"That's a brave girl!" And holding her by the hand he drew her towards the open window--"Look out there! See how the stars shine! Always the same, no matter what happens to us poor folk down here,--they twinkle as merrily over our graves as over our gardens,--and yet if we're to believe what we're taught nowadays, they're all worlds more or less like our own, full of living creatures that suffer and die like ourselves. It's a queer plan of the Almighty, to keep on making wonderful and beautiful things just to destroy them! There seems no sense in it!" He sat down again in his chair, and she, obeying his gesture, brought a low stool to his feet and settled herself upon it, leaning against his knee. Her face was upturned to his and the flickering light of the tall candles quivering over it showed the wistful tender watchfulness of its expression--a look which seemed to trouble him, for he avoided her eyes. "You want to know what the London doctor said," he began. "Well, child, you'll not be any the better for knowing, but it's as I thought. I've got my death-warrant. Slowton was not sure about me,--but this man, ill as he is himself, has had too much experience to make mistakes. There's no cure for me. I may last out another twelve months--perhaps not so long--certainly not longer." He saw her cheeks grow white with the ashy whiteness of a sudden shock. Her eyes dilated with pain and fear, and a quick sigh escaped her, then she set her lips hard. "I don't believe it," she said, adding with stronger emphasis--"I WON'T believe it!" He patted the small hand that rested on his knee. "You won't? Poor little girl, you must believe it!--and more than that, you must be prepared for it. Even a year's none too much for all that has to be done,--'twill almost take me that time to look the thing square in the face and give up the farm for good."--Here he paused with a kind of horror at his own words--"Give up the farm!--My God! And for ever! How strange it seems!" The tumult in her mind found sudden speech. "Dad, dear! Dad! It isn't true! Don't think it! Don't mind what the doctor says. He's wrong--I'm sure he's wrong! You'll live for many and many a happy year yet--oh yes, Dad, you will! I'm sure of it! You won't die, darling Dad! Why should you?" She broke off with a half-smothered sob. "Why should I?" he said, with a perplexed frown; "Ah!--that's more than I can tell you! There's neither rhyme nor reason in it that I can see. But it's the rule of life that it should end in death. For some the end is swift--for some it's slow--some know when it's coming--some don't,--the last are the happiest. I've been told, you see,--and it's no use my fighting against the fact,--a year at the most, perhaps less, is the longest term I have of Briar Farm. Your eyes are wet--you promised you wouldn't cry." She furtively dashed away the drops that were shining on her lashes. Then she forced a faint quivering smile.