Holchester looked at his eldest son with a grimly-satirical
expression of surprise.

"Have I not already told you," he rejoined, "that my mind is not
affected by my illness? Geoffrey anxious about me! Anxiety is one of the
civilized emotions. Man in his savage state is incapable of feeling it."

"My brother is not a savage, Sir."

"His stomach is generally full, and his skin is covered with linen and
cloth, instead of red ochre and oil. So far, certainly, your brother is
civilized. In all other respects your brother is a savage."

"I know what you mean, Sir. But there is something to be said for
Geoffrey's way of life. He cultivates his courage and his strength.
Courage and strength are fine qualities, surely, in their way?"

"Excellent qualities, as far as they go. If you want to know how far
that is, challenge Geoffrey to write a sentence of decent English, and
see if his courage doesn't fail him there. Give him his books to read
for his degree, and, strong as he is, he will be taken ill at the sight
of them. You wish me to see your brother. Nothing will induce me to see
him, until his way of life (as you call it) is altered altogether. I
have but one hope of its ever being altered now. It is barely possible
that the influence of a sensible woman--possessed of such advantages
of birth and fortune as may compel respect, even from a savage--might
produce its effect on Geoffrey. If he wishes to find his way back into
this house, let him find his way back into good society first, and bring
me a daughter-in-law to plead his cause for him--whom his mother and I
can respect and receive. When that happens, I shall begin to have some
belief in Geoffrey. Until it does happen, don't introduce your brother
into any future conversations which you may have with Me. To return to
your election. I have some advice to give you before you go back. You
will do well to go back to-night. Lift me up on the pillow. I shall
speak more easily with my head high."

His son lifted him on the pillows, and once more entreated him to spare
himself.

It was useless. No remonstrances shook the iron resolution of the man
who had hewed his way through the rank and file of political humanity to
his own high place apart from the rest. Helpless, ghastly, snatched out
of the very jaws of death, there he lay, steadily distilling the clear
common-sense which had won him all his worldly rewards into the mind of
his son. Not a hint was missed, not a cau