All the old days seemed to come back again as we passed along the quiet roads and green lanes, just as when we were boys together, when I had none I cared for but David, and David cared only for me.

The natural growth of things had made a difference in this, but our affection had changed its outward form only, not its essence.

I often think that all loves and friendships need a certain three days' burial before we can be quite sure of their truth and immortality.

Mine--it happened just after John's marriage, and I may confess it now--had likewise its entombment, bitter as brief.

Many cruel hours sat I in darkness, weeping at the door of its sepulchre, thinking that I should never see it again; but, in the dawn of the morning, it rose, and I met it in the desolate garden, different, yet the very same.