Mr. Howard sat gazing in front of him for a moment, and then he said gently, “What if the change that you speak of were to be accomplished, Miss Davis, without your ever thinking about it?  For what is it that makes the difference between being thoughtless and selfish, and being noble and good, if it be not simply to walk reverently in God’s great temple of life, and to think with sorrow of one’s own self?  Believe me, my dear friend, the best men that have lived on earth have seen no more cause to be pleased with themselves than you.”

“That may be true, Mr. Howard,” said Helen, sadly, “but it can do me no good to know it.  It does not make what happens to Arthur a bit less dreadful to think of.”

“It is the most painful fact about all our wrong,” the other answered, “that no amount of repentance can ever alter the consequences.  But, Miss Davis, that is a guilt which all creation carries on its shoulders; it is what is symbolized in the Fall of Man—­that he has to realize that he might have had infinite beauty and joy for his portion, if only the soul within him had never weakened and failed.  Let me tell you that he is a lucky man who can look back at all his life and see no more shameful guilt than yours, and no consequence worse than yours can be.”  As Mr. Howard spoke he saw a startled look cross the girl’s face, and he added, “Do not suppose that I am saying that to comfort you, for it is really the truth.  It oftens happens too, that the natures that are strongest and most ardent in their search for righteousness have the worst sins to remember.”

Helen did not answer for several moments, for the thought was strange to her; then suddenly she gazed at the other very earnestly and said:  “Mr. Howard, you are a man who lives for what is beautiful and high,—­suppose that YOU had to carry all through your life the burden of such guilt as mine?”

The man’s voice was trembling slightly as he answered her:  “It is not hard for me to suppose that, Miss Davis; I HAVE such a burden to carry.”  As he raised his eyes he saw a still more wondering look upon her countenance.

“But the consequences!” she exclaimed.  “Surely, Mr. Howard, you could not bear to live if you knew—­”

“I have never known the consequences,” said the man, as she stopped abruptly; “just as you may never know them; but this I know, that yours could not be so dreadful as mine must be.  I know also that I am far more to blame for them than you.”

Helen could not have told what caused the emotion which made her shudder so just then as she gazed into Mr. Howard’s dark eyes.  Her voice was almost a whisper as she said, “And yet you are GOOD!”

“I am good,” said the man gently, “with all the goodness that any man can claim, the goodness of trying to be better.  You may be that also.”

Helen sat for a long time in silence after that, wondering at what was passing in her own mind; it was as if she had caught a sudden glimpse into a great vista of life.  She had always before thought of this man’s suffering as having been physical; and the deep movement of sympathy and awe which stirred her now was one step farther from her own self-absorption, and one step nearer to the suffering that is the heart of things.