"A year ago is dead and buried. Let it alone. Think of the live things; think of the Now! There 's a big, strong world all around you, pulsating with life; there 's sunshine in the morning and stars at night--and they are alive; there are flowers, and birds, and grasses--all alive; there are live men and women, live questions, and there is your sister. The world would be alive--would be worth while if you had only her. She 's a world in herself." "You are right. Man, how you know!" "Can't you see it yourself? Can't you feel the thrill of it all?" "Yes," answered Arsdale, his eyes as alive as Donaldson's, "I see. I feel. And if I had your strength--" "You have the strength! You have everything you need in just your beating heart and the days ahead of you. Buck up to it!--Go and meet life half-way. Throw yourself at life! The trouble with you and me is that we stand still, all curled up in ourselves as in a chrysalis. You must give yourself room, you must break free from your own selfish conceit, you must reach a point where you don't give a damn about yourself! Do you hear--where all the worrying you do is about others? Then don't worry." Arsdale was breathing through his nostrils, his lips closed. "It's going to be a hard fight," he said. "It 's going to be a hard fight, but you make me feel as though I could do it." "A hard fight," cried Donaldson. "Why, man, I 'd strip myself down to you--I 'd go back to where you stand to-day for the fighting chance you have." "You'd--what?" Donaldson caught his breath. For a moment he was silent, staring at the eager life upon the street. Then he turned again to Arsdale. "I 'd like to swap places with you--that's all," he said. CHAPTER XIX _A Miracle_ Elaine, her pale face tense, heard the steps of Arsdale coming up the stairs to meet her. Donaldson had telephoned at nine that if she had not yet retired he was going to bring her brother home. She dreaded the ordeal for herself and for him. She dreaded lest the aversion she felt for him with the horror of that night still upon her might overcome her sense of duty; she dreaded the renewed protestations, the self abasement, the sight of the maudlin shame of the man. She had gone through the hysterical scenes so many times that it was growing difficult, especially in her present condition of weakness, to arouse the necessary spirit to undergo it. Not only this, but she found herself inevitably pitting him against the strong self-reliant character of Donaldson. It had been easier for her to condone when she had seen Arsdale only as the loved son of the big-hearted elder, but now that this other unyielding personality had come into her life it was difficult to avoid comparison. Arsdale when standing beside a man was only pitiable.