ide. Poor fool!"

"If you pity, you might find it in your heart to forgive."

"My attitude is assured. We will call it one of mere indifference. You
made up that row over the gate-post when his first child died, didn't
you?"

"Yes, yes. We shall be friendly--we must be, if only for the sake of the
memory of Chris. You and I are frank to-day. But you saw long ago what I
tried to hide, so it is no news to you. You will understand. When Hicks
died I thought perhaps after years--but that's over now. She 's gone."

"Didn't you know? She 's back again."

"Back! Good God!"

John laughed at his brother's profound agitation.

"Like as not you'd see her if you went over Rushford Bridge. She 's back
with her mother. Queer devils, all of them; but I suppose you can have
her for the asking now if you couldn't before. Damnably like her
brother she is. She passed me two days ago, and looked at me as if I was
transparent, or a mere shadow hiding something else."

A rush of feeling overwhelmed Martin before this tremendous news. He
could not trust himself to speak. Then a great hope wrestled with him
and conquered. In his own exaltation he desired to see all whom he loved
equally lifted up towards happiness.

"I wish to Heaven you would open your eyes and raise them from your dogs
and find a wife, John."

"Ah! We all want the world to be a pretty fairy tale for our friends.
You scent your own luck ahead, and wish me to be lucky too. I ought to
thank you for that; but, instead, I'll give you some advice. Don't
bother yourself with the welfare of others; to do that is to ruin your
own peace of mind and court more trouble than your share. Every
big-hearted man is infernally miserable--he can't help it. The only
philosopher's stone is a stone heart; that is what the world 's taught
me."

"Never! You're echoing somebody else, not yourself, I'll swear. I know
you better. We must see much of each other in the future. I shall buy a
little trap that I may drive often to the Red House. And I should like
to dedicate my book to you, if you would take it as a compliment."

"No, no; give it to somebody who may be able to serve you. I'm a fool in
such things and know no more about the old stones than the foxes and
rabbits that burrow among them. Come, I must get home. I'm glad you have
returned, though I hated you when you supported them against me; but
then love of family 's a mere ghost against love of women. Besides, how
seldom it is