"Mary, I suppose you are talking of me. Yes, I have had a bad time on the whole. But many people have had far worse." "Yes, sir. And will you see one who hath? As fine a young gentleman as ever lived; so ready to speak up for everybody, and walking like a statute. It give me such a turn! I do believe you never would know him, sir; without his name come in with him. Squire Overshute, sir, if you please, requesteth the honour of seeing of you." "Mary, I am hardly fit for it. I was doing my best to sit quite quiet, and to try to think of things. I am not as I was yesterday, or even as I was this morning. But if I ought to see him--why, I will. And perhaps I ought, no doubt, when I come to think of things. The poor young man has been very ill. To be sure, I remember all about it. Show him where I am at once. What a sad thing for his mother! His mother is a wonderful clever woman, of the soundest views in politics." "His mother be dead, sir; I had better tell you for fear of begetting any trifles with him; although we was told to keep such things from you. Howsomever, I do think he be coming to himself, or he would not have fallen out of patience as a hath done; and now here he be, sir!" Russel Overshute, narrowed and flattened into half of his proper size, and heightened thereby to unnatural stature--for stoop he would not, although so weak--here he was walking along the damp walk, when a bed, or a sofa, or a drawn-out chair at Shotover Grange, was his proper place. He walked with the help of a crutch-handled stick, and his deep mourning dress made him look almost ghastly. His eyes, however, were bright and steady, and he made an attempt at a cheerful smile, as he congratulated the Squire on the great improvement of his health. "For that I have to thank you, my dear friend," answered Mr. Oglander; "for weeks I had been helpless, till I helped myself; I mean, of course, by the great blessing of the Lord. But of your sad troubles, whatever shall I say----" "My dear sir, say nothing, if you please--I cannot bear as yet to speak of them. I ought to be thankful that life is spared to me--doubtless for some good purpose. And I think I know what that purpose is; though now I am confident of nothing." "Neither am I, Russel, neither am I," said the old man, observing how low his voice was, and speaking in a low sad voice himself. "I used to have confidence in the good will and watchful care of the Almighty over all who trust in Him. But now there is something over there"--he pointed towards the churchyard--"which shows that we may carry such ideas to a foolish point. But I cannot speak of it; say no more." "I will own," replied Overshute, studying the Squire's downcast face, to see how far he might venture, "at one time I thought that you yourself carried such notions to a foolish length. That was before my illness. Now, I most fully believe that you were quite right."