nt
for a while, looking straight before him beyond the meadow edges into
the yellowing sky. Then he turned and looked at me with a brotherly pity
that was soothing to my troubled senses, and he spoke to me with a
softness of voice that seemed in tune with the dying day and my drooping
spirits.

'After all,' he said, 'you have not lost much, Raphael. She is but a
light o' love, and you were built for a better mate.'

Truly, though I scarcely noted it at the time, it was gracious and
quick-witted of him to assume that I was of a lover's age with the great
lass of the Skull and Spectacles, and unconsciously it tickled my torn
vanity. But part of his speech angered me, and I took fire like tinder.

Swinging myself round on my elbow, I glanced savagely into Lancelot's
face of compassion.

'You lie!' I growled, 'you lie! She is a queen among women, and there is
no man in all the world worthy of her!'

Then--for I saw him smile a little--I struck out at him. I am thankful
to think that I was too wild and weary to strike either true or hard,
and my foolish hand just grazed his cheek and touched his shoulder as he
stooped; and then, turning away again, I fell into a fresh storm of
sobbing. Lancelot remained by my side, gently indifferent to my fury,
gently tender with my sorrow. After a while he turned me round
reluctant, and looked very gravely into my tear-stained face. We were
but a brace of lads, each on the edge of life, and as I look back on
that page of my history I cannot help but shudder at the contrast
between us, I bellowing like a gaby at the ache of my first
calf-love--and yet indeed I was hurt, and hardly--and he so sweet and
restrained and sane, weighing the world so wisely in his young hands.

'I am very sorry for you, Raphael,' he said, and his voice was so clear
and strong that for the moment it comforted me as a cordial will comfort
a sick man, against my will. 'I am very sorry for you, and because of my
sorrow for you and because of my love for you I will give you a gift
that I would part with to no other in the world. Women are not all
alike, and therefore I will give you a talisman to help you to think
well of women.'

I suppose it would have diverted an elder to hear him, so slim and
simple, discoursing so sweetly and reasonably on a theme on which few of
us at the fag end of our days are ever able to utter one sensible
syllable, but Lancelot always seemed to me wise beyond his time, so I
listened