"You must have had some ominous vision in your sleep, Dr. Campbell," I said with unrestrained surprise, "to have become converted to such sedentary habits in so short a time."
"Yes, you are right," he answered curtly and somewhat eagerly, "I had a strange, beautiful vision that showed me the folly and emptiness of my life more plainly than anything else could ever have done, and I thank that vision that I have been able to make amends in time for the omissions and transgressions of the past."
I was half frightened at his earnest voice and serious expression, I hardly knew what to answer him. When I did speak, I was conscious of a tremor in my voice that must have betrayed something of the suspicion his words had awakened in me.
"Your better life is worthier of you, Dr Campbell," I managed to reply. "You were disposed, I must admit, to make too little of your energies, which are above the ordinary level."
"It was hardly my fault," he said sadly, "I was in a sort of stupor, I believe. I rejected the light of faith and morals from my life, and tried to imagine myself above it. What else could I expect but the result which followed?"
He was terribly in earnest, his brow was deeply contracted and his face was whiter than the pale moonlight.
"Then you are a better man for it in every way, I perceive," was my timid rejoinder.
"I hope so, Amey, I have tried hard to be."
I was startled by the mention of my own name in such a solemn tone, but my heart was swelling with a rushing tide of sympathy for the man who had so pronounced it.
"Then you will not regret it, believe me," I said, infusing a buoyant encouragement into my voice.