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The Emergence of Mind
Where Technology Ends
and We Begin
Jeffrey Kane
The Emergence of Mind
Jeffrey Kane
The Emergence of
Mind
Where Technology Ends and We Begin
Jeffrey Kane
Philosophy and Teaching and Learning
Long Island University
Brookville, NY, USA
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2024
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
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electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
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Switzerland AG.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
To the extent that this book shares something of substance, the voices of
many others from generations past and in my life may be heard in my
words. They are too numerous to mention, but I must acknowledge my
debt and express my gratitude to all of them. In particular, I thank the
great teachers of my life, Sheldon Stoff and John Fentress Gardner, whose
lessons continue to unfold within me.
There have been many colleagues who have read through endless drafts
of chapter after chapter to give this book both its form and its substance.
Early on, my colleague Mike Kavic helped me explore the fundamental
concepts of relational science. As I struggled with my ideas, Howard
Gardner encouraged me to write confidently from my own experience and
in my own voice. As the contours of the book emerged, Mike Gazzaniga
showed endless patience in helping me expand and refine my thinking.
Throughout, my colleague and friend Ron Schneebaum spent hours in
conversation with me exploring the nuances of the human experience of
thinking. My son, Jesse, offered critical analyses and insightful advice, and
my daughter Emily provided her unwavering encouragement to pursue
my passion. Other colleagues have also provided helpful criticism and
advice along the way. I am grateful particularly to Mike Soupois, Lori
Knapp, and my doctoral students.
Lastly, I must thank my wife Janet who reviewed every chapter through
multiple iterations, offering astute criticisms, thoughtful suggestions, and
untiring support. This work would not have been possible without her.
vii
Why This Book?
I write in the belief that there are many individuals who, like me, find the
sheer power and sophistication of Generative Artificial Intelligence both
awe inspiring and disturbing. Daily articles flood the internet attempting
to demystify its processing systems. Others, just as often, raise the alarm
that this new technology will, if left unchecked, destroy personal privacy,
if not humanity itself. For all the insights they provide, all of them reflect
an abiding uncertainty about what our new- found power means for
the world.
That uncertainty is not only about the world around us, but, to be
direct, about what lies within us. While we may wonder how the technol-
ogy can write original poetry or explain the inner conflicts tearing at
Hamlet, or detail the nuances of quantum mechanics, we may wonder if
there is more to human beings thinking than to computers performing
trillions of operations a second. Are our ideas shaped by our experience of
meanings that cannot be understood in computational terms? Is here
more to our existence as conscious, self-aware beings than can be reduced
to the laws governing the physical matter of our bodies?
To forego any suspense, I argue that the answer to both questions is
“yes.” However, the pursuit of the answer is not simple. The discussion
involves complex concepts in multiple disciplines such as physics, biology,
computer science, psychology, and philosophy. Any attempt to address
them in depth would lead us into an ocean of tangents, for both scholars
and the general population. Thus, the book is based on the basic principle
ix
x Why This Book?
that it must be accessible to anyone who would care enough to ask the
question and rigorous enough to stand the test of critical reflection. Its
purpose is to provide clear pathways into and through the fundamental
gap between information processing and human thinking. It is intended
to engage readers in the experience of ideas and to understand their mean-
ing to us as human beings.
Contents
2 Where We Begin 9
Where Do We Begin? 9
From Consciousness to Computation 12
The Experience of Mind and Body 15
The Science of Reductionism 19
Understanding Ourselves 22
The Union of Mind and Body 24
3 The
Science of Mindlessness 27
Two Selves 27
Thinking and the “Thinking Thing” 29
Descartes’ Mind Turned Inside Out 31
The Mind of the Human Animal 32
Complexity Overwhelms the Animal Paradigm 36
Computation and the Beginning of the Imitation Game 38
Computation as an Empirical Lens 39
The Cognitive Revolution 42
The Inversion of the Metaphor 45
xi
xii Contents
5 Relational Science 71
Beyond the Boundaries of Empirical Reductionism 71
Quantum Fields 77
From Uncertainty to Organization 80
Dissipative Systems 83
Multiple Levels of Emergence 85
7 Thinking
as a Creative Act113
The Experience of Ideas 113
A New Compass 115
The Reality of Thought 117
Living Ideas 119
The Quest for Coherence 121
Indwelling 124
Intuition 127
Imagination 129
The Role of Formal Systems 130
The Role of Logic 132
The Creation of Meaning 134
Contents xiii
8 Emerging Minds137
The Agency of Intelligence 137
The Light from Within 140
Child’s Play 142
Biological Indwelling and Insight 144
Shared Awareness and Learning 147
The Emergence of Ideas 149
Learning Not to Think 151
The Self as Object 153
The Reality of Self 155
The Creation of Self 156
Index163
CHAPTER 1
make sense of the world. It serves as the foundation of logic and reason; it
serves as the origin of ideas and the organizational principles of our sys-
tems of thought. The sources of the meaning of our ideas and organiza-
tion in our thinking lie deep beneath the surface of the words inked on a
page or the sounds produced by a speaker.
