A great silence seemed to have fallen upon the man who in the past had made so many speeches. A brooding wistfulness revealed itself in his expression. There was a haunting look of doubt or question in his eyes, a look as of one who, without compass and without rudder, finds himself drifting on an unknown sea. The land was fading from his sight. The solid earth on which he had walked, self-confident, self-sufficient, no longer gave him foothold. His nerveless hands were losing grip on the only life of which he knew anything, the only life in which he had been able to believe. And day by day, and night by night, there came to his mind the memory of his earlier life, of the faith that he had seen shining in the dying eyes of the woman who had believed while he had disbelieved. Vividly he recalled to mind--albeit with a sense of wonder and irritation--an occasion when he had sat beside her in the old Cathedral at Lichfield. The sun was setting, and its glory illumined the huge western window; the words of the great man of action, who was also the man of great faith, were being read from the lectern, and at a certain passage his wife had turned and looked at him with sad and supplicating eyes: "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable." If in this life only ...! All other hope he had scorned and rejected. No other hope had seemed needful to his happiness and success. But now? Already _this_ life was dwindling and departing. He felt it; he knew it in his inmost being, as his steps faltered, his hands grew thin and pallid, and his brain, once so busy with a hundred projects and ambitions, now refused to work, or brought to him only recurrent recollections of things which in the prime and strength of his manhood he had scouted and despised. If in this life only ...! Sometimes a great restlessness possessed him, and Zenobia, in the silent watches of the night, heard him moving heavily and slowly about his room. On one of these nights, anxious and alarmed, she hurried in and found him standing at the window in the darkness. The furnished house they occupied was on Bathwick Hill, and the night scene from the windows was one of striking mystery and beauty. The blackness of the valley in which lay the ancient city, and of the towering hills on every side, was studded with myriads of lights--shining like stars in an inverted firmament. "Father!"