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evening as I looked upwards I saw another sky. There were the same clouds, the same vibrating colours of sunset, but all breathed peace and happiness, there was no sorrow in the whispering breeze that night.

Nor was I alone as my gaze went heaven-ward that night, and the inward cry that this earth knows no happiness, no smile without tears, that cry that had haunted me so long was stilled at last. We were sitting together, Chotu and I, silently absorbed in the love of our young lives. To me the shading of the clouds had another message now. "Smiles," they whispered, "would not be so precious if they had not known tears, happiness would not know itself if it were not born of suffering." Did he think as I did, for suddenly he gave expression to my silent thoughts and said—

"Happiness is not happy enough, but must grow by the contact of pain and fear."