It was five weeks and three days from the great house match when Harry Venniker was able to be moved from St. Anselm’s. On the Sunday before, Dr. Pearson had offered public thanks in the chapel for his recovery. When the day of his departure arrived, the invalid carriage in which he was to travel all the way to Helmsbury was brought to the door of Mr. Brandiston’s house. Quite a knot of boys had gathered outside the house as Harry was lifted into the carriage, and his father and sister took their places in it at his side. Gerald Eversley stood among them. A warm pressure of his hand and a hearty ‘God bless you’ from Lord Venniker, and a sweet smile from Miss Venniker as she gave him her hand and whispered, ‘We can never thank you enough for all you have done. I will write to-morrow and tell you how he has borne the journey,’ were the rewards of his devotion. Harry Venniker waved his hand to the boys. His eyes met Gerald’s with a glance of deep affection as the carriage drove away. The boys all raised their hats in respectful sympathy. Gerald Eversley turned on his heel, without a word, and went to his room. He was bereft of his friend for a time; and he was bereft of him--though he knew it not then--at the time when he would have the sorest need of his presence. After Harry Venniker’s departure, life at St. Anselm’s for such brief part of the term as was left, resumed its usual tenor. The memory of errors and sorrows is but short-lived, among the young especially--nay, among all men. God be thanked that it is so; for if we remembered all the past, the present would be unendurable. We sigh at times for a greater power of remembering; it were better to give thanks for our power of forgetting. Time, with its softening, sanctifying grace--Time, that makes the green grass spring and the golden corn wave over fields that once were reddened with human slaughter--Time is the divinely appointed healer of all wounds.