well enough pleased when George showed him the white stones that marked
the boundary, and said they had better soon make themselves as
comfortable as they could till morning.

"We can stay here," he said, "till half-past three, there will be a
little daylight then; we will rest half an hour for breakfast at about
five, and by noon we shall be at the statues, where we will dine."

This being settled, George rolled himself up in his rug, and in a few
minutes went comfortably off to sleep. Not so my poor father. He wound
up his watch, wrapped his rug round him, and lay down; but he could get
no sleep. After such a day, and such an evening, how could any one have
slept?

About three the first signs of dawn began to show, and half an hour later
my father could see the sleeping face of his son--whom it went to his
heart to wake. Nevertheless he woke him, and in a few minutes the two
were on their way--George as fresh as a lark--my poor father intent on
nothing so much as on hiding from George how ill and unsound in body and
mind he was feeling.

They walked on, saying but little, till at five by my father's watch
George proposed a halt for breakfast. The spot he chose was a grassy
oasis among the trees, carpeted with subalpine flowers, now in their
fullest beauty, and close to a small stream that here came down from a
side valley. The freshness of the morning air, the extreme beauty of the
place, the lovely birds that flitted from tree to tree, the exquisite
shapes and colours of the flowers, still dew-bespangled, and above all,
the tenderness with which George treated him, soothed my father, and when
he and George had lit a fire and made some hot corn-coffee--with a view
to which Yram had put up a bottle of milk--he felt so much restored as to
look forward to the rest of his journey without alarm. Moreover he had
nothing to carry, for George had left his own rug at the place where they
had slept, knowing that he should find it on his return; he had therefore
insisted on carrying my father's. My father fought as long as he could,
but he had to give in.

"Now tell me," said George, glad to change the subject, "what will those
three men do about what you said to them last night? Will they pay any
attention to it?"

My father laughed. "My dear George, what a question--I do not know them
well enough."

"Oh yes, you do. At any rate say what you think most likely."

"Very well. I think Dr. Downie will do much