"I am subdued because other people think me guilty!" he answered. "Changed? I am. It is that which has changed me; not the calamity itself." "Jack, were I you, I should stand up in the face and eyes of all the world, and say to them, 'Before God, I did not kill Pym.' People would believe you then. But you don't do it." "I have my reasons for not doing it, Johnny Ludlow. God knows what they are; He knows all things. I dare say I may be set right with the world in time: though I don't see how it is to be done." A smart young man, a new assistant, was behind the counter at Ben Rymer's, and served me with the pills. Coming out, box in hand, we met Ben himself. I hardly knew him, he was so spruce. His very hair and whiskers were trimmed down to neatness and looked of a more reasonable colour; his red-brown beard was certainly handsome, and his clothes were well cut. "Why, he has grown into a dandy, Jack," I said, after we had stood a minute or two, talking with the surgeon. "Yes," said Jack, "he is going in for the proprieties of life now. Ben may make a gentleman yet--and a good man to boot." That same afternoon, it chanced that the Squire met Ben Rymer. Striding along in his powerful fashion, Ben came full tilt round the sharp corner that makes the turning to the Islip Road, and nearly ran over the pater. Ben had been to Oxlip Grange. "So, sir," cried the pater, stopping him, "I hear you are in practice now, and intend to become a respectable man. It's time you did." "Ay, at last," replied Ben good-humouredly. "It is a long lane, Squire, that has no turning." "Don't you lapse back again, Mr. Ben." "Not if I know it, sir. I hope I shall not." "It was anxiety on your score, you know, that troubled your good father's mind in dying." "If it did not bring his death on," readily conceded Ben, his light tone changing. "I know it all, Squire--and have felt it." "Look here," cried the Squire, catching at Ben's button-hole, which had a lovely lily-of-the-valley in it, "there was nothing on earth your poor patient father prayed for so earnestly as for your welfare; that you might be saved for time and eternity. Now I don't believe such prayers are ever lost. So you will be helped on your way if you bear steadfastly onwards." Giving the young man's hand a wring, the Squire turned off on his way. In half-a-minute he was back again. "Hey, Mr. Benjamin?--here. How is Sir Dace Fontaine? I suppose you have just left him?" So Ben had to come back at the call. To the pater's surprise he saw his eyes were moist. "He is worse, sir, to-day; palpably worse." "Will he get over it?" Ben gave his head an emphatic shake, which somehow belied his words: "Cole and Darbyshire think there is hope yet, Squire." "And you do not; that's evident. Well, good-day." * * * * *