“Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone”-- I could without a sigh “let the dead past bury its dead,” but the future which promised so much for me and mine--how could I bear to give it up? The attending physician, who gathered that I had met with some sudden business reverse, said soothingly: “Remember this line of Shakespeare: “‘Sweet are the uses of adversity,’ and this which Beaumont and Fletcher borrowed from Seneca: “‘Calamity is man’s true touchstone.’ This trouble, great though it be, may be like the heating in molten lead and quenching in cold brine which gives to steel its greatest hardness and most exquisite temper. Everything is for the best.” With this I could not agree. I am not sure that I agree with it yet. I replied, peevishly: “It is very easy for you to console me; to patch grief with proverbs. But I can quote you Shakespeare against himself: “‘’Tis all men’s office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man’s virtue, nor sufficiency, To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself.’” Pope says, ‘I never knew any man in my life who could not bear another’s misfortunes like a Christian.’ While I do believe that I should make the best of everything, I do not believe that everything is for the best. “‘Yet I argue not Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward.’” Estelle said, half-reprovingly, “‘If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy faith is small.’” “I never pretended to have faith. I never thought that I had any, except perhaps when none was needed. Faith is like courage; it must be born in one, or be cultivated by contact with danger. When there is no danger to test one’s faith, there is no means of knowing whether or not any has been born with one. Then when faith is most needed, it may be found entirely lacking.” With such thoughts and words our conversation continued until the physician, mindful of his patient’s physical welfare, signed to Estelle to leave me--which she did, pressing on my pallid forehead a soft, tender kiss that meant hope and love, confidence and reassurance. A soothing draught composed me to dreamless sleep, and when again I woke it was to see the love-light in my dear one’s eyes, patiently watching my restful slumber and awaiting my return to consciousness. Her gentle ministrations, as much as the doctor’s skill, restored health and strength to my enfeebled mind and body. We tacitly avoided the subject of my so-suddenly blasted ambitions, and talked of love and happy life together, in a pleasant uneventful future, such as had often engrossed our conversation before my eyes had seen from afar that promised land which I was never to enter.