ll men did. It seemed to give fresh life to the old man to listen to
Tom's dearest friend. To him, as to Grace, he could talk openly about
the lost son, and live upon the memory of his prowess and his virtues;
and ere the week was out, the Doctor, and Grace too, had heard a hundred
gallant feats, to tell all which would add another volume to this book.

And Grace stood silently by the old man's chair, and drank all in
without a smile, without a sigh, but not without full many a prayer.

It is the blessed Christmas Eve; the light is failing fast; when down
the high street comes the mighty Roman-nosed rat-tail which carries
Mark's portly bulk, and by him Stangrave, on a right good horse.

They shog on side by side--not home, but to the Doctor's house. For
every hunting evening Mark's groom meets him at the Doctor's door to
lead the horses home, while he, before he will take his bath and dress,
brings to his blind friend the gossip of the field, and details to him
every joke, fence, find, kill, hap and mishap of the last six hours.

The old man, meanwhile, is sitting quietly, with Claude by him, talking
--as Claude can talk. They are not speaking of Tom just now: but the
eloquent artist's conversation suits well enough the temper of the good
old man, yearning after fresh knowledge, even on the brink of the grave;
but too feeble now, in body and in mind, to do more than listen. Claude
is telling him about the late Photographic Exhibition; and the old man
listens with a triumphant smile to wonders which he will never behold
with mortal eyes. At last,--

"This is very pleasant--to feel surer and surer, day by day, that one is
not needed; that science moves forward swift and sure, under a higher
guidance than one's own; that the sacred torch-race never can stand
still; that He has taken the lamp out of old and failing hands, only to
put it into young and brave ones, who will not falter till they reach
the goal."

Then he lies back again, with closed eyes, waiting for more facts from
Claude.

"How beautiful!" says Claude--"I must compliment you, sir--to see the
child-like heart thus still beating fresh beneath the honours of the
grey head, without envy, without vanity, without ambition, welcoming
every new discovery, rejoicing to see the young outstripping them."

"And what credit, sir, to us? Our knowledge did not belong to us, but to
Him who made us, and the universe; and our sons' belonged to Him
likewise. If they be