“There was a long pause after this,” continued Lendrick. “I saw that the theme had greatly excited him, and I forbore to say a word, lest he should be led to resume it. 'Too old for the bench!' burst he out suddenly; 'my Lord, there are men who are never too old, as there are those who are never too young. The oak is but a sapling when the pine is in decay. Is there that glut of intellect just now in England, are we so surfeited with ability that, to make room for the coming men, we, who have made our mark on the age, must retire into obscurity?' He tried to rise from his seat; his face was flushed, and his eyes flashing; he evidently forgot where he was, and with whom, for he sank back with a faint sigh, and said, 'Let us talk of it no more. Let us think of something else. Indeed, it was to talk of something else I desired to see you.' He went on, then, to say that he wished something could be done for me. His own means were, he said, sadly crippled; he spoke bitterly, resentfully, I thought. 'It is too long a story to enter on, and were it briefer, too disagreeable a one,' added he. 'I ought to be a rich man, and I am poor; I should be powerful, and I have no influence. All has gone ill with me.' After a silence, he continued, 'They have a place to offer you: the inspectorship, I think they call it, of hospitals at the Cape; it is worth, altogether, nigh a thousand a year, a thing not to be refused.' “'The offer could only be made in compliment to you, sir; and if my acceptance were to compromise your position--' “'Compromise _me!_' broke he in. 'I 'll take care it shall not. No man need instruct me in the art of self-defence, sir. Accept at once.' “'I will do whatever you desire, sir,' was my answer. “'Go out there yourself, alone,--at first, I mean. Let your boy continue his college career; the girl shall come to me.' “'I have never been separated from my children, sir,' said I, almost trembling with anxiety. “'Such separations are bearable,' added he, 'when it is duty dictates them, not disobedience.' “He fixed his eyes sternly on me, and I trembled as I thought that the long score of years was at last come to the reckoning. He did not dwell on the theme, however, but in a tone of much gentler meaning, went on: 'It will be an act of mercy to let me see a loving face, to hear a tender voice. Your boy would be too rough for me.' “'You would like him, sir. He is thoroughly truthful and honest.' “'So he may, and yet be self-willed, be noisy, be over-redolent of that youth which age resents like outrage. Give me the girl, Tom; let her come here, and bestow some of those loving graces on the last hours of my life her looks show she should be rich in. For your sake she will be kind to me. Who knows what charm there may be in gentleness, even to a tiger-nature like mine? Ask her, at least, if she will make the sacrifice.'