“I am glad you did, for Dr. Stapleton is young, and has had comparatively little experience. Have you brought home some medicine? It must be time for you to take it.” “It is no use to take the medicine. He says that nothing can cure me.” “Oh, Graf! Graf! You must not say such a thing as that to me.” “But you must know it, my darling, some time, and soon, for it is not going to be long; and if you love me you will be glad of that, for the pain of the disease which I have is terrible to bear, and it would be hard for you to see me suffer.” “Oh, my dear, it cannot be! There is surely some other doctor who can do something. What becomes of all this modern science that boasts itself so much if it cannot help one in an emergency like this?” “It is all right, Madge, dear; a man must die some time. Of course, he does not want to, and never would, but we all have to, you know. Life is very short here, but it is continued somewhere—of that I am increasingly sure.” A great darkness came over Margaret. What could she do if this best friend of hers were to be taken now, when it seemed he could the least be spared? “I will tell you all you ought to know, dear, about yourself, and give you the keys so that you may find the money you will need, and——” A faintness came over him, and he gasped for breath. “Oh, not now,” cried Margaret. “Do not distress yourself. I will not hear anything to-night.” “To-morrow, then.” “Yes, to-morrow, or next week, or any time. It does not matter about me.” “Margaret, sing to me that hymn of Faber’s— “I worship Thee, sweet Will of God, And all Thy ways adore, It will do us both good just now; if we sing the words we shall be able to feel the sentiment.” But Margaret was on her knees by his side, sobbing out her grief. She soon was ashamed of herself, however. She must bear up for his sake, who had so much more to bear. “I cannot sing, dear,” she said; “but we will each have the book open before us, and I will play it through.” She did so, and then he asked her to read to him. “The prayer of Jesus for His disciples, Margaret, and His words to them—they are for you and for me, dear, as much as for any one else.” “Surely.” And Margaret read the wonderful words to which we all turn, quite naturally, in the supreme moments of our lives, and which comfort us as nothing else can do when death or trouble has forced itself into our houses and will not be turned out. Margaret knew them by heart, and so did Henry Harris, and yet they seemed to have new power and grace on that evening, for the face of Harris was lighted with joy as he listened.