orty years!

No, Willis never knew any music, but he loved a fugue. Ah, the fugues
they had! And then a voice crossed Mr Sharnall's memory, saying, "When
I am here myself, I beg that there may be no more fugue." "No more
fugue"--there was a finality in the phrase uncompromising as the "no
more sea" of the Apocalyptic vision. It made Mr Sharnall smile
bitterly; he woke from his daydream, and was back in the present.

Oh yes, he knew very well that it was his old friend when he first saw
on whom the choice had fallen for the Bishopric. He was glad Willis was
coming to see him. Willis knew all about the row, and how it was that
Sharnall had to leave Oxford. Ay, but the Bishop was too generous and
broad-minded to remember that now. Willis must know very well that he
was only a poor, out-at-elbows old fellow, and yet he was coming to
lunch with him; but did Willis know that he still--He did not follow the
thought further, but glanced in a mirror, adjusted his tie, fastened the
top button of his coat, and with his uncertain hands brushed the hair
back on either side of his head. No, Willis did not know that; he never
should know; it was _never_ too late to mend.

He went to the cupboard, and took out a bottle and a tumbler. Only very
little spirit was left, and he poured it all into the glass. There was
a moment's hesitation, a moment while enfeebled will-power was nerving
itself for the effort. He was apparently engaged in making sure that
not one minim of this most costly liquor was wasted. He held the bottle
carefully inverted, and watched the very last and smallest drop detach
itself and fall into the glass. No, his will-power was not yet
altogether paralysed--not yet; and he dashed the contents of the glass
into the fire. There was a great blaze of light-blue flame, and a puff
in the air that made the window-panes rattle; but the heroic deed was
done, and he heard a mental blast of trumpets, and the acclaiming voice
of the _Victor Sui_. Willis should never know that he still--because he
never would again.

He rang the bell, and when Miss Euphemia answered it she found him
walking briskly, almost tripping, to and fro in the room. He stopped as
she entered, drew his heels together, and made her a profound bow.

"Hail, most fair chastelaine! Bid the varlets lower the draw-bridge and
raise the portcullis. Order pasties and souse-fish and a butt of
malmsey; see the great hall is properly decored for my