Again he urged, with a kindness of manner that caused Arthur to wring his hand, and then pace the room in ill-concealed agony, the necessity, now that he had indeed taken orders, of endeavouring to do his Master's work on earth, of forcing his rebellious spirit to submission.

Arthur listened to him attentively, sadly; but vainly Herbert strove to instil in him a portion of that heavenly love which was to him the main-spring of his life.

Arthur loved with an intensity, which utterly prevented his looking up to heaven as the goal, to reach which all earthly toil was welcome; and still not even to Herbert did he breathe one syllable of the fire that was inwardly consuming him.

Had he been any one but Herbert Hamilton, the unhappy young man would have sought and found relief in his confidence; but not to the brother of the being he loved, oh, not to him--he could not, dared not.
"Herbert," he would say, in a voice hoarse with contending feelings, "did I dare betray the secret of this tortured heart, the true cause of my misery, you would pity, even if you condemned me; but ask it not--ask it not, it shall never pass my lips; one thing only I beseech you, and I do so from the regard you have ever seemed to feel for me.

However you may hear my character traduced, my very conduct may confirm every evil report, yet believe them not; I may be miserable, imprudent, mad, but never, never believe the name of Arthur Myrvin is stained with vice or guilt.