"Let me add, Sidney, that I honestly believe that I have been altering for the better for the last two years. I have seen the emptiness of all my friends' professions; their greed of gain and love of self; have turned heart-sick at their evil-speaking, lying, and slandering. I feel that I haven't a friend; that I have 'used up' all the pleasures in the world, and that there is nothing I care for in it." "Yours is a bad state, that leads to worse, as a rule, Maurice." "I know it--I feel it." "And you are truly sorry for all the harm that you have done us in life--Harriet, I, and others?" "With all my heart--truly sorry." "I can forgive you, then. I have been taught by good friends to be more charitable in my heart towards men's motives. A year ago, I thought I should have hated you all my life." He held forth his hand, which Maurice took and shook heartily in his. "Understand me," said Sidney, still coldly, "I forgive you, but I do not need your help, and your presence, under any circumstances, will always give me pain. We shall never be true friends--we shall respect each other better apart." "Is it fair to think that? You who have heard me declaim against my vain and objectless life." "Yours is a life to rejoice at, and to do good with, not to mourn over. Seek a wife, man, and settle down in your sphere, honoured by good men, and honouring good things." "Ah! fair advice; but the wife will come for my money's sake, for the good things which _I_ possess, and which she and her relations will honour in their way, with all their heart, and soul, and strength!" "Timon of Athens!" said Sidney, almost satirically. "Sidney, I would give up all my chances for one or two true friends. You don't know what a miserable wretch I am!" "You will be better presently. You have seen too much life lately, and the reaction has rendered you _blasé_. Patience and wait. As for the wife----" "Well?" "Seek out Harriet Wesden again, and do her justice." "But you----" "She never loved me, Maurice; you were her first love, and her last. She is leading a life that is unfit for her, and you can make amends for all the shadows you have cast upon it." "I could never face her." "Then you are a greater coward than I thought." "It's odd advice," he muttered; "seek out Harriet Wesden again! Oh! I know how that will end, and what 'good' will result from that. But _you_ wish it?" "Yes," said Sidney, after a moment's further reflection. "And her address?" Sidney repeated it; he took it down in his pocket-book, and then rose to depart. "I am going now. I may trouble you once again, Sidney, if you will allow me." "As you will--if you think it necessary." Maurice Hinchford shuffled with his feet uneasily, keeping his eyes fixed on his blind cousin. "May I ask," he said at last, "if--if you are happy here?" "Yes, as happy as it is possible for one in my condition to be." "They are kind to you?" "Very kind."