s prayed the prayer, and as he tenderly laid his hand on the
brow, he wondered whether he should find the half-closed eyes shut
for ever on his return.

But as he went, there was a quiver of lip and flicker of eyelid, the
lightening, as Cranky called it, was evidently gaining ground.
Herbert's faint whisper was heard again--"Jenny!"

"Dearest!"

"The Lord's Prayer!"

She began,--his fingers tightened on hers. "Pray it for old Moy,"
he said; and as she paused, scarce hearing or understanding, "He--he
wants it," gasped Herbert. "No! One can't pray it, without--"
another pause. "Help me, Jenny. Say it--O Lord, who savedst us--
forgive us. Help us to forgive from our hearts that man his
trespasses. Amen."

Jenny said it. Herbert's voice sank in the Amen. He lay breathing
in long gasps; but he thus breathed still when Julius came back, and
Jenny told him that a few words had passed, adding--

"Julius, I will say nothing bitter again. God help me not to think
it."

Did Herbert hear? Was that the reason of the calm which made the
white wasted face so beautiful, and the strange soft cool hush
throughout the room?

CHAPTER XXXIV
Silver Hair

And how should I your true love know
From another man?--Friar of Orders Gray

"Please God, I can try again."

Those were the words with which Herbert Bowater looked into his
Rector's face on awaking in the evening of that same December day
from one of a series of sleeps, each sweeter and longer than the
last, and which had borne him over the dreaded hours, without fever,
and with strengthening pulse.

Julius had not ventured to leave the sick-room that whole day, and
when at last he went home and sank into the chair opposite Terry,
for the first time through all these weeks of trouble and tension,
he burst into a flood of tears.

He had hardly made the startled lad understand that life, not death,
had thus overcome him, when the door flew open, and in rushed
Rosamond, crying, "Julius, Julius, come! It is he or his ghost!"

"Who? What?"

"It is your hair! At Mrs. Douglas's grave! He'll be gone! Make
haste--make haste!"

He started up, letting her drag him along, but under protest. "My
dear, men _do_ come to have hair like mine."

"I tell you it was at our graves--our own--I touched him. I had
this wreath for Raymond, and there he was, with his hat off, at the
railing close to Mrs. Douglas's. I thought his back was yours, and
called your