“How is Florence, to-day?” she inquired, as soon he was seated.

“The same languor oppresses her, and I have come to speak with you about it.  Can you enlighten me in regard to her state?  Some strange fears have crept into my mind, I suppose, because my nerves are weak, in my anxiety for her.”  Here he paused, as though he dared not entertain the thought, much less make it known to another.

In an instant she read his fears.

“I think I understand the cause of your wife’s languor, for, although not an educated physician, I lay some claim to a natural perception of the causes of physical and mental ills.”

“Some people are magnetically related.”  She continued.  “I think Hugh and your wife were bound by spiritual laws which are as sacred as physical.  They lived upon each other’s magnetism.  She will droop for a while, but revive when she receives his letters.  He will not feel the change so sensitively, as he has new life and interests before him every moment.  This relation ought to be better understood, and will be, I trust, with many others, which are not now recognized as having an existence.”

“Then you think she will recover?”

“Certainly; and a change for the better will be apparent as soon as she receives his first letter.  She is only attenuated now, reaching after him, her friend and instructor for so many years.”

“I feared-I almost-forgive me, Miss Evans, for the strange thought, that Florence might, after all, have loved Hugh better than myself.  I will not stand in her or any woman’s way to happiness, if I know it.”

“Drive that thought from your mind, Herbert.”  As she said this with so much depth of earnestness, he noticed that her manner and tone betrayed not a shadow of surprise at his confession, and his face turned inquiringly to her.

“It was a wicked thought, I know; let it rest with you, Miss Evans.”

“It is buried,” she said, “and will never know a resurrection.  But as to its being wicked, it was far from that, and very natural.”

“Your words allay my fears, and strengthen my trust.”

“They have lived such an earnest life together that his was a constituent, a part of her own.  No wonder that she drooped when this union of vital sympathy was divided.  Neither is it strange that you should be agitated by doubts and fears; but let me assure you again, that she by this attraction is none the less your own.  She will feel an infusion of his life through his letters, and regain her wonted strength.  She is yours, and his too; and more to you because she is much to him.”

A smile of peace settled over his disturbed features, as he took her hand, saying,—­

“You have made me strong and trustful, and from this hour my life will flow in broader and deeper channels.  My present is bright; my future all radiant with hope.”

“I am very glad that your call has resulted so pleasantly,” said Miss Evans, and as Mr. Temple left she sent her love to Florence, with the assurance that she would soon have the pleasure of welcoming her again to the home of Dawn.