mountain-tops to which our eyes are turned.”
“Life is a mockery, a cheating dream!” said Mr. Markland, bitterly.
“Not so, my friend,” was the calmly spoken answer.
“Not so. Our life here is the beginning of an immortal life. But, to be a happy life, it must be a true one. All its activities must have an orderly pulsation.”
Mr. Markland slowly raised a hand, and, pressing it strongly against his forehead, stood motionless for some moments, his mind deeply abstracted.
“My thoughts flow back, Mr. Allison,” he said, at length, speaking in a subdued tone, “to a period many months gone by, and revives a conversation held with you, almost in this very place. What you then said made a strong impression on my mind. I saw, in clear light, how vain were all efforts to secure happiness in this world, if made selfishly, and thus in a direction contrary to true order. The great social man I recognised as no mere idealism, but as a verity. I saw myself a member of this body, and felt deeply the truth then uttered by you, that just in proportion as each member thinks of and works for himself alone will that individual be working in selfish disorder, and, like the member of the human body that takes more than its share of blood, must certainly suffer the pain of inflammation. The truth then presented to my mind was like a flood of light; but I did not love the truth, and shut my eyes to the light that revealed more than I wished to know. Ah, sir! if I could have accepted all you then advanced—if I could have overcome the false principle of self-seeking then so clearly shown to be the curse of life —I would not have involved myself in business that must now separate me for months from my home and family.”
“And should you achieve all that was anticipated in the beginning,” said Mr. Allison, “I doubt if you will find pleasure enough in the realization to compensate for this hour of pain, to say nothing of what you are destined to suffer during the months of separation that are before you.”
“Your doubts are my own,” replied Markland, musingly. “But,”—and he spoke in a quicker and lighter tone, —”this is all folly! I must go forward, now, to the end. Why, then, yield to unmanly weakness?”
“True, sir,” returned the old man. “No matter how difficult the way in which our feet must walk, the path must be trodden bravely.”
“I shall learn some lessons of wisdom by this experience,” said Mr. Markland, “that will go with me through life. But, I fear, they will be all too dearly purchased.”
“Wisdom,” was the answer, “is a thing of priceless value.”
“It is sometimes too dearly bought, for all that.”
“Never,” replied the old man,—”never. Wisdom is the soul’s true riches; and there is no worldly possession that compares with it in value. If you acquire wisdom by any experience, no matter how severe it may prove, you are largely the gainer. And here is the compensation in every affliction, in every disappointment, and in every misfortune. We may gather pearls of wisdom from amid the ashes and cinders of our lost hopes, after the fires have consumed them.”
Mr. Markland sighed deeply, but did not answer. There was a dark sky above and around him; yet gleams of light skirted a cloud here and there, telling him that the great sun was shining serenely beyond. He felt weak, sad, and almost hopeless, as he parted from Mr. Allison, who promised often to visit his family during his absence; and in his weakness, he lifted his heart involuntarily upward, and asked direction and strength from Him whom he had forgotten in the days when all was light around him, and, in the pride and strength of conscious manhood, he had felt that he possessed all power to effect the purposes of his own will.
CHAPTER XXXII.
AFTER a night that was sleepless to at least three members of the family the morning of the day on which Mr. Markland was to start on his journey came. Tearful eyes were around him. Even to the last, Fanny begged him not to leave them, and almost clung to him at the moment of parting. Finally, the separation was accomplished, and, shrinking back in the carriage that conveyed him to the city, Mr. Markland gave himself up to sad reveries. As his thoughts reached forward to the point of his destination, and he tried to arrange in his mind all the information he had relating to the business in which he was now embarked, he saw more clearly than ever the feeble hold upon his fortune that remained to him. Less confident, too, was he of the good result of his journey. Now that he was fairly on the way, doubt began to enter his mind.
This was Mr. Markland’s state of feelings on reaching the city. His first act was to drive to the post-office, to get any letters that might have arrived for him. He received only one, and that was from New York. The contents were of a startling character. Mr. Fenwick wrote:
“Come on immediately. Your presence is desired by all the members of the Company here. We have news of an unexpected and far from pleasant character.”
This was all; but it came with a painful shock upon the feelings of Mr. Markland. Its very vagueness made it the more frightful to him; and his heart imagined the worst.
Without communicating with his family, who supposed him on his journey southward, Mr. Markland took the first train for New York, and in a few hours arrived in that city, and called at the office of Mr. Fenwick. A single glance at the agent’s countenance told him that much was wrong. A look of trouble shadowed it, and only a feeble smile parted his lips as he came forward to meet him.
“What news have you?” eagerly inquired Mr. Markland.
“Bad news, I am sorry to say,” was answered.
“What is its nature?” The face of Mr. Markland was of an ashen hue, and his lips quivered.
“I fear we have been mistaken in our man,” said Mr. Fenwick.
“In Lyon?”
“Yes. His last letters are of a very unsatisfactory character, and little in agreement with previous communications. We have, besides, direct information from a partly on the ground, that tends to confirm our worst fears.”
“Worst fears of what?” asked Markland, still strongly agitated.
“Unfair—nay, treacherous—dealing.”
“Treachery!”
“That word but feebly expresses all we apprehend.”
