In the silence which followed Darrell's mind reverted to that autumn day
on which he had first met John Britton and confided to him his trouble;
and now, as then, he was soothed and strengthened by the presence beside
him, by the magnetism of that touch, although no word was spoken.
As he reviewed their friendship of the past months he became conscious
for the first time of its one-sidedness. He had often unburdened himself
to his friend, confiding to him his griefs, and receiving in turn
sympathy and counsel; but of the great, unknown sorrow that had wrought
such havoc in his own life, what word had John Britton ever spoken? As
Darrell recalled the bearing of his friend through all their
acquaintance and his silence regarding his own sufferings, his eyes grew
dim. The man at his side seemed, in the light of that revelation,
stronger, grander, nobler than ever before; not unlike to the giant
peaks whose hoary heads then loomed darkly against the starlit sky,
calm, silent, majestic, giving no token of the throes of agony which,
ages agone, had rent them asunder except in the mystic symbols graven on
their furrowed brows. In that light his own complaints seemed puerile.
At that moment Darrell was conscious of a new fortitude born within his
soul; a new purpose, henceforth to dominate his life.
A heavy sigh from Mr. Britton broke the silence. "I know the fetters are
galling," he said, "but have patience and hope, for, at the time
appointed, the shackles will be loosened, the fetters broken."
Darrell faced his companion, a new light in his eyes but recently so
dark with despair, as he asked, earnestly and tenderly,-"Dearest and best of friends, is there no time appointed for the lifting
of the burden borne so nobly and uncomplainingly, 'lo, these many
years?'"
With a grave, sweet smile the elder man shook his head, and, rising,
began pacing up and down the room. "There are some burdens, my son, that
time cannot lift; they can only be laid down at the gates of eternity."
With a strange, choking sensation in his throat Darrell rose, and, going
to the window, stood looking out at the dim outlines of the neighboring
peaks. Their vast solitude no longer oppressed him as at the first; it
calmed and soothed him in his restless moods, and to-night those grim
monarchs dwelling in silent fellowship seemed to him the embodiment of
peace and rest.
After a time Mr. Britton paused beside him, and, throwing his arm about
his shoulders, asked,-"What are your thoughts, my son?"
"Only a whim, a fancy that has taken possession of me the last few days,
since my wanderings among the mountains," he answered, lightly; "a
longing to bury myself in some sort of a retreat on one of these old
peaks and devote myself to study."