that I don't think this any worse, but rather better?'

The Doctor was in no mood to think any comfort possible in thus losing
one like Leonard, and he did not commit himself to an untruth. There
was a silence again, and Leonard opened his book, and took out his
etchings, one which he had already promised the Doctor, another for
Aubrey, and at the third the Doctor exclaimed inarticulately with
surprise and admiration.

It was a copy of the well-known Cross-bearing Form in the Magdalen
College Chapel Altar-piece, drawn in pen and ink on a half-sheet of
thick note-paper; but somehow, into the entire Face and Figure there
was infused such an expression as now and then comes direct from the
soul of the draughtsman--an inspiration entirely independent of manual
dexterity, and that copies, however exact, fail to render, nay, which
the artist himself fails to renew. The beauty, the meekness, the
hidden Majesty of the Countenance, were conveyed in a marvellous
manner, and were such as would bring a tear to the eye of the gazer,
even had the drawing been there alone to speak for itself.

'This is your doing, Leonard?'

'I have just finished it. It has been one of my greatest comforts--'

'Ah!'

'Doing those lines;' and he pointed to the thorny Crown, 'I seem to get
ashamed of thinking this hardness. Only think, Dr. May, from the very
first moment the policeman took me in charge, nobody has said a rough
word to me. I have never felt otherwise than that they meant justice
to have its way as far as they knew, but they were all consideration
for me. To think of that, and then go over the scoffs and
scourgings!'--there was a bright glistening tear in Leonard's eye
now--'it seems like child's play to go through such a trial as mine.'

'Yes! you have found the secret of willingness.'

'And,' added the boy, hesitating between the words, but feeling that he
must speak them, as the best balm for the sorrow he was causing, 'even
my little touch of the shame and scorn of this does make me know better
what it must have been, and yet--so thankful when I remember why it
was--that I think I could gladly bear a great deal more than this is
likely to be.'

'Oh! my boy, I have no fears for you now.'

'Yes, yes--have fears,' cried Leonard, hastily. 'Pray for me! You
don't know what it is to wake up at night, and know something is coming
nearer and nearer--and then this--before one can remember all that
blesses it--or the Night of