"There's just one chance out of a thousand. Hal, it seems to me the saddest thing I ever heard, and yet so grand. You see what the passengers said of him. Ah, I think he did not need to knock long at St. Peter's gate!"
The doctor wiped his eyes.
"But—never to have him—come back"—
"He has drifted into a better port, my dear boy: that must be our comfort. We shall all cross the river by and by; and it is never so hard for the one who goes, as for those who stay and bear the pain and loneliness. And some time it will be sweet to remember that he gave his brave young life for others."
Hal's eyes were tearless, and there was a hard, strained look in his face.
"Don't tell Granny now. She couldn't bear it."
"No;" and Hal's voice was full of pathetic grief.
"And oh, Hal, be comforted a little! I know there is an overwhelming anguish in it; but for the sake of those still left"—
"Yes." Hal's ashen lips quivered.
The doctor brushed away the soft hair tumbled about his forehead, and held the cold hand in his.