cold and but half alive. You would not see visions that would put
your best to shame. The thought-shape of the more you could be, were you
and the whole world finer and greater, would not walk before you. You
would rest content and assured, and--I regret your assurance.

Always yours,
DANE KEMPTON.

VII

FROM HERBERT WACE TO DANE KEMPTON

THE RIDGE,
BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA.
December 6, 19--.

No, I am not in love. I am very thankful that I am not. I pride myself
on the fact. As you say, I may not be adjusting my life artistically to
its environment (there is room for discussion there