"No," replied Mr. Denner, with tranquil satisfaction, "I supposed not,--I supposed not. But when a man gets where I am, it seems the one thing in the world worth being sure of." Dr. Howe sat silently holding the lawyer's hand, and Mr. Denner seemed to sink into pleasant thought. Once he smiled, with that puzzled, happy look the rector had seen before, and then he closed his eyes contentedly as though to doze. Suddenly he turned his head and looked out of the window, across his garden, where a few old-fashioned flowers were blooming sparsely, with much space between them for the rich, soft grass, which seemed to hold the swinging shadows of an elm-tree in a lacy tangle. "'The warm precincts of the cheerful day,'" he murmured, and then his eyes wandered about the room: the empty, blackened fireplace, where, on a charred log and a heap of gray ashes, a single bar of sunshine had fallen; his fiddle, lying on a heap of manuscript music; the one or two formal portraits of the women of his family; and the large painting of Admiral Denner in red coat and gold lace. On each one he lingered with a loving, wondering gaze. "'The place thereof shall know it'"--he began to say. "Ah, doctor, it is a wonderful book! How it does know the heart! The soul sees itself there. 'As for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more'--no more. That is the wonder of it! How strange it is; and I had such plans for life, now! Well, it is better thus, no doubt,--no doubt." After a while he touched the little oval velvet case which lay on the table beside him, and, taking it up, looked long and earnestly at the childish face inside the rim of blackened pearls. "I wonder"--he said, and then stopped, laying it down again, with a little sigh. "Ah, well, I shall know. It is only to wait." He did not seem to want any answer; it was enough to ramble on, filled with placid content, between dreams and waking, his hand held firm in that of his old friend. Afterwards, when Gifford came in, he scarcely noticed that the rector slipped away. It was enough to fill his mist of dreams with gentle wonderings and a quiet expectation. Once he said softly, "'In the hour of death, and in the day of judgment'"-- "'Good Lord, deliver us!'" Gifford finished gently. Mr. Denner opened his eyes and looked at him. "Good Lord," he said, "ah--yes--yes--that is enough, my friend. _Good_ Lord; one leaves the rest." Dr. Howe walked home with a strange look on his face. He answered his daughter briefly, that Mr. Denner was failing, and then, going into his library, he moved a table from in front of the door, which always stood hospitably open, and shut and locked it.