st always be a lot of
wreckage, of waste, and refuse humanity. The inauguration of each
new system, each new reform--religious, political, educational,
economic--practically they're all in the same boat--let alone the
inevitable breakdown or petering out of each, necessarily produces a
fresh crop of such waste and refuse material. And in that a man like
myself, who does not aspire to cure or to construct, but merely to
alleviate and to pick up the pieces, finds his chance."

And Honoria listened musing--approved, enthusiasm gaining her; yet
protested--since, even while she admired, she rebelled a little on his
account, and for his sake.

"But it is rather a hard life, surely Richard," she said, "which you
propose to yourself? Always the pieces, the thing broken and spoiled,
never the thing in its beauty, full of promise, and whole!"

"It is less hard for me than for most," he answered, "or should be so.
After all, I am to the manner born--a bit of human wreckage myself,
with which, but for the accident of wealth, things would have gone
pretty badly. I used to be horribly scared sometimes, as a small boy,
thinking to what uses I might be put if the kindly, golden rampart ever
gave."

He became silent. As for Honoria, she had neither courage to look at,
nor answer, him just then.

"And you see, I'm absolutely free," he added presently.--"I am alone,
always shall be so. If the life is hard, I ask no one to share it, so I
may make it what I like."

"Oh! no, no--you misunderstand, Richard! I didn't mean that," Honoria
cried quickly, half under her breath.

Again he looked at her, smiling.

"Didn't you? All the kinder of you," he said.

Thereupon regret, almost intolerable in its poignancy, invaded Miss St.
Quentin that she would have to go away, to go back to the world and all
the foolish obtaining fashions of it; that she would have to take that
preeminently well-cushioned and luxurious winter's journey to Cairo.
She longed inexpressibly to remain here, to assist in these experiments
made in the name of Holy Charity. She longed inexpressibly to---- And
there Honoria paused, even in thought. Yet she glanced at the young man
riding beside her--at the handsome profile, still and set in outline,
the suggestion--it was no more--of a scar running downward across the
left cheek, at the well-made, upright, broad-shouldered figure, and
then at the saddle, peaked, back and front, with oddly-shaped
appendages to it resembl