A company all clad in black assembled at the dinner-table of Maurice Malherb. The family still mourned their hope, while Mr. Norcot\'s loss was even more recent. He bore himself with great correctness and resignation. The narrative of his uncle\'s sensational death was held back until later in the evening; out a matter more pressing filled Mr. Malherb\'s mind, and he hurried the ladies from the table when dessert was done, that he might open his project.

"How do you find Grace bear herself towards you now?" began the farmer abruptly, when he found himself alone with his future son-in-law.

"Alas! \'A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man lodged in a woman.\' But I must be patient."

Malherb frowned.

"She\'s a fool—yet a fool may make the heart of the wise ache. Who shall escape a fool\'s folly if that fool be his daughter?"

"Tut, tut! Don\'t call her a fool. She is young—still in her halcyon hours. As Horace——"

"Listen to me, Peter. You are a reasonable man, and thank your God that it is so, for they grow rare. Now you will readily understand my feelings when my son died."

"I died myself when I pictured your sufferings, Mr. Malherb.

"\'World-wasting Time, thou worker of our woes,
Thou keen-edged razor of our famous name.\'"


"Even so. To be frank and avoid sentiment, I\'ve put my life and soul into this place. I\'ve made it a strong fortress for those to come. I have built and planted with my thoughts upon my son. And then, while the mortar was a-drying and the young larches getting their first root-hold, he fell. Think of what that meant to me."

"My imagination can picture it. Death is so final. As Herrick says:—

"\'Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never
Wound up again: once down he\'s down for ever.\'

I have sympathised with all my soul."

"Then you must be practical and prove your sympathy. I had meant to write to you, but speech is more direct, and so I waited until we met. Now thus it stands. My son has passed away; my daughter remains."

"I have appreciated that. There was a verse writ on the Duchess of St. Albans by the Earl of Halifax for the toasting-glasses of the Kit-Cat Club. A word or two makes it exquisitely applicable:—

"\'The line Malherb, so long renown\'d in arms,
Concludes with lustre in fair Grace\'s charms.
Her conquering eyes have made their race complete:
They rose in valour, and in beauty set.\'"


"They mustn\'t set; that\'s the whole matter," answered Maurice Malherb. "I have sworn to my heart that set they shall not. My son is dead; my grandson remains a possibility—nay, a certainty, so far as anything human can be certain."

"Your grandson! You amaze me. Tut, tut! Was Noel married?"

"No! My grandson will be your firstborn. Where\'s the amazement in that? Two years hence you will be the father of a boy; and that boy I ask of you. Some might almost say I had right of possession, circumstances being what they are; but I am reasonable in my dealings, and just to all men. That boy I ask—nay, I beg. My heart yearns to the unborn lad. I live in the future always, for \'tis both true wisdom and true happiness to look ahead. The present generally proves cursedly disappointing to a sanguine soul. I gave you my daughter and you give me your son—your firstborn son. He will come hither; his name shall be Malherb; he succeeds me and founds the family which my own son would have founded. You catch my sense? \'Tis but a link missed in the chain. I cannot believe that I am asking too great a thing. What say you?"

As a man of humour, Mr. Norcot always appreciated his present host. Now he kept a judicial face and laughed out of sight. His eyes were grave and his forehead wrinkled. He thought, of course, of Grace, but he did not mention her.

"You are the most original and gifted man it has been my fortune to meet. Even the crushing changes and chances of life leave you quite unperplexed. You evade them in a masterly manner by sheer quickness of perception. It is genius. Positively you do more than deserve success: you command it."

"Sleep upon the proposition, Peter, if you find it too great thing to decide instantly."

"I see no need. I seldom find myself in a difference of opinion with Maurice Malherb. The phlegm with which I view the advent of this unborn man-child quite surprises me. Your idea is worthy of a big heart. I seem to feel it both just and honourable. These walls must not fall into alien hands when your work is done. That a son of mine should face the world as a Malherb and follow his grandfather\'s footsteps—what a privilege! To be honest, I have never much desired children, though doubtless the bachelor\'s heart expands when he is married, and the usual result follows. But now the case is altered. Tut, tut!

"\'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot\';

and also how to ride, and to fish, and to be a gentleman. By \'young idea\' I mean my son—your son. Yes, your son—to grow as you would have him grow, in the traditions of the Malherbs."

"Upon my soul, you might have been my son yourself!" said Malherb with stern exultation; "for you\'re the most level-headed man that ever I met."

"I have learned from you," said Peter modestly, "life is really not half so difficult as people make it. Wise sacrifice is the secret of success—nay, more, of happiness. Man cannot have his way all round. He doesn\'t grow in a flower-pot alone, but in a jungle of other living men and women—some stronger and some weaker than himself. Then let him sacrifice where he can\'t succeed, that where he can succeed he may succeed superlatively. Lop off this limb, for that stout tree will bruise it; cut out these fine twigs, they will never get to the sun. But keep such and such a branch, for its way promises clear, and it can kill the weaker things if you only make it strong enough. Limit your aspirations, like a gardener limits his melons; but once determine where lies your strength, then throw heart and nerve and every pulse of life that way. Spare no pains, no brain-sweat, no toil there. Pour your life\'s blood out for that purpose. So you have taught me."

Mr. Malherb nodded with a satisfaction hardly concealed. It was a system remote from his own, as the unwavering light of the moon from fitful marsh fires; but Norcot knew well that he would not perceive the fact.

"Tenacity of purpose is vital to success," the elder man declared.

"Yes, it is so; our parts must limit our plans. I cannot do much. I have neither your intellect, nor education, nor power of driving many horses together; yet, what I can do—is done. My subjects are few, but I have mastered them and pursued them to the present limits of human knowledge. My ambitions are all gratified save the greatest."

"And you still short of forty! You were easily satisfied, Peter."

"Forgive me, but you would speak with more authority on that point did you know what my ambitions were. Accident gratified my penultimate desire two months ago. To achieve the supreme place at the Wool Manufactory was impossible by my own act, because a human life stood between; but my uncle perished; and now the thing I thought would be so sweet proves otherwise. \'Tis a sermon on the futility of human ambition."

"He was unfortunate in his wife. You must keep that sad story for the drawing-room. Annabel is most anxious to hear it. And your last ambition is Grace?"

"She is, indeed. She will, at least, exceed my highest hope."

"Her mother presses for a season in town."

"\'Tis but natural that Mrs. Malherb should do so. Then \'farewell, a long farewell\' to Peter Norcot.

"\'And too, too well the fair vermilion knew
And ............