Harris’s face became white to the lips, and he did not speak for a few seconds. Presently he said, “Very well. Other men have had to bear pain for many years; what they have done I must do. I suppose it will be years?” “Do you positively wish me to tell you?” “Most certainly; the exact truth, as far as you know it.” “I am afraid it will not even be months.” The doctor considerately left his patient for a few minutes after he had thus pronounced sentence upon him. Stapleton was waiting anxiously. He was almost certain there was no hope, and yet it was a keen disappointment to him when he found his worst fears confirmed. “He will bear it like a man,” he said, “for there are few better and braver men in the world than Harris. I am truly sorry. I shall lose a friend whom I greatly respect. You can have no idea what a fine fellow he is!” “Has he a wife and children?” “No; he has a granddaughter, or a ward, I do not know which—a young lady who loves and honours him; but all the village in which he lives will mourn him.” “The worst of it is the horrible suffering he must bear.” “Ah, yes! It is terrible to think of what it must be before release comes. How long will it be?” “Three or four weeks probably, not more, though he is a strong man, and I should judge that he has not played fast and loose with his constitution.” When Stapleton joined his friend he was met with the kind smile which always had a wonderful tenderness and sweetness in it, quite characteristic of the man. It almost brought tears to Stapleton’s eyes now, and he silently grasped the hand that was quite firm, and whose clasp was as true as friendship itself. “It is all right, Stapleton,” he said. “Do not grieve for me; and let us get home as soon as we can.” The short railway ride between London and Darentdale was through a pretty well-wooded country. It had never appeared so beautiful as now to the eyes that would soon be closed to it all. The man had loved Nature in all her moods, and she seemed to put on her most beautiful garments in which to receive the farewells of her friend. His eyes swam with tears several times as they looked out at the cool woodland ways, the green meadows, and the bright blue skies. When the train stopped at one of the village stations a lark was pouring down a shower of song upon them. Harris was glad it was so happy, but the whispering leaves seemed to have more sympathy with him. It was as if they knew that his life was as transient as theirs, and they were sorry for him as for themselves. “We shall probably pass away together,” said his thought. “They will fall to the ground, and so shall I. But I am no leaf, to perish when my body withers. There is a future for me. Where? I shall soon know. I am not afraid, for God is love.” “I suppose you would rather not talk,” said Dr. Stapleton. “Thank you. I have much to think of. I must put my house in order, you know, since I shall surely die,” he answered.