“I don’t deny the difficulty,” said the clergyman slowly; “no one who is not self-deceived can deny the difficulty.  Look how boldly Tennyson faced it in that same poem, the grandest and deepest and most obviously inspired in our language.  Remember the effect which it had upon him.”

    ’I falter where I firmly trod,
      And falling with my weight of cares
      Upon the great world’s altar stairs
     Which slope through darkness up to God;

     I stretch lame hands of faith and grope
      And gather dust and chaff, and call
      To what I feel is Lord of all,
     And faintly trust the larger hope.’

“It is the central mystery of mysteries—­the problem of sin and suffering, the one huge difficulty which the reasoner has to solve in order to vindicate the dealings of God with man.  But take our own case as an example.  I, for one, am very clear what I have got out of our experience.  I say it with all humility, but I have a clearer view of my duties than ever I had before.  It has taught me to be less remiss in saying what I think to be true, less indolent in doing what I feel to be right.”

“And I,” cried Sadie.  “It has taught me more than all my life put together.  I have learned so much and unlearned so much.  I am a different girl.”

“I never understood my own nature before,” said Stephens.  “I can hardly say that I had a nature to understand.  I lived for what was unimportant, and I neglected what was vital.”

“Oh, a good shake-up does nobody any harm,” the Colonel remarked.  “Too much of the feather-bed-and-four-meals-a-day life is not good for man or woman.”

“It is my firm belief,” said Mrs. Belmont gravely, “that there was not one of us who did not rise to a greater height during those days in the desert than ever before or since.  When our sins come to be weighed, much may be forgiven us for the sake of those unselfish days.”

They all sat in thoughtful silence for a little, while the scarlet streaks turned to carmine, and the grey shadows deepened, and the wild-fowl flew past in dark straggling V’s over the dull metallic surface of the great smooth-flowing Nile.  A cold wind had sprung up from the eastward, and some of the party rose to leave the deck.  Stephens leaned forward to Sadie.

“Do you remember what you promised when you were in the desert?” he whispered.

“What was that?”

“You said that if you escaped you would try in future to make some one else happy.”

“Then I must do so.”

“You have,” said he, and their hands met under the shadow of the table.