is brain; and I don't know
that life under such conditions is a boon to be desired."

"I do not think it is. Yet we poor mortals long to keep our beloved ones
with us, even though it is but the semblance of their former selves that
remain."

Christopher did not answer. There suddenly rushed over him the memory of
all that his uncle had been to him, and of how that uncle still treated
him as a little child; and with it came the consciousness that, when his
uncle was gone, nobody would ever treat him as a little child any more.
Life is somewhat dreary when the time comes for us to be grown-up to
everybody; so Christopher looked (and did not see) out of the window,
instead of speaking.

"Of course," Miss Farringdon continued, "you will take his place, should
he be--as I fear is inevitable--unable to resume work at the
Osierfield; and I have such a high opinion of you, Christopher, that I
have no doubt you will do your uncle's work as well as he has done it,
and there could not be higher praise. Nevertheless, it saddens me to
know that another of the old landmarks has been swept away, and that now
I only am left of what used to be the Osierfield forty years ago. The
work may be done as well by the new hands and brains as by the old ones;
but after one has crossed the summit of the mountain and begun to go
downhill, it is sorry work exchanging old lamps for new. The new lamps
may give brighter light, perchance; but their light is too strong for
tired old eyes; and we grow homesick for the things to which we are
accustomed." And Miss Farringdon took off her spectacles and wiped them.

There was silence for a few seconds, while Christopher manfully
struggled with his feelings and Miss Maria decorously gave vent to hers.
Christopher was vexed with himself for so nearly breaking down before
Elisabeth, and throwing the shadow of his sorrow across the sunshine of
her path. He did not know that the mother-heart in her was yearning over
him with a tenderness almost too powerful to be resisted, and that his
weakness was constraining her as his strength had never done. He was
rather surprised that she did not speak to him; but with the patient
simplicity of a strong man he accepted her behaviour without questioning
it. Her mere presence in the room somehow changed everything, and made
him feel that no world which contained Elisabeth could ever be an
entirely sorrowful world. Of course he knew nothing about the new
Christopher whic