The words we use, the thoughts that unfold as we speak and write, are
like water taken from an underground stream: we can access the source
but it remains ever-flowing beneath the surface. Their meaning is subject
to the laws of language but the meaning that creates them—that gives
purpose to their existence—is not found within the words themselves or
their patterns. All meaning is deeply rooted in our lives and experience as
human beings. It is that experience of meaning that resonates within us as
we hear and read words; it is that experience that differentiates our words
from algorithm. Understanding that we cannot directly perceive the sub-
jective origins of the experience of other human beings, the question arises
as how we can understand the substance and form of our experience as the
foundation of the human mind.
Consider that generative AI systems are designed to be responsive to
prompts. They answer questions; they direct their functions toward objec-
tives set for them. Human beings, on the other hand, ask questions. We
have things that we wish to know; we seek something we value, something
that responds to purposes that extend beyond the answers themselves. We
do not listen to the weather report to analyze meteorological information,
but to refine some of the choices we will make about the coat we will wear
or the region where we might like to move, or whether or not we will buy
an electric car. We ask questions in the context of the things we value,
great and small.
We attend to the information we receive as a source of illumination, as
a means of coherence that we might guide ourselves in our actions. We
don’t simply identify patterns in phenomena as do generative systems, but
seek coherence in that which we value. On a primitive level, we may value
food and shelter and attend to the environment around us in search of
clues to the resources we cannot yet apprehend.
Yet, we are not simply primitive beings. We not only hunger for food
but for human community; we seek others to share experience. Not only
driven by a need to secure our interests in challenging environments we
create bonds with others that help us unfold our capacities beyond our
individual interests. The bonds we form emerge as new elements of our
environment with its own unknown dimensions that we explore with
1 WRITING THE HUMAN NARRATIVE 5
questions. Among them is our identity and the nature of those around us
much like ourselves.
Neither are we simply social animals, but conscious beings. We are
aware of our own consciousness—that we exist in some independent way
in a surrounding universe of apparent otherness. We seek to understand our
own existence… our origin, our place, our fate. We ask how in this mys-
tery we ought to live our lives. What shall we value? Do we have reason to
temper ourselves or to live with purpose beyond our own gratification?
These are not incidental questions but central to the creation of the
world’s spiritual traditions, to the formation of civilizations, to our great-
est works of literature, to our most expansive conceptions of the universe.
The questions that guide us in living our lives and in shaping who we
are, both individually and collectively, are not about ourselves as physical
beings only, but as physical beings imbued with the mystery of conscious-
ness. Whether we conclude that we are self-replicating strands of DNA or
children of divine origin, the question asked is one and the same. We can-
not deny that we ask it. But we can forget that we do and that the pursuit
of the question itself is essential to transform human beings into
being human.
This is not to suggest that we must continuously occupy ourselves with
the ultimate questions of our existence, but to propose that the very power
of generative AI to answer questions and to find patterns responsive to
them can obscure the type of thinking needed to understand what ques-
tions ought to be asked and what ends sought. These are the questions
that play out in the day-to-day, in listening to the weather report and
deciding how each day of our lives will be spent. It is not in the grand
declarations but in life lived, in the choices we make in the way we treat
others, in the food we eat, the companions we choose, in the way we treat
others we encounter and ultimately, the way we think about who we are
and what we ought to value. The very reason there is so much concern
that generative AI poses such a threat to humankind is that the programs
cannot ask these questions. It is not guided by any intention or its own
chosen objectives. Its power is not inherently nefarious but disintegrative;
it dissolves all order and purpose within a system that itself has no order or
purpose. It reduces all ideas into a vast universe of zeros and ones where
none has any claim to meaning or value beyond the zeros and ones them-
selves or the relations between them.
