John Dallington made the quotation softly, so that only those nearest to him heard it; but they realised its aptness as they looked at the truest knight of the century. What a brave battle he had fought, and how little he regarded himself as a hero! How unswervingly he had run his course, turning neither to the right nor the left, but reaching the goal of his desire only to lay his victor’s crown on the altar of his faith. A man of remarkable talents, indeed, and thankful for every one of them; for the high thoughts which he knew had been given to him, not made by him, for the power to speak so that men were persuaded, for the health which had enabled him to endure fatigue, and the wealth which he might use as he pleased, and for the courage of his convictions, which had made him do where others had but ventured to dream! He could not ignore it all on this, the last day of the year, any more than others did, but he had many misgivings and regrets to keep him humble. Strange to say, he was feeling very lonely, though in the midst of his dearest friends; and perhaps the sight of Dallington’s happiness made him realise more than ever before that, however much he had gained, he had missed something without which no man’s life is complete. His thoughts were with his father. Some one a few minutes before had asked him whether he ever took up a newspaper nowadays without seeing his own name in it; and he answered half irritably, “Yes, very often,” for that was not a particularly interesting item to him; then he wondered what his father would think of it all if he could know; and a shadow of self-reproach stole over him, and a fear, lest, after all, he had not done wisely and well. But they were waiting for his song, and presently his voice, to which he owed so much, rang out clearly, though in subdued tones:— “Give pardon to-night, O God of the light! For we are like children who wail in the shade, Half afraid; And look up to Thy face For love, comfort, and grace. Around Thee we gather— Forgive us, our Father! “The day breaks at last, The shadows are past, And we must go forward, pursuing our way Through the day; Go Thou where we go, Thy will make us know, And, all danger scorning, Go forth to the morning.” “The morning is almost here,” said Dallington. “Would you not like to meet the year outside? It is a glorious night.”