Helen had been leaning on the table, holding her hands in front of her; towards the end they were trembling so much that she took them away and clasped them in her lap. When he ceased her eyes were lowered; she could not see how his were fixed upon her, but she knew that her bosom was heaving painfully, and that there were hot tears upon her cheeks. He added slowly: “I have told you all that I think about life, my dear friend, and all that I think about love; so I think I have told you all that I know.” And Helen lifted her eyes to his and gazed at him through her tears. “You tell _me_ of such things?” she asked. “You give such advice to _me_!” “Yes,” said the other, gently, “why not to you?” “Mr. Howard,” Helen answered, “do you not know what I have done, and how I must feel while I listen to you? It is good that I should hear such things, because I ought to suffer; but when I asked you for your advice I wished for something hard and stern to do, before I dared ever think of love, or feel myself right again.” Mr. Howard sat watching her for a moment in silence, and then he answered gently, “I do not think, my dear friend, that it is our duty as struggling mortals to feel ourselves right at all; I am not even sure that we ought to care about our rightness in the least. For God has put high and beautiful things in the world, things that call for all our attention; and I am sure that we are never so close to rightness as when we give all our devotion to them and cease quite utterly to think about ourselves. And besides that, the love that I speak of is not easy to give, Miss Davis. It is easy to give up one's self in the first glow of feeling; but to forget one's self entirely, and one's comfort and happiness in all the little things of life; to consecrate one's self and all that one has to a lifetime of patience and self-abnegation; and to seek no reward and ask for no happiness but love,--do you not think that such things would cost one pain and bring a good conscience at last?” Helen's voice was very low as she answered, “Perhaps, at last.” Then she sat very still, and finally raised her deep, earnest eyes and leaned forward and gazed straight into her companion's. “Mr. Howard,” she said, “you must know that YOU are my conscience; and it is the memory of your words that causes me all my suffering. And now tell me one thing; suppose I were to say to you that I could beg upon my knees for a chance to earn such a life as that; and suppose I should ever come really to love someone, and should give up everything to win such a treasure, do you think that I could clear my soul from what I have done, and win rightness for mine? Do you think that you--that YOU could ever forget that I was the woman who had wished to sell her love for money?” Mr. Howard answered softly, “Yes, I think so.”