"I hope not. But, my friend," said Hubert, laying his hand upon his arm, "I have lost one very, very dear to me, all I ever loved, and it is the beautiful delusion you name that has helped me to bear it; nay, it is not a delusion, it is a high hope—a hope that when this life is ended, and all who are dear to us have been taken away, we shall meet once again in heaven, to live together for ever."
Hubert's face had become animated while he spoke, and in his warmth he put his hand into his pocket, intending to bring out his Bible; but his friend checked him by saying, "What a strange, powerful influence the things we learn in our youth have over our lives! A holy precept instilled into us when we are lads, is a diamond set in an imperishable casket; and though the dust of careless, sceptical manhood may oftentimes cover over the gem, still it is there as bright as ever, ready to shine with its former lustre when the heart, trusting and believing, instead of doubting, fans off the black shadow of unbelief; surely it is then that God's Spirit breathes once again into man the breath of life."
"How I wish I could talk as you do!" said Hubert; "then I would tell you what I feel. But when I want to speak, I seem to feel so much that I have no words to express myself, and so I say but little. How is it, though, that you speak so of God? I thought you were unbelieving."
"And what have I said to make you think that I believe now?"
"You must," said Hubert, "else you would not speak so of the Spirit of God. When I spoke of God, you called it a delusion, and I said nothing like what you have said. You surely are not a sceptic? you must believe."
"I may believe some things, but not all that you do; for it has been an easy matter to forget all about the one true God in a country where so many gods are worshipped."
"Did you forget, with all your learning and eloquence? Did you forget?"
"Yes; didn't you?"
"Oh yes, I did; I dare not tell you what I did, neither can I tell you what I have suffered, nor how good and gracious God has been to me. For more than twenty years I chose to live regardless of a future life—indeed, regardless of anything but sin. I always tremble when I think how I have lived, and yet see how gracious God has been to me; and though you, too, forget to serve Him, He has not forgotten to be gracious and merciful to you."
The stranger sat still, in a careless attitude, with his broad-brimmed straw hat shading his face, and his hands thrust into the pockets of his loose coat. He spoke nothing in answer to Hubert's remarks, and Hubert, after maintaining the silence for some time, rose from his seat and went to his cabin. Ben, the sailor, had opened the cabin window, against which the rippling of the calm sea occasionally threw a tiny crystal, and as Hubert entered, and saw Ben standing before the window, he said—