afely; I
will take charge of her."

"You will?" said M. Linders, fixing his dim eyes on Graham,
and with some resumption of his old manner. "Pardon, Monsieur,
but who are you, that you take such an interest in my
affairs?"

"Anyone must take an interest in your little girl," said
Graham warmly, and in the kind, frank voice that somehow
always carried with it the conviction of his sincerity and
good faith, "and I am truly glad that the chance that brought
me to this hotel has put it in my power to be of use to you
and to her. For the rest, my name is Graham, and I am an army
surgeon. I don't suppose you recollect the circumstance,
Monsieur, but I very well remember meeting you at
Chaudfontaine some years ago."

"No, I don't remember," said M. Linders faintly, "but I think
I may trust you. You will see that Madelon reaches Liege
safely?"

"I will take her there myself," answered Graham. "Would you
like to send any message to your sister?"

"I will write," said M. Linders, "or rather you shall write
for me; but presently--I cannot talk any more now--it must do
presently."

Indeed he was faint from exhaustion, and Graham could only do
all that was possible to revive him, and then remain by his
side till he should have recovered his strength a little; and
as he sat there, silently watching, I daresay he preached a
little sermon to himself, but in no unfriendly spirit to his
patient, we may be sure. This, then, was what life might come
to--this might be the end of all its glorious possibilities, of
all its boundless hopes and aims. To this man, as to another,
had the great problem been presented, and he had solved it--
thus; and to Graham, in the fulness of his youth, and
strength, and energy, the solution seemed stranger than the
problem. To most of us, perhaps, as years go on, life comes to
be represented by its failures rather than its successes, by
its regrets rather than its hopes; enthusiasms die out,
illusions vanish, belief in the perfectibility of ourselves
and of others fades, as we learn to realize the shortness of
life, the waywardness of human nature, the baffling power of
circumstances, too easily allowed; but in their place, a
humble faith in a more perfect and satisfying hereafter, which
shall be the complement of our existence here, the fulfilment
of our unfinished efforts, our many shortcomings, springs up,
let us trust, to encourage us to new strivings, to ever-fresh
beginnings, which shall pe