a glow of impassioned emotion had written a
little poem on the theme, in a locked notebook, to which he confided
his inmost thoughts. He could recall some of the poor stanzas still,
so worthless in expression, yet with so fiery a heart.

The thought of the long intervening years came back to Hugh with a
sense of wonder and gratitude. He had half expected then, he
remembered, that some great experience would perhaps come to him, and
lift him out of his shadowed thoughts, his vague regrets. That great
experience had not befallen him, but how far more wisely and tenderly
he had been dealt with instead! Experience had been lavished upon him;
he had gained interest, he had practised activity, and he had found
patience and hope by the way. He knew no more than he knew then of the
great and dim design that lay behind the world, and now he hardly
desired to know. He had been led, he had been guided, with a perfect
tenderness, a deliberate love. The only lost hours, after all, had
been the hours which he had given to anxiety and doubt, to ambition and
desire. When the moment had come, which he had heavily anticipated,
there had never been any question as to how he should act; and yet he
had not been a mere puppet moved by forces outside his control. He
could not harmonise the sense of guidance with the sense of freedom,
and yet both had undoubtedly been there. He had been dealt with both
frankly and tenderly; not saved from fruitful mistakes, not forbidden
to wander; and yet his mistakes had never been permitted to be
irreparable, his wanderings had taught him to desire the road rather
than to dread the desert.

A great sense of tranquillity and peace settled down upon his spirit.
He cast himself in an utter dependence upon the mighty will of the
Father; and in that calm of thought his little cares, and they were
many, faded like wreaths of steam cast abroad upon the air. To be
sincere and loving and quiet, that was the ineffable secret; not to
scheme for fame, or influence, or even for usefulness; to receive as in
a channel the strength and sweetness of God.

A bird hidden in a dark yew-tree began softly to flute, in that still
afternoon, a little song that seemed like a prayer for bright days and
leafy trees and embowered greenness; a prayer that should be certainly
answered, and the fulfilment of which should be dearer for the delay.
Hugh knew in that moment that the life he had lived and would live was,
in its