"And it is so with everything in life," said Norries. "There is scarcely any object in any state so inherently beautiful, or so inherently hideous, that the light in which we view them will not render them either pleasant or repulsive to the eye." "There is somewhat more to be said, too, Edgar," continued Dudley. "Much of the intensity of everything depends upon its accessories. There are accessories to all states in the human heart. Think, for one moment, of the condition of my mind here, and you will see that a paradise might well be a desert to me." "True, true," answered Edgar, pressing his hand upon his eyes, and then adding with a sigh, "but that is over." "Take my advice, Mr. Adelon," said Norries. "Go into the hut, lie down, and give yourself up to sleep, without thinking or talking any more. From what I have seen of you to-day, I very clearly perceive that you have been too much fatigued, and too much excited. In ten minutes it will be night, and you will rise refreshed, to tell your tale under the light of the dawning day. I will sleep out here upon this soft grass." "I do not think I can sleep," replied Edgar. "Try, try," said Dudley; and he led him into his wild dwelling, and pointed out to him his own lowly bed of dried herbs and grass, covered with the skins of the kangaroo. "There, Edgar," he said, "rest there. It has been my couch through many a weary and restless night; but sleep should visit your eyes more readily, for kindness surely has its own balm, and he who comes to comfort and to cheer may well expect repose and peace." He was turning to leave the but, but Edgar detained him for a moment, saying, "Let me comfort and cheer, then, Dudley, by telling you my best news first. You need no longer be an exile, you need no longer live in solitude; I have your full pardon with me. You are free." It was not that Dudley was ungrateful either to God or man. It was not that he did not feel the intelligence as a relief; but at that moment the sense of having been injured was stronger upon him than ever. The redress did not seem to him to be complete, and he repeated, "Pardoned! pardoned! What have I done that requires pardon?" "Nothing, Dudley," answered Edgar; "but there is much to be told and much to be considered. Not now, however, for I feel that Mr. Norries's advice is right, and I must have repose." CHAPTER XXXV. There is a strange and curious difference between the light of morning and the light of evening. The same sun gives it, the same flood of glory falls through the skies, the same scene lies below, the same horizon sweeps around. It seems only that the lightgiver is at the one hour in the east, at the other in the west, and no sufficient cause appears for that extraordinary difference of hue in the air and over the earth.