"No," said I, without looking up, but slipping my hand into my pocket; "no, Ancient—" "Peter—Oh, Peter!—do 'ee mean—?" "I mean that, although it had no heart, the staple was tired and worn out—just as you are, and so I brought it to you," and I slipped the rusty bit of iron into the old man's trembling palm. "O Lord—!" he began in a fervent voice, "O dear Lord!—I got it, Lord—th' owd stapil—I be ready to come to Thee, an' j'yful—j'yful! an' for this mercy, an' benefit received—blessed be Thy name. Amen!" He lay very quiet for a while, with the broken staple clasped to his breast, and his eyes closed. "Peter," said he suddenly, "you won't 'ave no one to bring you noos no more—why, Peter! be 'ee cryin'—for me? 'Tis true 't were me as found ye, but I didn't think as you'd go to cry tears for me—I be goin' to tak' t' owd stapil wi' me, Peter, all along the road—an', Peter—" "Yes, Ancient?" "Be you quite sure as you aren't a dook?" "Quite sure." "Nor a earl?" "No, Ancient." "Not even a—barrynet?" "No, Ancient." "Ah, well!—you be a man, Peter, an' 'tis summ'at to ha' found a man—that it be." And now he feebly beckoned us all nearer. "Children," said he, "I be a old an' ancient man I be goin' on—across the river to wait for you—my blessin' on ye. It be a dark, dark road, but I've got t' owd stapil, an' there—be a light beyond—the river." So, the Ancient sighed, and crossed the dark River into the Land of Light Eternal. CHAPTER XLII HOW SIR MAURICE KEPT HIS WORD Night, with a rising moon, and over all things a great quietude, a deep, deep silence. Air, close and heavy, without a breath to wake the slumbering trees; an oppressive stillness, in which small sounds magnified themselves, and seemed disproportionately loud. And presently, as I went upon my way, I forgot the old man sleeping so peacefully with the rusty staple clasped to his shrunken breast, and thought only of the proud woman who had given her life into my keeping, and who, henceforth, would walk with me, hand in hand, upon this Broad Highway, over rough places, and smooth—even unto the end. So I strode on, full of a deep and abiding joy, and with heart that throbbed and hands that trembled because I knew that she watched and waited for my coming. A sound broke upon the stillness—sudden and sharp—like the snapping of a stick. I stopped and glanced about me—but it had come and gone—lost in the all-pervading calm. And presently, reaching the leafy path that led steeply down into the Hollow, I paused a moment to look about me and to listen again; but the deep silence was all unbroken, save for the slumberous song of the brook, that stole up to me from the shadows, and I wondered idly what that sudden sound might have been. So I began to descend this leafy path, and went on to meet that which lay waiting for me in the shadows.