He paused, looking out toward the west, and in the fine golden light that was left from sunset, with the new moon and the evening star half-drowned there, his face looked beautiful. Calmness, humility, solemnity, and sweetness mingled in its expression. Edith whispered a low “Well, Dick?” to make him speak again; for he had, apparently, forgotten her. “Father John has promised me that I may make a retreat as soon as he thinks me well enough,” he said, rousing himself at the sound of her voice. “I do not look beyond that. I do not know anything. I wait.” And again there was silence. After a while, Edith said timidly, for he seemed buried in a reverie, “Do you remember last year, Dick, when we went about the city, like two strange sight-seers? You said then that the poor and the suffering looked at you in an asking way different from the look they gave others. Don’t you think it might have been the Lord who asked through their eyes?” “I have not a doubt of it,” he answered. “Nothing else is of worth!” he said after a minute, as if speaking to himself--“nothing else is of worth!” And again, “O miserable waste!” Presently she spoke again, very softly: “Sometimes, when one has meditated a long while, everything seems unspeakably good and beautiful, as if all were in God. A warmth and sweetness flow around the soul. If your enemy should come to injure you, you would embrace him. If your friend were taken away from you, you would smile, and let him go. For, turning to the Lord, you find all there. Nothing is lost. When you go away, you feel still, and speak lowly. You want to do something for some one; and, wherever you look, you see the Lord, and whatever you do is done for him. He accepts it all, and nothing is small, and nothing is great. If you see any one suffer, you pity, and try to help, and, perhaps, you weep; but the agony of pain you feel at other times at the sight of suffering, you do not feel now. You get a glimpse of the reason why angels can witness so much pain, yet still be happy.” Dick, looking out at the sky, smiled. “Yes!” he said, “yes!” A carriage drove up to the door, Hester’s carriage, come for Edith. Twilight had fallen softly round them, and their faces were dim to each other in that curtained chamber. “My dear friend,” Edith said earnestly, “is there peace between us?” “All is peace, Edith,” he answered. “Then, before I go,” she said, “I want you to put your hand on my head, and say, ‘God bless you!’” He did as she bade him, laid his hand on her head, and said, “God bless you for ever! Good-night!” Both of them knew that good-night meant good-by, yet they parted with a smile. CHAPTER XXIX. EVERYBODY’S CHAPTER.