GATES

"He has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?"

Coriolanus.

It was a wet autumn day, when the yellow leaves of the poplars in
front of the house were floating down amid the misty rain; Dr.
Woodford had gone two days before to consult a book in the Cathedral
library, and was probably detained at Winchester by the weather;
Lady Archfield was confined to her bed by a sharp attack of
rheumatism. Sir Philip was taking his after-dinner doze in his arm-
chair; and little Philip was standing by Anne, who was doing her
best to keep him from awakening his grandfather, as she partly read,
partly romanced, over the high-crowned hatted fishermen in the
illustrations to Izaak Walton's Complete Angler.

He had just, caught by the musical sound, made her read to him a
second time Marlowe's verses,

'Come live with me and be my love,'

and informed her that his Nana was his love, and that she was to
watch him fish in the summer rivers, when the servant who had been
sent to meet His Majesty's mail and extract the Weekly Gazette came
in, bringing not only that, but a thick, sealed packet, the aspect
of which made the boy dance and exclaim, "A packet from my papa!
Oh! will he have written an answer to my own letter to him?"

But Sir Philip, who had started up at the opening of the door, had
no sooner glanced at the packet than he cried out, "'Tis not his
hand!" and when he tried to break the heavy seals and loosen the
string, his hands shook so much that he pushed it over to Anne,
saying, "You open it; tell me if my boy is dead."

Anne's alarm took the course of speed. She tore off the wrapper,
and after one glance said, "No, no, it cannot be the worst; here is
something from himself at the end. Here, sir."

"I cannot! I cannot," said the poor old man, as the tears dimmed
his spectacles, and he could not adjust them. "Read it, my dear
wench, and let me know what I am to tell his poor mother."

And he sank into a chair, holding between his knees his little
grandson, who stood gazing with widely-opened blue eyes.

"He sends love, duty, blessing. Oh, he talks of coming home, so do
not fear, sir!" cried Anne, a vivid colour on her cheeks.

"But what is it?" asked the father. "Tell me first--the rest
after."

"It is in the side--the left side," said Anne, gathering up in her
agitation the sense of the crabbed writing as best she could. "They
have not extracted the bullet, but when they have, he will d