n was not mentioned till they were approaching the
house for tea. On the threshold, Desmond said with a nervous laugh--

"I'd like your mother to give me a Prayer-book--a small one, nothing
expensive."

During the following week they hunted with foxhounds or staghounds every
day, except Wednesday. In the New Forest the Easter hunting is unique.
Tremendous fellows come down from the shires--masters of famous packs,
thrusters, keen to see May foxes killed. And the Forest entertains them
handsomely, you may be sure. Big hampers are unpacked under the oaks
which may have been saplings when William Rufus ruled in England; there
are dinners, and, of course, a hunt-ball in the ancient village of
Lyndhurst. But as each pleasant day passed, John told himself that the
end was drawing near. This was almost the last holidays Caesar and he
would spend together; and, afterwards, would this friendship, so
romantic a passion with one at least of them--would it wither away, or
would it endure to the end?

At the end of a fortnight, Desmond returned to Eaton Square. Upon the
eve of departure, Mrs. Verney gave him a small Prayer-book.

"I have written something in it," she said; "but don't open it now."

He looked at the fly-leaf as the train rolled out of Lyndhurst Station.
Upon it, in Mrs. Verney's delicate handwriting, were a few lines. First
his name and the date. Below, a text--"Unto whomsoever much is given, of
him shall be much required." And, below that again, a verse--

"Not thankful when it pleaseth me,
As if Thy blessings had spare days:
But such a heart whose pulse may be--
Thy praise."

Desmond stared at the graceful writing long after the train had passed
Totton. "Am I ungrateful?" he asked himself. "Not to them," he muttered;
"surely not to them." He recalled what Warde had said about ingratitude
being the unpardonable sin. Ah! it was loathsome, ingratitude! And much
had been given to him. How much? For the first time he made, so to
speak, an inventory of what he had received--his innumerable blessings.
_What had he given in return?_ And now the fine handwriting seemed
blurred; he saw it through tears which he ought to have shed. "Oh, my
God," he murmured, "am I ungrateful?" The question bit deeper into his
mind, sinking from there into his soul.

* * * * *

When the School reassembled, a curious incident occurred. John happened
to be going up the fine flight o