For Destiny rained her sharpest blows on Balder Helwyse all at once, and the attack marks the turning-point of his life.  She chose her weapons wisely.  He was beaten by tactics which a coarser and shallower nature would have slighted.  He sustained the onslaught for the most part with outward composure,—­but bleeding inwardly.

His had been a vast egoism, rooted in his nature and trained by his philosophy.  It must die, if at all, violently, painfully, and—­in silence.  The truer and more constant the soul, the more complete the destruction of its idol.  Character is not always the slow growth of years:  often do the elements mingle long in formless solution; some sudden jar causes them to spring at once to the definite crystal.  There had, hitherto, been a kind of impersonality about Balder, having its ultimate ground in his blindness to the immutable unity of God.  But so soon as his eye became single, he stood pronounced in his individuality, less broadly indifferent than of yore, but organized and firm.

In this inert world the body pursues but imperfectly the processes of the soul.  These three days had made small change in Helwyse’s face.  His expression was less serene than of yore, but pithier as well as more joyful.  The humorous indifference had given place to a kindlier humanity.  Gone was the glance half satiric, half sympathetic; but in its stead was something warmer and more earnest.  For the charity of scepticism was substituted a sentiment less broad, but deeper and truer.  It would need an insight supernaturally keen to detect thus early these alterations in the page of Balder’s countenance; but their germs are there, to develop afterwards.

During this pause in our narrative, Helwyse was sitting at his chamber window, awaiting the summons to the ceremony.  The afternoon was far advanced, and the landscape lay breathless beneath the golden burden of the lavish sun.  The bridegroom rose to his feet; surely the bride must be ready!  Was that strange old Nurse delaying her?  Did she herself procrastinate?  Balder was waxing impatient!

The clear outcry of the hoopoe startled the calm air, and that good little messenger came fluttering in haste to the window.  Bound its neck was twined a golden dandelion,—­Gnulemah’s love-token!  With a knowing upturn of its bright little eye, the bird submitted to being robbed of its decoration; then warbled a keen good-by, and flew away.

The lover behaved as foolishly towards the dandelion as a lover should.  At last he drew the stem through the button-hole of his velveteen jacket, and was ready to answer in person the shy invitation it conveyed.  The bride waited!