“And these:
“‘He took me from a fearful pit,
And from the miry clay;
And on a rock he set my feet,
Establishing my way.’”
“God bless you for your consolation. But at present my grief is all so fresh, and it came upon me like a bolt from the blue. In a few days I may recover. I do not know. I may fail and die. It may be better if I do.”
Dickson tried to smile.
“Nonsense, lad. I tell you all will yet come right, and you will see.”
The men who acted as servants now came in to lay the supper. The table was a rough one indeed, and tablecloth there was none. Yet many a hearty meal they had made off the bare boards.
“I have no appetite, Dickson.”
“Perhaps not; but inasmuch as life is worth living, and especially a young life like yours, eat you must, and we must endeavour to coax it.”
As he spoke he placed a bottle of old rum on the table. He took a little himself, as if to encourage his patient, and then filled out half a tumblerful and pushed it towards Reginald. Reginald took a sip or two, and finally finished it by degrees, but reluctantly. Dickson filled him out more.
“Nay, nay,” Reginald remonstrated.