His pride had been rebuked, his self-reliance had fallen. But a few months before he had thought himself sufficient to himself: that madness had gone; human interests had already begun to throw their sweet influence around him; from the hermit's dwelling he was going out once more into the great world. It had done its work. The trial-time was over. He was stronger and better. His faith in God and humanity had returned. He could now look forward with hope—not, perhaps, the sanguineness of youth, which hopes simply because to despair would be impossible, but hope resting on a well-grounded confidence in himself, in humanity, in God.
Maurice Grey's after-life was not without its troubles, but through them all he never lost sight of the lessons learnt in his hermit life. Painfully gained, they were earnestly held.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
A PARTING.
Thou whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy soul's immensity;
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage; thou eye among the blind:
Thou over whom thy immortality
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave,
A presence which is not to be put by!
In the hotel they returned, for the moment, to their old arrangements. The faithful child would not forsake her friend; his illness had, if possible, only endeared him to her.
L'Estrange was better. The shock had only been very partial. On the day following that of his return to the hotel he was already able to speak intelligibly, and to understand everything that went on around him. It was the morning of that day. Laura had been busy about the room putting everything tidy, as she said in her childish way, for her father had sent his servant to say that he would pay them a visit. She noticed that the eyes of L'Estrange followed her painfully about the room. There was a trouble in his face the child did not quite understand. Except for his illness—which, childlike, Laura looked upon as something very transient—she could not see in their present circumstances any cause for sadness. Her mind was troubled with no doubts about the right course to pursue. They were all to go back to her mamma as soon as ever her friend could be moved. It had never crossed her gentle mind that he was to be shut out of their happiness, and, so far as she was concerned, she had no intention of leaving him.
The heart of the little child was light. Everything had come about as she had hoped.
But Laura, young as she was, had been too often in the presence of suffering not to recognize it, and her friend had taught her to observe. She read the sorrow in his face and went to his bedside: "Mon père, what is it? Are you worse?"