In this context, its vacuousness as a domain, its syntactical operational
structures and its lack of purpose make it the ideal vessel for the inscription
6 J. KANE
vague feelings and images that underlie the questions we ask and judg-
ments we make, even in the most abstract and seemingly impersonal
circumstances.
We are at a rare moment in history where either we challenge the self-
imposed limits of our understanding of our minds or allow technology
itself to define us in its image. This initial exploration of the human mind
as in the act of emergence is not intended as a final statement but as an
invitation to dialogue, one that will hopefully lead to heightened levels of
creativity and insight in all domains of human activity.
CHAPTER 2
Where We Begin
Whatever we think of the stars, they are what they are and will be what
they will be. Whatever we think of ourselves we will become.
Where Do We Begin?
What, if anything, distinguishes human thinking from digital information
processing? The answer we find will depend upon the way we respond to
a more fundamental question about who and what we are as human
beings: recognizing that each of us experiences ourselves as conscious
beings and as physically embodied, what is the connection between these
two dimensions of our existence?
The question has a more immediate edge than one might imagine. In
2010, Ian Burkhart suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident that left
him unable to experience sensation in his right hand. His injury remains
to this day. Yet, a study first reported in April 2020 in the journal Cell,
explains that his sense of touch and his use of his hand have been substan-
tially restored.1 The restoration of the connection of his brain and hand
was made possible by the implantation of a tiny computer chip in his
motor cortex that was wired to a system of electrodes under his skin in his
hand. The technological loop created was able to amplify the susceptible
1
Ganzer, Patrick D., et.al. “Restoring the Sense of Touch Using a Sensorimotor
Demultiplexing Neural Interface.” Cell, vol. 181, issue 4, 2020, pp. 763–773.
signals in Ian’s hand so that they could be interpreted by his brain and to
reverse the process so that the neural activity in his brain intended to direct
the movement of his hand could be communicated to his hand.
As remarkable as this achievement is, Ian’s case is but one example of a
growing field of research and technological development called Brain-
Computer Interface (BCI)—one of any number of similar fields all point-
ing to the physical integration of neural and digital computational systems.
Beginning in early 1970s, researchers began to build upon the use of elec-
troencephalograms (EEGs) to analyze neural activity. Given the almost
unimaginable numbers of neurons and neural connections, identifying
meaningful patterns among them required the development of powerful
computers and complex algorithms. As Ian’s case demonstrates, technol-
ogy has now advanced sufficiently to interpret specific patterns of neural
activity to direct communication between his brain and his implanted
non-human computational device.
That technology is not limited to neuro/physio prostheses, but now
includes the communication of language. In July 2019, Facebook pub-
lished an article describing advancements in the use of sensors and
advanced algorithms to discern unspoken words directly from cortical
activity. Since then, the field has grown rapidly, with considerable invest-
ments being made by the corporate sector. One particular effort is Elon
Musk’s well-funded Neuralink Corporation, first founded in 2016. Now a
publicly traded company, it may be on its way to developing a generalized
neural prosthesis that researchers believe could be used to support or
replace neural functions virtually anywhere in the brain. Musk explains
that Neuralink’s plan is focused on the development of an implantable
device that would extend cognitive processing seamlessly into a “digital
layer above the cortex.” This “digital lace” as he calls it, would form a
“symbiotic” relationship with the brain with each exchanging information
and integrating functions with the other.
While some of these ambitions might seem most appropriate for science
fiction novels, the same could have been said of Startrek’s Captain Kirk’s
now outdated old-style flip phone. (Musk’s interest in neural implantation
devices actually began with his reading of the science fiction book series,
The Culture, by Lain Banks.) The advancement of technology is inevita-
ble, but just how far will it go? Will it one day be possible to replace entire
regions of the brain? If so, could we replace multiple regions and eventu-
ally the brain in its entirety? While such questions might seem laughably
impracticable, what makes us think that any limits exist? How far would be
2 WHERE WE BEGIN 11
too far? What could act as a boundary of the brain function that could
separate the activity of carbon-based neurons from silicon-based circuits?
