Taking from his pocket the small Bible that had been his companion for some months, he put it into Arthur’s hands, telling him that he had written his name in it. And the child, turning hastily to the fly-leaf, saw it there: “Arthur Layne. From G. A. C.” Lower down were the words: “Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
“Jesus said that!” cried the boy, simply.
“Jesus Christ. My Saviour and yours—for I am sure you will let Him be yours. Do not part with this Book, Arthur. Use it always: I have marked many passages in it. Should it be your fate ever to encamp on the battle-field, let the Book be with you: your guide and friend. In time you will get to love it better than any book that is to be had in the world.”
The child had a tender heart, and began to cry a little. Sir Geoffry drew him nearer.
“I have prayed to God to bless you, Arthur. But you know, my child, He will only give His best blessing to those who seek it, who love and serve Him. Whatsoever may be your lot in life, strive to do your duty in it, as before God; loving Him, loving and serving your fellow-creatures; trusting ever to Christ’s atonement. These are my last solemn words to you. Do you always remember them.”
His voice faltered a little, and Arthur began to sob. “Oh, Sir Geoffry, must you die?”
Sir Geoffry seemed to be breathing fast, as though agitation were becoming too much for him. He bent his head and kissed the boy’s face fervently: his brow, his cheeks, his lips, his eyelids—there was not a spot that Sir Geoffry did not leave a kiss upon. It quite seemed as though his heart had been yearning for those kisses, and as though he could not take enough of them.
“And now, Arthur, you must do a little errand for me. Go over to Mr. Duffham, and tell him I am coming. Leave the Bible on the table here.”
Arthur went out of the house with less noise than he had entered it. Sir Geoffry rose.