Yet he who had stolen my purse would indeed have stolen trash this

day. Rich in one way, I was poor, indeed, in others. I cared nothing

for old Dan Emory's money, but very, very much for old Dan Emory's

daughter; and her I might not have, even after all my efforts.... No,

the waters would leave no trail; and once more, after I had restored

old Dan Emory's daughter to her home and friends, I would travel the

wide world again, and the gossipers might guess what causes had ended

a professional career, apparently ended a great fortune, and actually

had ended a life.... For, I thought--using some philosophy of my own

making--it is not wealth, but usefulness, contentment and independence

which a man should hold as his most desired success. These achieved,

little is left to gain. Any one of these last, and nothing remains

worth gaining.

I took up another book, at another marked page: "Let us learn to be

content with what we have. Let us get rid of our false estimates, set

up all the higher ideals--a quiet home, vines of our own planting; a

few books full of the inspiration of genius; a few friends worthy of

being loved; a hundred innocent pleasures that bring no pain or

remorse; a devotion to the right that will never swerve; a simple

religion empty of all bigotry, full of trust and hope and love--and to

such a philosophy, this world will give up all the empty joy it has."

I meditated over this also, applying these tests to my own life....

Ah! now I saw why my foot was ever restless, why I sought always new

scenes.... Where was my quiet home, the vines of my own planting?

Would I flee from that to every corner of the world? Not if it held

the woman of my choice. Would she thus roam restless, if she held the

heart of her chosen and if they had a home?... I began to see the Plan

unfold. Yes, and saw myself outside the Plan.... Because of a devotion

to the right that would not swerve. Because of a fanaticism, an

"oddness", a nonconformity--ah! so I said bitterly to myself, because,

after all, I was unattuned to my age, because I was unfit to survive

before a man's own judge.... It is Portia judges this world. The case

of every man comes before a woman for decision. I, who rarely had lost

a case at law where I could use my own trained mind, had lost my first

and only case at the bar of Love....

So--and I sighed as I shut the books and returned them to their

shelves--contentment never could be mine, nor that quiet home where

only life is lived that is worth living; nor usefulness; nor

independence.




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