It was now nearing the time when this strange meeting between two brothers--as strange a one as the statues can ever have looked down upon--must come to an end. I shewed George what the repeater would do, and what it would expect of its possessor. I gave him six good photographs, of my father and myself--three of each. He had never seen a photograph, and could hardly believe his eyes as he looked at those I shewed him. I also gave him three envelopes addressed to myself, care of Alfred Emery Cathie, Esq., 15 Clifford’s Inn, London, and implored him to write to me if he could ever find means of getting a letter over the range as far as the shepherd’s hut. At this he shook his head, but he promised to write if he could. I also told him that I had written a full account of my father’s second visit to Erewhon, but that it should never be published till I heard from him--at which he again shook his head, but added, “And yet who can tell? For the King may have the country opened up to foreigners some day after all.” Then he thanked me a thousand times over, shouldered the knapsack, embraced me as he had my father, and caressed the dog, embraced me again, and made no attempt to hide the tears that ran down his cheeks. “There,” he said; “I shall wait here till you are out of sight.” I turned away, and did not look back till I reached the place at which I knew that I should lose the statues. I then turned round, waved my hand--as also did George, and went down the mountain side, full of sad thoughts, but thankful that my task had been so happily accomplished, and aware that my life henceforward had been enriched by something that I could never lose. For I had never seen, and felt as though I never could see, George’s equal. His absolute unconsciousness of self, the unhesitating way in which he took me to his heart, his fearless frankness, the happy genial expression that played on his face, and the extreme sweetness of his smile--these were the things that made me say to myself that the “blazon of beauty’s best” could tell me nothing better than what I had found and lost within the last three hours. How small, too, I felt by comparison! If for no other cause, yet for this, that I, who had wept so bitterly over my own disappointment the day before, could meet this dear fellow’s tears with no tear of my own.