If we maintain that the function of neurons is to transfer bits of informa-
tion between themselves in complex patterns we otherwise call brain activ-
ity—whether that activity controls the secretion of bile in the liver or the
choices made in answering a question in math class—why could that same
function not be performed by sufficiently developed computer systems? If
the brain is a biological information processor, then all that stands between
us and machines must be reducible to engineering. In this context, reason
demands that once the functional information processes of neural activity
responsible for thinking are disassembled, they can be used to reverse engi-
neer a system functionally equivalent to a human brain. Any differences
between such a technology and our minds would be meaningless: in effect,
there would no aspect of our minds beyond the reach of technology or place
where our thinking might exist uniquely within us as living human beings.
Within this framework, any seemingly irreducible aspects of our minds
such as our experience of sensation or conscious self-awareness merely
feed into the system; they have no causal power. At most, they are the
products of neural processes and do not of themselves have any power to
affect the course of processing. Whether the algorithms that govern our
thinking are the result of the laws of physics expressed in a biological
entity or of codes buried in our DNA, they alone determine what and how
we think.
If our thinking amounts to the processing of information, and process-
ing according to the laws of physics as they govern biological functions,
our feelings, beliefs, and values play absolutely no role. In fact, nothing in
human experience—from a child wanting his parent when waking from a
nightmare to Michelangelo’s inspiration in sculpting David could be any-
thing more than molecular statistics.
In this context, the physical universe is a closed causal system: all that
exists and all that can exist in the physical universe owes its existence and
attributes to the properties of the most elementary of all particles of mat-
ter. There are no exceptions, not even for the human mind. Our con-
sciousness and all that we think, feel or value, are products of the
interactions of quantum particles, with no causal power of their own. In
essence, mind is a function of matter.
However, just as the notion of unembodied creative forces offers us
little when attempting to understand how they exert their influence of the
physical world, the leap from the properties of quantum particles to life,
12 J. KANE
focus from the indisputable experience of his own thinking to his existence
as an object that lay outside of his experience. He moved from a founda-
tion in the subjective experience of thinking to the elimination of that very
experience as a domain of inquiry.
His efforts to apply his procedure were very much influenced by the era
in which he lived, but the method of inquiry he created opened the way to
a new era of modern science. As ironic as it may seem to us now, the first
discovery he made using his scientific method was not about the world but
about his own subjective experience of his consciousness; the first object
before his scientific eye was his “self” as a thinker. He proposed that con-
sciousness and the physical body were fundamentally distinct and separate
in their nature. In his view, the mind existed as a rational entity within the
eternal purity of the domain of God, while the body was a member of the
animal kingdom driven by impulses and instincts. This dualism proved
highly problematic as it provided no principled way for the mind and the
body to interact with one another.
Although contemporary computational models of mind do not argue
that the human mind is either of divine origin or rational, a new dualism
of mind and body has arisen in an empirically-generated context. In this
case, the focus of inquiry is on the patterns of language, independent of
any subjective meaning that might be associated with any given words or
groupings of words. Those subjective experiences include all bodily sensa-
tions, impulses, and emotions.
Computational models are statistical in nature and attempt to identify
mathematical consistencies among words, and sometimes letters, as infor-
mational units rather than symbolic representations of phenomena. The
statistical models are configured as algorithms, which can then be used to
produce language patterns similar to human beings. The more similar the
patterns in more diverse contexts, the more the algorithmic models are
said to replicate the patterns of human mind as it can be defined by its use
of language.
Algorithms consist of sets of rules that sequence varied mathematical
operations. Those rules generate sequences specifically responsive to lan-
guage prompts or other types of informational input such as visual images
or sounds (like the human voice). The algorithmic processing does not
change with the meaning we might associate with words but with the sta-
tistical patterns in the letters and groupings of letters we call words. Nor is
the processing changed by the computational mechanism that performs
14 J. KANE
power to shape sound (sound the deaf statistician cannot hear) is absent
from consideration. Similarly, the meaning of the experience it is intended
to create is lost to functions between numbers.
These same questions apply to generative AI. When asked to produce a
scene of an argument over a parking ticket in the style of Shakespeare, the
technology will produce language patterns similar to those of the Bard
himself. Can Shakespeare’s genius be conveyed in the patterns of his
words? Can it be understood where human experience has no place? The
power of technology lies in its capacity to imitate patterns of language that
human beings take to have meaning beyond the patterns themselves. The
meaning that may be carried is created only within the context of human
experience—within the context of living and being in the world. The
reductive framework that has proven so powerful a framework for under-
standing the inanimate universe since the seventeenth century simply can-
not extend past the boundary it has created between matter and mind.
but draw their generative power from the immediacy of subjective experi-
ence. Crystalizing his concept, Damasio writes, “Thought is an acceptable
word to denote the flow of such images.”2 Formal rules apply in the struc-
ture of language, but our thoughts are not the products of those for-
mal rules.
