“And Zugassent’s discovery?” said I, eagerly. But the rays of the morning sun were bursting in at the window. It was broad daylight. Mr. Lister arose. His face was wet with tears. “My dear Mr. Carford,” said he, “have you forgotten that to-day is Sunday, and that we are to witness the woman’s parade this afternoon? It is absolutely necessary that we should take some rest before that. I will give you Zugassent’s book and let him speak for himself.” I went to my room and lay down upon the rug. As I passed along the hall I heard Mr. Lister singing the snatches of a song as he prepared himself to rest; and as I drifted into sleep, it was with the words of his song running in my mind: Love lingers not where sorrow dwells, She cannot bide the downcast face; Where laughter rings like golden bells Is Love’s abiding place. Love follows those, though seeming vain, Who gild life’s path with faith and hope; She smiles on those who smile again, Not on the misanthrope. Love smiles on those who smile again, Not on the misanthrope. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XI. It was noon when I awoke from the deep stupor rather than sleep into which I had plunged. How swiftly, when one is waked out of sleep, comes back the engrossing joy or grief which lay upon his heart when sleep stole it away! But at this awakening I was conscious only of a strange, dull sense of grief. I was for some time too much dazed to analyze my sensations or to fully realize what had occurred in the past few days, and on attempting to rise I found that I was stiff and sore, as after unusual exertion. The copy of the _Bitter Cry_ which I had left in my room the day before lay on the floor. It served to recall to me the reality of the strange circumstances into which I had fallen. I remember that a humorous account of the Button Manufacturers’ plea before the Woman’s Executive Committee to allow mankind to continue the use of buttons, first caught my attention, and that afterward I read the following: “LOVE WORKETH NO ILL TO HIS NEIGHBOUR.” It was with more than his usual unction that the Rev. Jonathan Holworthy announced his text one bright Sunday May morning, to the distinctly rural congregation of Middlebrook.