dly. He had
the larger half of the men by his side. He had all the finest crop the
trees had yielded--but he had yet to reckon with high Heaven.

CHAPTER XXXIV. AMONG THORNS

We shut our hearts up nowadays,
Like some old music-box that plays
Unfashionable airs.

Sir John Meredith was sitting stiffly in a straight-backed chair by his
library fire. In his young days men did not loll in deep chairs, with
their knees higher than their heads. There were no such chairs in this
library, just as there was no afternoon tea except for ladies. Sir
John Meredith was distressed to observe a great many signs of the
degeneration of manhood, which he attributed to the indulgence in
afternoon tea. Sir John had lately noticed another degeneration, namely,
in the quality of the London gas. So serious was this falling off that
he had taken to a lamp in the evening, which lamp stood on the table at
his elbow.

Some months earlier--that is to say, about six months after Jack's
departure--Sir John had called casually upon an optician. He stood
upright by the counter, and frowned down on a mild-looking man who wore
the strongest spectacles made, as if in advertisement of his own wares.

"They tell me," he said, "that you opticians make glasses now which are
calculated to save the sight in old age."

"Yes, sir," replied the optician, with wriggling white fingers. "We make
a special study of that. We endeavour to save the sight--to store it
up, as it were, in--a middle life, for use in old age. You see, sir, the
pupil of the eye--"

Sir John held up a warning hand.

"The pupil of the eye is your business, as I understand from the sign
above your shop--at all events, it is not mine," he said. "Just give me
some glasses to suit my sight, and don't worry me with the pupil of the
eye."

He turned towards the door, threw back his shoulders, and waited.

"Spectacles, sir?" inquired the man meekly.

"Spectacles, sir!" cried Sir John. "No, sir. Spectacles be damned! I
want a pair of eyeglasses."

And these eyeglasses were affixed to the bridge of Sir John Meredith's
nose, as he sat stiffly in the straight-backed chair.

He was reading a scientific book which society had been pleased to read,
mark, and learn, without inwardly digesting, as is the way of society
with books. Sir John read a good deal--he had read more lately,
perhaps, since entertainments and evening parties had fallen off so
lamentably--and he made