Philosopher Herbert Dreyfus, observes that “all intelligent behavior
must be traced back to our sense of what we are…something we can never
explicitly know.”3 The concept of “what we are” is both immediate as
experience and broad in implication. Our experience, other than as we
may reflect upon it as an object, carries the force of our being alive and
conscious in the world. It is not what we see but the means by which we
transform the impression made upon us by light into objects with mean-
ing. It is not what we think “about” but the source of the effort to trans-
form subjective meaning into shared experience. Physical objects act as
they are acted upon; they initiate nothing. Living organisms can initiate
actions that would otherwise not occur by the laws of physics. As human
beings, we not only initiate physical actions but create meaning. Our
thinking is not reducible to the formal processing of abstract informa-
tional units or electrical impulses, even as they may be mimicked in some
abstract or mechanical form.
Among our most cherished beliefs is that there is something distinct in
our existence as conscious, self-aware human beings. Since Aristotle first
argued that our capacity to think distinguishes us from all the creatures of
the earth, our minds have been central to our concept of what it means to
be human. In his landmark book, written more than a half century ago,
What Computers Can’t Do: The Limits of Artificial Intelligence, Dreyfus
explains,
2
Damasio, Antonio. The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotions in the Making of
Consciousness, Harcourt, Inc. 1999, p. 318.
3
Dreyfus, Herbert. What Computers Can’t Do: The Limits of Artificial Intelligence, Revised
Edition, Harper Colophon Books, 1972, p. 57.
2 WHERE WE BEGIN 17
4
Ibid., pp. 78–79.
18 J. KANE
As time went on, Mark, after thinking over the matter, decided to tell
this girl friend the exact story of his past life, and to describe, with the
utmost minuteness, the cottage home and its contents, as well as
the narrow circle in which his parents were satisfied to move.
Dolly listened attentively, picturing the while all that Mark was taking
such pains to make clear to her. She could guess, too, what it cost
him; but when he finished she bravely looked in his face and said—
"When people have lived so long in one way they cannot change,
Mark, can they? They are like old trees—if you try to take them up
and plant them somewhere else, the roots cling, and there is no
moving them without breaking some. If people choose to live in a
little house and wait on themselves, instead of in a big one and be
waited on by other people, it is their own business, and nobody has
a right to find fault. One working bee is worth a lot of drones, is he
not? Any way, if your mother has no servants, she has not them to
grumble about all the time she is out calling, as my mamma's visitors
do. I do get tired of hearing them, when I am dressed up and sitting
in the drawing-room sometimes, and I wish they would talk of
something else. So does mamma. I mean to learn how to do
everything, and then when I am grown-up, and have a house and
servants, I shall be able to tell them what they do not know."
"You must not think we are without anything that is really necessary.
We have good food, beautifully cooked, and clothes, only they have
to be taken great care of. I know my parents are very fond of me;
only somehow, I have never been a boy like other boys. I never ran,
and jumped, and raced, and got into scrapes, and tore my clothes, or
got sent off to bed, as the neighbours' lads did. I think I was born
rather old."
Dorothy laughed at this, and Mark joined her, then added that he had
been growing younger every day since he came to Claybury, and it
was all through Mr. and Mrs. Mitcheson and herself.
The boy was no country lout or awkward bookworm to look at, but
was growing into a fine youth, whose manners would disgrace no
society. His mother's training had given him right habits to begin with,
and under Mr. Mitcheson's roof he had learnt those practised by
persons in a higher position. Frank, yet modest, simple but refined,
sincere without forwardness, and with a mind richly stored for one so
young, Mark Walthew was indeed a son on whom a father might
have rejoiced to bestow all the advantages money could give.
But all the while Mr. Walthew was saying, "Barbara, this is Mark's
last term. In July, he will come home to stay."
She, with a sinking of the heart, could only answer, "Yes; he will have
had the three years you promised him," and hope for a solution as to
future difficulties which she could foresee, though her husband could
not. Whilst he, nevertheless, confessed that he was not altogether
easy in his mind as to what all this learning would lead to.
CHAPTER IV.
A NEW FACE.
