flood of his feelings. He could only stammer, after a long pause: "But I am not in your way."
"So I see,—and perhaps nobody is, except myself. We won't talk of this any more; there's many a roundabout road that comes out into the straight one at last. But you,—I can't understand the thing at all. How did she—did you come to love her?"
"I don't know; I hardly guessed it until this evening."
"Then, Joseph, go slowly, and feel your way. I'm not the one to advise, after what has happened to me; but maybe I know a little more of womankind than you. It's best to have a longer acquaintance than yours has been; a fellow can't always tell a sudden fancy from a love that has the grip of death."
"Now I might turn your own words against you, Elwood, for you tried to tell me what love is."
"I did; and before I knew the half. But come, Joseph: promise me that you won't let Miss Blessing know how much you feel until—"
"Elwood," Joseph breathlessly interrupted, "she knows it now! We were together this evening." Elwood fell back on the pillow with a groan. "I'm a poor friend to you," he said: "I want to wish you joy, but I can't,—not to-night. The way things are fixed in this world stumps me, out and out. Nothing fits as it ought, and if I didn't take my head in my own hands and hold it towards the light by main force, I'd only see blackness, and death, and hell."
Joseph stole back to his bed, and lay there silently. There was a subtle chill in the heart of his happiness, which all the remembered glow of that tender scene in the garden could not thaw.
