It happened that the very vividness of his impressions had often made him the more enigmatic to his friends, and had contributed to an apparent indefiniteness in his sentiments.  His early wakened sensibility and reflectiveness, had developed into a many-sided sympathy, which threatened to hinder any persistent course of action:  as soon as he took up any antagonism, though only in thought, he seemed to himself like the Sabine warriors in the memorable story—­with nothing to meet his spear but flesh of his flesh, and objects that he loved.  His imagination had so wrought itself to the habit of seeing things as they probably appeared to others, that a strong partisanship, unless it were against an immediate oppression, had become an insincerity for him.  His plenteous, flexible sympathy had ended by falling into one current with that reflective analysis which tends to neutralize sympathy.  Few men were able to keep themselves clearer of vices than he; yet he hated vices mildly, being used to think of them less in the abstract than as a part of mixed human natures having an individual history, which it was the bent of his mind to trace with understanding and pity.  With the same innate balance he was fervidly democratic in his feeling for the multitude, and yet, through his affections and imagination, intensely conservative; voracious of speculations on government and religion, yet loath to part with long-sanctioned forms which, for him, were quick with memories and sentiments that no argument could lay dead...  He was ceasing to care for knowledge—­he had no ambition for practice—­unless they could both be gathered up into one current with his emotions; and he dreaded, as if it were a dwelling-place of lost souls, that dead anatomy of culture which turns the universe into a mere ceaseless answer to queries, and knows, not everything, but everything else about everything—­as if one should be ignorant of nothing concerning the scent of violets except the scent itself, for which one had no nostril.  But how and whence was the needed event to come?—­the influence that would justify partiality, and make him what he longed to be, yet was unable to make himself—­an organic part of social life, instead of roaming in it like a yearning disembodied spirit, stirred with a vague, social passion, but without fixed local habitation to render fellowship real?  To make a little difference for the better was what he was not contented to live without; but how make it?  It is one thing to see your road, another to cut it.

He rescues Mirah and sets out in search of her brother.  He finds Mordecai, and gradually a way is opened to him along which his yearning is satisfied.  Step by step the reader is permitted to trace the expansion of his mind.  A window is opened into his soul, and we see its every movement as Daniel is led on to find the mission which was to be his.  When that task is fully accepted he says to Mordecai,—­