We both felt better for our talk, and when I wished him good-night
at his door, it was the real Cyril Harjohn whose hand I gripped--
the real Cyril, because the best that is in a man is his real self.
If there be any future for man beyond this world, it is the good
that is in him that will live. The other side of him is of the
earth; it is that he will leave behind him.
He kept his word. In the morning he was gone, and I never saw him
again. I had many letters from him, hopeful at first, full of
strong resolves. He told me he had written to Elspeth, not telling
her everything, for that she would not understand, but so much as
would explain; and from her he had had sweet womanly letters in
reply. I feared she might have been cold and unsympathetic, for
often good women, untouched by temptation themselves, have small
tenderness for those who struggle. But her goodness was something
more than a mere passive quantity; she loved him the better because
he had need of her. I believe she would have saved him from
himself, had not fate interfered and taken the matter out of her
hands. Women are capable of big sacrifices; I think this woman
would have been content to lower herself, if by so doing she could
have raised him.
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