“There is a better time coming, Agnes,” he said in an exultant voice, when they were alone that evening.  He had informed her of the settlement of his affairs in New York, and reception of the sum which had been awarded to him in the division of property recovered from Mr. Lyon.

“A better time, Edward?” said Mrs. Markland.  She seemed slightly startled at his words, and looked half timidly into his face.

“Yes, a better time, love.  I have too long been powerless in the hands of a stern necessity, which has almost crushed the life out of me; but morning begins to break, the night is passing, and my way in the world grows clear again.”

“In the world, or through the world?” asked Mrs. Markland, in a voice and with an expression of countenance that left her meaning in no doubt.

He looked at her for several moments, his face changing until the light fading left it almost shadowed.

“Edward,” said Mrs. Markland, leaning toward him, and speaking earnestly, but, lovingly, “you look for a better time.  How better?  Are we not happy here?  Nay, did we ever know more of true happiness than since we gathered closer together in this pleasant home?  Have we not found a better time in a true appreciation of the ends of life?  Have we not learned to live, in some feeble degree, that inner and higher life, from the development of which alone comes the soul’s tranquillity?  Ah, Edward, do not let go of these truths that we have learned.  Do not let your eyes become so dazzled by the splendour of the sun of this world as to lose the power to see into the inner world of your spirit, and behold the brighter sun that can make all glorious there.”

Markland bent his head, and for a little while a feeling of sadness oppressed him.  The hope of worldly elevation, which had sprung up with so sudden and brilliant a flame, faded slowly away, and in its partial death the pains of dissolution were felt.  The outer, visible, tangible world had strong attractions for his natural mind; and its wealth, distinctions, luxuries, and honours, looked fascinating in the light of his natural affections; yet glimpses had already been given to him of another world of higher and diviner beauty.  He had listened, entranced, to its melodies, that came as from afar off; its fragrant airs had awakened his delighted sense; he had seen, as in a vision, the beauty of its inhabitants, and now the words of his wife restored all to his remembrance.

“The good time for which all are looking, and toiling, and waiting so impatiently,” said Mrs. Markland, after a pause, “will never come to any unless in a change of affection.”

“The life must be changed.”

“Yes, or, in better words, the love.  If that be fixed on mere outward and natural things, life will be only a restless seeking after the unattainable—­for the natural affections only grow by what they feed upon—­desire ever increasing, until the still panting, unsatisfied heart has made for itself a hell of misery.”