t,
he always made her tell him what she had learnt; nor did he shun the
meeting me over Percy's picture in my sitting-room in the twilight
Sunday hour. Now and then he asked me to find him some passage in the
Bible which had struck him in the brief instruction to the children at
the service, but what was going on in his mind was entirely out of my
reach or scope; but that great strength and alertness, and keen, vivid
interest in the world around, still made the present everything to him.
I think his powerfulness, and habit of doing impossible things, made
the thought of prayer and dependence--nay, even of redemption--more
alien to him, as if weakness were involved in it; and though to a
certain extent he had, with Prometesky beside him, made his choice
between virtue and vice beside his uncle's death-bed; yet it was as yet
but the Stoic virtue of the old Polish patriot that he had embraced.

And yet he was not the Stoic. He had far more of the little child, the
Christian model in his simplicity, his truth, his tender heart, and
that grand modesty of character which, though natural, is the step to
Christian humility. How one longed for the voice to say to him, "The
Lord is with thee, thou mighty man of valour."

And so time went on, and we were still in solitude. People came and
went, had their season in London and returned, but it made no
difference to us. Dermot Tracy shot grouse, came home and shot
partridges, and Eustace and Harold shared their sport with him, though
Harold found it dull cramped work, and thought English gentlemen in sad
lack of amusement to call that sport. Lady Diana and Viola went to the
seaside, and came back, and what would have been so much to me once was
nothing now. Pheasant shooting had begun and I had much ado to prevent
Dora from joining the shooting parties, not only when her brother and
cousin were alone, but when they were going to meet Mr. Tracy and some
of the officers to whom he had introduced them.

On one of these October days, when I was trying to satisfy my
discontented Dora by a game at ball upon the steps, to my extreme
astonishment I beheld a white pony, led by Harold, and seated on the
same pony, no other than my dear little friend, unseen for four months,
Viola Tracy!

I rushed, thinking some accident had happened, but Harold called out in
a tone of exultation, "Here she is! Now you are to keep her an hour,"
and she held out her arms with "Lucy, Lucy, dear old Lu