'Thank you, Mr Russell; and it will be a joyful day when you and I and Betty can talk it all over among us. Meanwhile we'll keep it to ourselves, you and I, and I don't think you should allow this--this _affaire de coeur_ to monopolise your mind too much. To worry and distract your thoughts over it would be as harmful as it would be futile. So far, the stars have fought in their courses for you, and, without much exertion on your part, your fondest dreams seem in a fair way to be fulfilled. William--no "Mr Russell" after a crack like this!--I am more than double your age, and for many years I have lived a queer, prosaic, loveless life--a full life if hard work and gain and recognition be reckoned everything, but empty--oh God, how empty!--if love counts for all. I am old, but not so old that I cannot understand you and sympathise with you, for I well remember days which were brightened to me by the sunshine of a woman's loving smile; times when all this earth was heaven to me, the singing of the birds an angel song, all its people upright and just; sermons I read in stones, and good I saw in everything. But that was long ago. When love was taken away from me the whole world seemed changed. My life since then has been selfish and self-centred. I have long ceased to take any interest in the social doings of others; and were it not for my work, my books, and my daily communings with nature, I should be a lonely, miserable old man. I don't mind telling you, however, that you have touched a chord in my heart and awakened memories which have slumbered long. I am very much interested in you, partly on account of your own personality, but mainly because it was a very near relative of yours who brought to me the only true joy and gladness that my heart has ever known.' He sat down on the basket chair at the foot of my bed, facing me, and with his back to the light. 'You will doubtless remember,' he continued, 'that, during my first visit to you here, Betty in course of conversation, casually or otherwise, mentioned the name of your aunt Margaret.' 'Yes, doctor, I remember that distinctly, and also that you were visibly affected; but'---- 'I must confess I was, William,' he quickly interposed. 'Well, confidence for confidence. You have told me your love experience, so far as it has gone, and it may be that, by doing so, you have relieved your mind and hastened your recovery; and perhaps, if I recount mine to one who can understand, it will bring a balm and a solace to my old heart, of which, in these my years of sear and yellow leaves, I often stand sorely in need. You--you don't mind my smoking?' 'Certainly not, doctor; and, to be sociable, I'll join you in a pipe.' 'That's right--that's right! Nothing like tobacco for promoting good-fellowship.'