"
"No, I don't remember," said M. Linders faintly, "but I think
I may trust you. You will see that Madelon reaches Liege
safely?"
"I will take her there myself," answered Graham. "Would you
like to send any message to your sister?"
"I will write," said M. Linders, "or rather you shall write
for me; but presently--I cannot talk any more now--it must do
presently."
Indeed he was faint from exhaustion, and Graham could only do
all that was possible to revive him, and then remain by his
side till he should have recovered his strength a little; and
as he sat there, silently watching, I daresay he preached a
little sermon to himself, but in no unfriendly spirit to his
patient, we may be sure. This, then, was what life might come
to--this might be the end of all its glorious possibilities, of
all its boundless hopes and aims. To this man, as to another,
had the great problem been presented, and he had solved it--
thus; and to Graham, in the fulness of his youth, and
strength, and energy, the solution seemed stranger than the
problem. To most of us, perhaps, as years go on, life comes to
be represented by its failures rather than its successes, by
its regrets rather than its hopes; enthusiasms die out,
illusions vanish, belief in the perfectibility of ourselves
and of others fades, as we learn to realize the shortness of
life, the waywardness of human nature, the baffling power of
circumstances, too easily allowed; but in their place, a
humble faith in a more perfect and satisfying hereafter, which
shall be the complement of our existence here, the fulfilment
of our unfinished efforts, our many shortcomings, springs up,
let us trust, to encourage us to new strivings, to ever-fresh
beginnings, which shall perhaps be completed and bear fruit in
another world; perhaps be left on earth to work into the grand
economy of progress--not wholly useless in any case.
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