affairs than he had confessed, and
about Philip's possible share in them--more anxious than he was able to
believe possible, after he had talked it all over with David and Violet.
That he had been really afraid that Philip had done any wrong, he would
not allow to himself. To the others he never spoke of what his fears
had been. But it was a great relief and satisfaction that it was all
past, and no one worse for it, and as far as Frank was concerned, there
was nothing to interfere with the enjoyment of the days as they passed.

There had been one thing very terrible to him before he came to Gourlay
to tell it to Aunt Mary--the fear of blindness. It had been all the
worse for him at home, because he never spoke of his fears there--no one
could bear to think of anything so sad, and fears brooded over in
silence increase in power. But he could speak of it to Mrs Inglis, and
the mere telling his fears had done something to allay them. Mrs
Inglis's judicious words did more. It was foolish and wrong, she said,
to go half way to meet so great a trouble. And since the physicians all
declared that only time and an improved state of health were needed to
restore perfectly his sight, to wait patiently and hopefully was his
duty.

It was easier for him to do so than it had been at home, and something
better than patient waiting, better even than the hope of fully restored
sight, came to Frank as the summer days went on. He and David enjoyed
much, after the manner of lads of their age, in the agreeable
circumstances in which they were placed; but their chief enjoyment was
of a kind which lads of their age do not usually prize very much.

David was boyish in many ways still, but the discipline of the last two
years had wrought well with him, and Frank saw a great difference in him
in one respect, at least. He had always been thoughtful, and he had
always been earnest in the grave discussions into which they had
sometimes fallen during his first visit, but there was this difference
in him now, Frank saw. He spoke now, not doubtfully and wistfully as
they all used to do, about "the whole armour" and the Christian's
"weapons" and "warfare," but with firmness and assurance, as of
something with which he had to do; and, though he said little about
himself at such times, it gradually became clear to Frank that David was
no longer his own--that his name had been enrolled among the names of
those whose honour and glory it is th