pproachable."

"We're very good friends, though how good I never quite guessed till
this catastrophe. She seemed to come and help look after me as a matter
of course. Didn't think it a bit strange."

"She's simple, but in a very noble way. I've only one quarrel with
her--the faith of her fathers--"

"Leave it. You'll only put your foot into it, Aunt Jenny."

"Never," she said. "I shall never put my foot into it where right and
wrong are concerned--with Estelle or you, or anybody else. I'm nearly
seventy, remember, Raymond, and one knows what is imperishable and to be
trusted at that age."

Thus she negatived Mr. Churchouse's dictum--that mere age demanded no
particular reverence, since many years are as liable to error as few.

Her nephew was doubtful.

"Right and wrong are a never-ending puzzle," he said. "They vary so from
the point of view. And if you once grant there are more view points than
one, where are you?"

"Right and wrong are not doubtful," she assured him, "and all the
science in the world can't turn one into the other--any more than light
can turn into darkness."

"Light can turn into darkness easily enough. I've learned that during
the last three days," he answered. "If you fill this room with light, I
can't see. If you keep it dark, I can."

Estelle came to tea and read some notes that Mr. Best had prepared for
Raymond. They satisfied him, and the meal was merry, for he found
himself free of pain and in the best spirits. Estelle, too, had some
gossip that amused him. Her father was already practising at clay
pigeons to get his eye in for the first of September; and he wished to
inform Raymond that he was shooting well and hoped for a better season
than the last. He had also seen a vixen and three cubs on North Hill at
five o'clock in the morning of the preceding day.

"In fact, it's the best of all possible worlds so far as father is
concerned," said Estelle, "and now he hears you're coming home early
next week, he will go to church on Sunday with a thankful heart. He said
yesterday that Raymond's accident had a bright side. D'you know what it
is? Ray meant to give up cricket altogether after this year; but father
points out that he cannot do so now. Because it is morally impossible
for Ray to stop playing until he stands up again to that bowler who hurt
him so badly. 'Morally impossible,' is what father said."

"He's quite right too," declared the patient. "Till I've knocked that
beggar