His success exceeded his most sanguine hopes. He won two of the
best, and even without further help from Mr. Walthew, might work on
for three more years, and, he trusted, win further distinctions.
This story begins with some of the words used by the wrathful old
man; many others, far more bitter and cruel, sank deep into Mark's
memory, and grieved him to the heart, but they need not be repeated
here.
"If," said Mr. Walthew, "you are resolved to turn your back on home,
and choose a new road for yourself, go, and never darken my doors
again. But if you think of being kept in idleness by the old father's
money, you will find your mistake out; I will never leave you a penny!
You choose now—once and for all!"
"Then I must choose to go, father," said Mark. "God has given me
some talents to account for, and I must use them. I will never ask
you for money; but some day I hope I shall hear you say I have
chosen wisely. If you are not now proud of my success—and, oh, I
had so counted on hearing you and mother say, 'Well done, Mark!'—
you shall not be ashamed of me in after years."
"I am proud of you, Mark," cried Mrs. Walthew, "so proud that I would
not have you stay and be tied down from youth to age, to such a life
as we have led! We are too old to change; but for you it would be a
living death. Go, my son, my one darling, if so be you can choose,
and have no fear of want before your eyes. I have been twenty-eight
years always going the same daily round, without change in
anything, except the growing older. Talk of money! What is it worth if
it never gives a day's brightness, and the only pleasure the owner
has is the being able to say, 'I have so many thousands of pounds,
or hundreds of acres'?"
"Listen, my boy. It is terrible for a wife to take the opposite side to her
husband, but I could not bear to think of your growing into a man like
your father. Not that he is dishonest! To gain a hundred pounds, he
would not take a penny wrongfully, or refuse to pay what is fairly due.
He has only robbed himself and me of everything that money could
have bought in the way of happiness for ourselves, or enabled us to
give it to other people. Those who have wealth, and neither the heart
to spend nor give of their abundance, are the poorest of the poor.
You may be blessedly rich with very little money."
Need it be said that Daniel Walthew was not present when his wife
spoke these words to her son? They cheered Mark, for they told him
that his mother's blessing would be on his head, his mother's prayers
ever offered on his behalf. And both hoped that in time the father's
views might change. How could he stand singly against the world?
The world meant Claybury and the country round, for naturally
Mark's success had made his friends proud of him—none more so
than the Mitchesons, and most of all his friend Dolly. Many a time the
true-hearted girl had cheered the boy on, until her own brothers used
to say that the adopted one took the first place of all in her thoughts,
and had more than an eighth share thereof.
Mr. Mitcheson tried to move Mr. Walthew from his resolve, but in
vain. The headmaster of the school used his influence, and spoke in
such terms of Mark's talents and industry, that any other man would
have been delighted beyond measure to call him son.
Not so Daniel Walthew. "I don't hold with learning that takes a man
out of his proper spear, and makes him ashamed of the honest work
his father does," said he, and refused to hear any argument on the
other side, or to speak again on the subject.
So the cottage door closed behind Mark Walthew, and all the articles
purchased for his use went with him. The old man would not suffer a
scrap belonging to him to remain, and the goodly pile of handsome
books which had brightened the dingy parlour no longer lay on its
table, to tell of the boy's school victories.
Daniel Walthew neither spoke of Mark nor allowed any other person
to mention his name.
In his heart he must have felt for the sorrow of his faithful wife, for he
did not hinder her from receiving letters; and he knew that the tidings
they brought must be good by the glad light on her face, though
tears often accompanied it—tears because her husband did not
share her joy.
Years passed on. Mark did wonders, and his friends rejoiced that his
career had more than fulfilled their most sanguine expectations.
At sight of her, he angrily thrust the paper between the bars and saw
it burn to ashes. But his wife had caught the expression on his face
as he read, and thanked God for this, as for a ray of light and hope.
"He is not so hard as he seems," she said to herself. And this she
not only thought, but told her son in a letter, written in a cramped
hand and imperfectly spelled, but which the youth kissed—soft-
hearted fellow that he was—because it came from that dear
unselfish mother whom he had only seen very rarely for seven long
years.
There was a fair face that lighted at his coming—a warm, loving
heart that did not try to hide its gladness, when, at an evening
gathering at the headmaster's house, in honour of his old pupil, Dolly
Mitcheson's hand was clasped in that of Mark Walthew.
Dorothy was twenty-two now, and for years past she and Mark had
known that each held the first place in the other's heart. Friends—
adopted brother and sister!—these might be and were sweet
relationships; but that which subsisted now was nearer and dearer
still.
