A few days afterwards, while passing the pleasant home where Brantley had been residing, I saw a bill up, giving notice that the house was for sale.  A few days later I met him on the street.  He did not see me.  His eyes were on the pavement; he looked pale and careworn; he walked slowly, and was in deep thought.

“He is of tougher material than most men, if the heart is not all taken out of him,” I said in speaking of him to a mutual friend.

“And he is of tougher material,” was answered, “that is, of finer material.  Brantley is not one of your common men.”

“Still, there must be something wrong about him.  Some defect of judgment.  He is a good climber; but not sure-footed.  Or, it may be that beyond a certain height his head grows dizzy.”

“If one gets too eager in any pursuit, he is almost sure to make false steps.  I think Brantley became too eager.  The steadily widening prospect as he went up, up, up, caused his pulses to move at a quicker rate.”

“Too eager, and less scrupulous,” I suggested.

“His honor is unstained,” said the friend, with some warmth.

“In the degree that a man grows eager in pursuit, he is apt to grow blind to things collateral, and less concerned about the principles involved.”

“In some cases that may be true, but is hardly probable in the case of Brantley.  I do not believe that he has swerved from integrity in anything.”

“It is my belief,” I answered, “that if he had not swerved, he would not have fallen.  I may be wrong, but cannot help the impression.”

“Brantley is an honest man.  I will maintain that in the face of every one,” was replied.

“Honest as the world regards honesty.  But there are higher than legal standards.  What A and B may consider fair, C may regard as questionable.  He has his own standard; and if he falls below that in his dealings with men, he departs from his integrity.”

“I have nothing to say for Brantley under that view of the subject,” said the friend.  “If he has special standards of morality, and does not live up to them, the matter is between himself and his own conscience.  We, on the outside, are not his judges.”

It so happened that I met Brantley a short time afterwards.  The circumstances were favorable, and our interview unreserved.  He had sold his house, and a large part of the handsome furniture it contained, and was living in a humbler dwelling.  I referred to his changed condition, and spoke of it with regret.

“There is no gratuitous evil,” he remarked.  “I have long been satisfied on that head.  If we lose on one hand, we gain on another.  And my experience in life leads me to this conclusion, that the loss is generally in lower things, and the gain in higher.”

I looked into his face, yet bearing the marks of recent trial and suffering, and saw in it the morning dawn.

“Has it been so with you?” I asked.