CHAPTER XXXVII.
But is there yet no other way besides
Those painful passages, how we may come
To death, and mix with our connatural dust?
"There is," said Michael, "if thou will observe
The rule of not too much, by temperance taught."
MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants,
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be made immortal.
COMUS.
The shades of evening were falling as Holden entered the village. He proceeded straight to the house of Mr. Armstrong, whom he had seen twice or thrice already since his return from New York, though we have made no mention of the visits.
He found Armstrong thinner and paler than ever. The constitutional melancholy with which he was afflicted appeared to have deepened, and there was something now in the tones of his voice so sad and tender, that they moved Holden to an extraordinary degree. Other friends of Armstrong were affected by them, but, with the exception of Faith, there was no one who seemed to lay these signs of unhappiness so much to heart as the Solitary. This, perhaps, may account, in a measure, for the increased frequency of his visits.
A smile like sunshine stealing from behind a wintry cloud over the pure snow, welcomed Holden. As he took the offered hand of Armstrong, he found it extenuated and cold, and pressed it with more than ordinary feeling, before he took a seat by his side. The first inquiry of the Recluse was, as usual, after Faith.
"She is out," answered her father, "but I expect her soon."
"The sight of Faith is to me as the beauty and fragrance of days long gone," said Holden. "Unsinning Eve was not more lovely."