The last of October was the moment selected, and the selection was almost all that was wanting to Bernard's happiness.

I say "almost," for there was a solitary spot in his consciousness which felt numb and dead--unpervaded by the joy with which the rest of his spirit seemed to thrill and tingle.

The removal of this hard grain in the sweet savour of life was needed to complete his felicity.

Bernard felt that he had made the necessary excision when, at the end of the month, he wrote to Gordon Wright of his engagement.

He had been putting off the performance of this duty from day to day--it seemed so hard to accomplish it gracefully.