She dropped her work, folding her hands above it, and her face wore a
reminiscent look as she continued: "When David's wife died, twelve years ago, it was an awful blow to him.
He didn't say much,--that isn't our way,--but we were afraid he would
never be the same again. His brother was out here at that time, but none
of us could do anything for him. He kept on trying to attend to business
just as usual, but he seemed, as you might say, to have lost his grip on
things. It went on that way for nearly two years; his business got
behind and everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers, when he
happened to get acquainted with Mr. Britton, and he seemed to know just
what to say and do. He got David interested in business again. He loaned
him money to start with, and they went into business together and have
been together ever since. They have both been successful, but David has
worked and planned for what he has, while Mr. Britton's money seems to
come to him. He owns property all over the State, and all through the
West for that matter, and sometimes he's in one place and sometimes in
another, but he never stays very long anywhere. David would like to have
him make his home with us, but he told him once that he couldn't think
of it; that he only stayed in a place till the pain got to be more than
he could bear, and then he went somewhere else."
A long silence followed; then, as Mrs. Dean folded her work, she said,
softly,-"It's no wonder he knows just how to help folks who are in trouble, for
I guess he has suffered himself more than anybody knows."
A little later she had gone indoors to superintend the preparations for
lunch, but Darrell still sat in the mellow, autumn sunlight, his eyes
closed, picturing to himself this stranger silently bearing his hidden
burden, changing from place to place, but always keeping the pain.
It still lacked two hours of sunset when John Darrell, leaning on the
arm of John Britton, walked slowly up the mountain-path to a rustic seat
under the pines. They had met at lunch. Mr. Britton had already heard
the strange story of Darrell's illness, and, looking into his eyes with
their troubled questioning, their piteous appeal, knew at once by swift
intuition how hopelessly bewildering and dark life must look to the
young man before him just at the age when it usually is brightest and
most alluring; and Darrell, meeting the steadfast gaze of the clear,
gray eyes, saw there no pity, but something infinitely broader, deeper,
and sweeter, and knew intuitively that they were united by the
fellowship of suffering, that mysterious tie which has not only bound
human hearts together in all ages, but has linked suffering humanity
with suffering Divinity.