Could this, then, be the firm-poised, Christ-like man I had known, with pure, limpid eyes and a gaze steady and unfaltering as his soul?
He had been man-handled; he had been cowed into subjection.

His spirit was too gentle.

It had not been mighty enough to face the organized wolf-pack of society.
I felt sad, unutterably sad.

He talked ambiguously, and was so apprehensive of what I might say that I had not the heart to catechise him.

He spoke in a far-away manner of his illness, and we talked disjointedly about the church, the alterations in the organ, and about petty charities; and he saw me depart with such evident relief that I should have laughed had not my heart been so full of tears.
The poor little hero! If I had only known! He was battling like a giant, and I did not guess it.