"I understand you would not remain here," said Mr. Britton slowly, and
laying his hand soothingly on the arm of his agitated companion, "but
you can readily see that not only your education, but your natural trend
of thought, is along these lines; therefore, when you are fully restored
to your normal self you will be the more--not the less--interested in
these things, and I predict that no matter when the time comes for you
to leave, you will, after a while, return to continue this same line of
work amid the same surroundings, but, we hope, under far happier
conditions."
Darrell shook his head slowly. "It does not seem to me that I would ever
wish to return to a place where I had suffered as I have here."
Mr. Britton smiled, one of his slow, sad, sweet smiles that Darrell
loved to watch, that seemed to dawn in his eyes and gradually to spread
until every feature was irradiated with a tender, beneficent light.
"I once thought as you do," he said, gently, "but after years of
wandering, I find that the place most sacred to me now is that hallowed
by the bitterest agony of my life."
Without replying Darrell unconsciously drew nearer to his friend, and a
brief silence followed, broken by Mr. Britton, who inquired, in a
lighter tone,-"What is the other reason for your constant application to your work?
You said there were two."
Darrell bowed his head upon his hands as he answered in a low,
despairing tone,-"To stop thinking, thinking, thinking; it will drive me mad!"
"I have been there, my boy; I know," Mr. Britton responded; then, after
a pause, he continued: "Something in the tenor of your last letter made me anxious to come to
you. I thought I detected something of the old restlessness. Has the
coming of spring, quickening the life forces all around you, stirred the
life currents in your own veins till your spirit is again tugging at its
fetters in its struggles for release?"
With a startled movement Darrell raised his head, meeting the clear eyes
fixed upon him.
"How could you know?" he demanded.
"Because, as Emerson says, 'the heart in thee is the heart of all.'
There are few hearts whose pulses are not stirred by the magic influence
of the springtide, and under its potent spell I knew you would feel your
present limitations even more keenly than ever before."
"Thank God, you understand!" Darrell exclaimed; then continued,
passionately: "The last three weeks have been torture to me if I but
allowed myself one moment's thought. Wherever I look I see life--life,
perfect and complete in all its myriad forms--the life that is denied to
me! This is not living,--this existence of mine,--with brain shackled,
fettered, in many ways helpless as a child, knowing less than a child,
and not even mercifully wrapped in oblivion, but compelled to feel the
constant goading and galling of the fetters, to be reminded of them at
every turn! My God! if it were not for constant work and study I would
go mad!"