The best exhilaration was perhaps an occasional visit to the painting-room, where Felix and Geraldine were so peacefully thankful to be together again, that they hardly breathed a word to one another. And there was comfort too in finding how much the tone of young Light was softening from its hard defiance. Lance, who had a good deal of experience, and was to the young tradesmen at Bexley much what he had been to the choristers at Minsterham, had devoted himself to the sick lad, and had certainly produced an effect upon him.

Felix was recovering strength quickly. As there was an awkward step into the painting-room, he begged the next day to perform the journey on his own feet; and though he needed both the balustrade and Clement's arm, and was still sharply pained by any sidelong movement, this was wonderful progress in so few days. Here he meant to be during the funeral, and to hear the service through the window opening into the transept. There were many dissuasions, but he was for the first time resolute on his own will, both to listen and to be alone. 'It is not nearly so likely to overcome me,' he said, 'as if any one were with me. I shall lie quietly back, and listen as to a most soothing strain!'

'Yes,' argued Cherry; 'but why risk it?'

'I cannot do the last thing for my boy, but it is the nearest I can come to it! The son of my right hand, as Father said! So he has been; I only know now what an incentive his dependence was, and how this loosens me from the world.'

'Please don't say that! We have been too much frightened, and you are getting well so fast.'

'I think so!' he acquiesced, but without much elasticity. 'Yet it was a great element of thankfulness that night, and is so still, though the air seems empty without his constant music.'

Many a note of praise was to come to his ears that day, as the choir preceded their little member across the lawn to the Church gate. Their voices predominated in the Psalms; and the Lesson, read by Mr. Colman, the vicar of poor Yates's parish at Ewmouth, was almost inaudible through the window; but the Lord's Prayer at the graves came to his ear like 'the voice of many waters;' and the final hymn, the same which had been last on Theodore's lips, was sung by the tones of a multitude, and thrilled mightily through the summer air.

Felix was not the worse, though afterwards three doctors came up and tormented him, ending by allowing him to do whatever suited his own feelings and discretion, only bidding him not persevere in what pained him, and to rest thoroughly between every exertion. He asked no questions, and seemed quite satisfied; but Clement was more explicit in his inquiries in private, and was told that where there was so little power of examination, it was impossible to certify whether any harm was done beyond the undoubted sprain, and that this might make itself felt for months, even years, without anything but muscles being in fault; nor could either of the May physicians detect any cause for alarm, except a vague impression that the countenance was more changed than was accounted for by the pain or loss of blood. There had been from the first an indescribable stricken look, less evident now as the face varied with animation, but recurring in repose, and taking away that youthfulness that had endured so long.

Nothing of all this was said beyond Clement's study; the others remained happy in the verdict of remarkable improvement. Dr. May had brought a note from his daughter.

DEAREST CHERRY,

I long to come, and dare to think I should be welcome, but Tom will not let Papa bring me. At least I know it is all right. I knew it would be. Lives with so many bound up in them are not so lightly wrenched away. The world cannot grow dark by losing the selfless. All my soul is with you. Your dear little Theodore has not lived in vain. Your ways—all of you—to him have been bitter reproof to me. Write to me all I cannot pick out of Papa. I hope Lancelot is looking better. Tell him I shall try his 'Lightning Messages,' as soon as I can play them without my eyes swimming or my voice getting upon the howl.

With my dear love,
Your affectionate
G.M. MAY.