“It never will be told, Bess,—­never in this world,” he sighed bitterly as he went back to his own room which never in his darkest hours had seemed so dreary; for now the bright hope of his life was gone.

“I have it in my power to make them happy,” he mused as he sat alone, “but I cannot do it, for in this separation lies my only hope.  He may die or may grow weary, and then to whom will Bess turn for comfort but to me?  I will work on, earn riches and a name, and if that hour should come, then in her desolation I will offer all to Bess and surely she will listen and accept.  Yet it were a generous thing to make her happiness at once, forgetful of my own.  How shall I bear to see her waiting patiently, while youth and hope are fading slowly, and know that I might end her weary trial and join two faithful hearts?  Oh, Jamie, I wish to Heaven I were asleep with you, freed from the temptations that beset me.  It is so easy to perceive the right, so hard to do it.”

The sound of that familiar name, uttered despairingly, aloud, fell with a sweet and solemn music upon Walter’s ear.  A flood of tender memories swept away the present, and brought back the past.  He thought of that short life, so full of pain and yet of patience, of the sunny nature which no cloud could overshadow, and the simple trust which was its strength and guide.

He thought of that last night and saw now with clearer eyes the sacrifices and the trials silently borne for love of Bess.

The beautiful example of the child rebuked the passion of he man, and through the magic of affection strengthened generous impulses and banished selfish hopes.

“I promised to be kind to Bess, and with God’s help I will keep my vow.  Teach me to bear my pain, to look for help where you found it, little Jamie;” and as he spoke, the young man gazed up at the shining cross, striving to see in it not merely an object of the dead boy’s love, but a symbol of consolation, hope, and faith.

“It is a noble thing to see an honest man cleave his own heart in twain to fling away the baser part of it.”

These words came to Walter’s mind and fixed the resolution wavering there, and as his glance wandered from the gray tower to the churchyard full of summer stillness, he said within himself,—­

“This is the hardest struggle of my life, but I will conquer and come out from the conflict master of myself at least, and like Jamie, try to wait until the sunshine comes again, even if it only shine upon me, dead like him.”

It was no light task to leave the airy castles built by love and hope, and go back cheerfully to the solitude of a life whose only happiness for a time was in the memory of the past.  But through the weeks that bore one lover home, the other struggled to subdue his passion, and be as generous in his sorrow as he would have been in his joy.

It was no easy conquest; but he won the hardest of all victories, that of self, and found in the place of banished pride and bitterness a patient strength, and the one desire to be indeed more generous than a brother to gentle Bess.  He had truly, “cleft his heart in twain and flung away the baser part.”