'_August 8th, Monday_.--I received a telegram from my father at noon: "You had better come here." I left by the 1.30 train, and reached Alice Holt at half-past six. My Father met me on the lawn: he was crying bitterly, and said, "He lives only to see you." I went upstairs and sat down by the sofa, on which lay the Grand., looking haggard, but still a noble wreck. I took his hand, and he began to talk of very trivial matters--of Cambridge everyday life--his favourite theme of old. He seemed to be testing his strength, for at last he said: "I shall be able to talk to-morrow; I may last some weeks; but were it not for the pang that all of you would feel, I should prefer that it should end at once. I have had a good time of it." 'He had been saying all that morning: "Is that a carriage I hear?" or "I shall live to see him." '_Tuesday_.--When I went in to him, he sent away the others, and told me to look for an envelope and a key. I failed to find it, and fetched Morris, who after a careful search found the key, but no envelope. We had both passed over my last letter (August 6th), which lay on the table. He made us both leave the room, but recalled me directly, and when I entered had banknotes in his hand, which he must have taken from the envelope of my letter. (This involved rising.) He said: "I cannot live, I fear, to your birthday--I want to make you a present--I think I have heard you say that you should like a stop-watch--I have made careful inquiries as to the price--and have saved--as I believe-- sufficient." He then gave me notes, and the key of a desk in London, in the secret drawer of which I should find the remaining money. He then gave me the disposition of his papers and manuscripts, directing that what I did not want should go to the British Museum. He then said: "I have nothing more to say but that you have fulfilled--my every hope--beyond all measure--and--I am deeply--grateful." 'He died in my presence on Wednesday, 10th, at half-past one, in perfect peace.' [Illustration: MR. C. W. DILKE. From the painting by Arthur Hughes ] CHAPTER V LAST TERMS AT THE UNIVERSITY After his grandfather's death Charles Dilke went away alone on a walking tour in Devon. The death of his grandfather was hardly realized at first; 'the sense of loss' deepened: 'it has been greater with me every year that followed.' He corresponded with his college friends, and of this date is a letter of remonstrance at his overstudious habits from the sententious H. D. Warr: