One morning his father said: "Joseph, you must try to take interest in something; you must try to forget."
He made no reply. Though grateful for his father's good intentions, the expression in his face showed that he knew how little his grief was understood. He had never thought it possible for devotion to exist to the extent that this sad event had made manifest: he had thought that Madeline could get on alone easily enough without him. And to think that it had been for him; and that his lack of appreciation of its intensity had put it aside forever! He understood now that Madeline 's love had been greater than he had thought; and that she had silently restrained herself, hoping to delight him with her boundless devotion in the long years that she imagined lay before them. Morning after morning he walked to the cemetery, sometimes with flowers, and often with a book from which in the days gone by he was wont to read to her. Thus, like many another in the veering world, he worshiped where there was naught save dumb earth.
"Don't go thither this morning," begged
