"Gone."--It was Brompton who answered.--"Gone, I believe. He was here until all was over. He locked himself into a room up-stairs. Dudley sent for him many times the night through, in the intervals of his pain. I took the messages to him. But he could neither bear to see the one he had killed, nor yet to go away, and have no chance of seeing him again. At daybreak Dudley got up, saying he had strength enough, and went as far as the barn on his way to the house. There the surgeon met him and led him back, pledging his word that the man should be brought, if it was by force. And it was almost by force, but he was brought. Dudley raised himself a little, when he came up, took his hand and clasped it close. 'Good-bye, Fred!'--in a pleasant voice, as if he were ready for a journey and must cheer up the friend he was to leave behind. And then he sank back, still holding the other's hand, and looking up at him with his kind eyes, not forgiving, but loving,--till the eyelids drooped and closed softly, and he passed into a quiet sleep. When we left him, he was breathing gently. We thought it was rest." Jasper went humbly away, secure of his suit. Brompton, too, withdrew silently. * * * * * In those first moments I had left below my loss and my grief to follow the ascended; but now my human heart asked after the human friend. On the rich, disordered hair were signs of the mortal agony: the soft, bright curls were loosened and dimmed. The pure forehead could not be fairer than it was, yet the even, delicately finished eyebrows seemed more strongly marked. The brown eyelashes showed long and dark over the white cheek. The same noble serenity; the same gentle strength; only the resolute lines about the mouth were softened;--nothing now to resist or to dare! Dr. Borrow would be here soon. I sat down on a block and waited. Dr. Borrow! I had thought his love for Harry tinctured with worldliness; but how honest and hearty it appeared to me now! I had loved in Harry Dudley what he was to be, what he was to do. Dr. Borrow had loved him for himself only, simply and sincerely. I remembered the Doctor's misgivings, his cautions to me. How negligently heard! Then it was only that he did not yet comprehend the high calling of the boy whom we equally loved. Now I almost felt as if I had a complicity in his fate,--as if the Doctor could demand account of me. That Harry Dudley would give himself to a great cause had been my hope and faith; that he would spend himself on a chimera had been Doctor Borrow's dread. But which of us had looked forward to this utter waste? How reconcile it with Divine Omnipotence? with Supreme Justice? Was there not here frustration of a master-work? Was there not here a promise unfulfilled?