“Forgive me,” he said; “I spoke like a brute. I did not know what I was saying. But, O Bride! why will not you and such as you help us? Why will you stand aloof with pitying scorn when the world and humanity are crying aloud for your sympathy and help?” “Not scorn,” answered Bride gently, “not scorn; but pity--yes. I often do feel pity for you, Eustace, because I know that you will be so bitterly disappointed. You want to make men better and happier and more prosperous; and more prosperous you may make them by improved legislation. Many will be content when that is done, but you will not. Your aim goes higher. You want to see them raised out of their degradation--to see them ennobled and made truly better. And you will be so bitterly disappointed! I know you will; and I pity you often from the bottom of my heart; but indeed I do not scorn you. I know you--and--love you far too much for that.” She spoke with quiet fearlessness, and used the word in an impersonal sense that Eustace could not misunderstand. He bent forward and lifted the hand he held to his lips, and she did not shrink away, for it was not the action of a lover, and she felt it and was not afraid. Nor was the salute in itself altogether obsolete in those days, though growing rarer and rarer. “You shall teach me the knowledge in which I am lacking,” he said ardently; but she slightly shook her head. “I am afraid not, Eustace; I am afraid the task would be too hard. You cannot see with my eyes, nor I with yours. You think all the way through that the end justifies the means. I hold that no lasting good can be, or ever has been done when unworthy and time-serving means have been employed. A man must be pure in heart before he can successfully fight the good fight against evil.” “You mean that I must give up hoping to sit in Parliament?” said Eustace hotly, unable to help applying the doctrine to the matter most near his heart. “No, I do not mean that. I should like to see you there; but I would rather you fought your seat like other men, and did not profit by the very abuse you seek to overthrow.” “Seats are only won by wading through a sink of iniquity!” said Eustace bitterly; and Bride was silent, her face growing sternly sorrowful. Her heart often grew heavy within her as she realised the terrible wickedness of the great world without. “No seat is worth that,” she said softly; but Eustace could not agree with her. “We must purify legislation; we must so work that a new and perfect system rises from the ashes of the old!” he cried, his quick enthusiasm firing at the thought. “Men can and shall be raised. We shall one day see the dawn of a brighter and purer day. This is but the hour of darkness which precedes the dawn. The brightness of the day will atone for all. You will live to see a new world yet, Bride!”