Dolly had been wooed by wealthy suitors. Mark's father would never
break his word, so that he had only himself to rely upon; but she
knew that a time would come when her lover would be able to claim
his bride, and offer a home of his own winning. And Mark knew that
wealth had sought in vain for Dorothy's regard, and that she would
wait, no matter how long, for her one love.
The same thought had passed through Mrs. Walthew's mind; and, if
truth may be told, through that of Daniel also.
The mother fed on that happy meeting for many a day—looking back
on it, and forward to the next.
Winter came, and sturdy old Daniel, who had never known a day's
illness before, was attacked by severe bronchitis, and confined, not
only to house, but to bed for many weeks. It would have been going
out of the regular rut to have outside help; so Barbara toiled and
watched, and nursed him tenderly, getting often hard words and
never thanks—for Daniel was a most impatient patient. It was only
when he was fairly well again, and grumbling over his sadly-
neglected plots, that Barbara's strength gave way. She was simply
worn out with loss of rest and overwork. She had been as hale as
Daniel; as independent of doctors and their physic; but now a great
dread fell upon her husband. What if his wife were to die? He had
always made sure she would outlive him, and counted on her careful
nursing to the last.
Worse still, Daniel must go to Claybury on the very day that Barbara
broke down, as deeds had to be signed, and the other party to them
would come a long way to meet him.
The lawyer felt sorry to see the trouble of his stout old client, despite
his stubbornness and unreasonable treatment of Mark, and called
Mrs. Mitcheson into consultation about finding a nurse for Mrs.
Walthew.
"I think I can find one," she said. "I will do my best, for I am grieved
to hear of Mrs. Walthew's illness. No doubt she has broken down
through overwork and anxiety."
The old man saw his wife's face become more hopeful-looking, and
in time overspread with a faint colour. He noted that her spirits
improved, and that this young presence had a cheering effect on
himself, for the nurse told bright tales, and as her patient gained
strength, went singing about the cottage in a voice that sounded
wondrously sweet, when compared with anything he had ever heard.
Barbara and her young nurse had always plenty to talk about, but
sometimes they stopped suddenly when Daniel came in. He noticed,
too, that she had very pretty ways, and what he called "lady hands,"
and yet how clever they were at whatever they attempted!
An angry exclamation fell from Daniel's lips, and he left the cottage
for a time. When he returned the nurse was standing with her
outdoor garments on and her box packed ready to depart, as it was
the carrier's day for Claybury.
"You will not leave her!" he cried, aghast at the sight and at the tears
of his wife.
"I would not, if I could do more for her, but I cannot stay to see her
die when it is in your power to save her. If Mrs. Walthew dies, the
blame will be on your head."
The nurse looked fearlessly at Daniel, who turned from her to his
wife as these plain words fell on his ears.
"Have your will," he said. "She must be saved. It is human nature for
a mother to want her only son."
Joyfully the nurse prepared a telegram, and ran with it to the post-
office, Daniel watching the while beside his wife. Not many hours
later Mark stood by his mother, and that too by his father's wish, and
from that moment Mrs. Walthew began to mend.
"I may have been wrong in keeping in one rut all my life, and keeping
other people at a distance," said old Daniel. "Nurse Dora has taught
me a good many lessons in a few weeks, more than I had learned in
seventy years before. I don't know how we shall do without her, and
she will have to leave us soon, she says. Here is Mark, far and away
happier without money than mine has ever made me. That is a good
thing. For I have said I will not leave him any, and I will not break my
word."
"But I shall, my dear," said the old man, his eyes twinkling with a
knowing expression, such as Mark had never seen in them before. "I
shall make a will, that I may leave you a legacy. And there is no need
to trouble for a way out of the difficulty. I never said I would not give
Mark anything. I am free to do that, and I am not sure but what there
is more pleasure in giving than leaving, for you can see the fruits of
one, and not the other."
"Ah, Miss Dorothy," he continued, "the old man is not quite so blind
as you thought! You have not come to speak to me of late years, but
you have some of the child's face left yet, and you favour your
mother. And my ears have caught old words now and then, and I
know how good and true a heart my lad has won, and what a clever
housewife and nurse can be joined to a born lady. You have won old
Daniel as well as young Mark, and all I can say is, 'May God bless
you both, and forgive me!'"
THE END.
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