I never fully knew until after his death how truly Wolffert was one of the Prophets. I often think of him with his high aim to better the whole human race, inspired by a passion for his own people to extend his ministration to all mankind, cast out by those he labored for; denying that he was a Christian, and yet dying a Christian death in the act of supplicating for those who slew him. I owe him a great debt for teaching me many things, but chiefly for the knowledge that the future of the race rests on the whole people and its process depends on each one, however he may love his own, working to the death for all. He opened my eyes to the fact that every man who contributes to the common good of mankind is one of the chosen people and that the fundamental law is to do good to mankind. I discovered that John Marvel knew he was in love with Eleanor Leigh, though how he knew it I never learned. "He never told her," he said, "but died with it locked in his heart--as was best," he added after a pause, and then he looked out of the window, and as he did not say anything from which I could judge whether he knew why Wolffert never told his love, I did not tell what I knew. It may have been the slowly fading light which made his face so sad. I remember that a long silence fell between us, and it came over me with a new force how much more unselfishly both these men had loved than I and how much nobler both had always been--the living and the dead. And I began battling with myself to say something which I felt I ought to say, but had not courage enough. Presently, John said very slowly, almost as if he were speaking to himself, "I believe if you keep on, she will marry you, and I believe you will help each other--I know she will help you." His arm was resting on the table. I leant over and laid my hand on his arm. "I once thought it certain I should win her. I am far from sure that I shall now. I am not worthy of her--but I shall try to be. You alone, John, of all the men I know, are. I cannot give her up--but it is only honest to tell you that I have less hope than I had." He turned to me with a sad little smile on his face and shook his head. "I would not give her up if I were you. You are not good enough for her, but no one is, and you will grow better." For the first time, I almost thought him handsome. "You are, old man." "Me! Oh! no, I am not--I have my work to do--it is useless to talk to me--you keep on." He picked up a paper and began to read, and I observed for the first time that he had taken off his glasses. I made some remark on it. "Yes, my sight is getting better--I can see the stars now," he said smiling. "Ah! John, you have long seen the stars," I said.