usly.
I did not suspect, however, that such had been your lot."

"Yes," was the reply, after a moment's silence, "mine has been a heavy
cross. A little more than a year ago my son, just entering upon the
summer vacation, went off with two friends on a yachting trip. They were
near Land's End when a hurricane struck and wrecked the boat; they were
all lost, the yacht never having been seen again; and once this
afternoon, when the door of your secretary's room was opened for a
moment, I heard his delirious cry, and his voice sounded strangely like
that of my own lost boy. Possibly, I, too, should have gone up to see
him, but after that I could not--I could not." He paused and then added:
"O, it was my profoundest wish that Eddie might some day take my place,
and be the comfort of my old age."

That evening's sermon will never be forgotten by the large congregation
which came to hear the eminent English divine. "Thou destroyest the hopes
of man" was the text.

Two days later the Bishop of Durham returned to his home, and although he
had enjoyed seeing the classmate of his early years, the affliction in
Bishop Albertson's home had reminded him of his own sad loss, so that
when he arrived at Durham he felt prostrated by the renewal of his bitter
bereavement.

CHAPTER IV

SLOW CONVALESCENCE

The new nurse would not permit even Tom to enter the sick man's room, so
he waylaid the doctor at every visit, and, stern as he was, that
professional gentleman was compelled through sheer sympathy to speak as
encouragingly as possible to the lad.

Every morning Tom brought from the garden a handful of flowers and,
tapping gently at the sick man's door, handed them to the nurse, who,
giving him a more hopeful word concerning the patient, would send him
with light heart downstairs to his mother to report the good news. One
morning the boy brought a bunch of roses and violets, and gave them to
Enoch, the nurse, who received them with greater cordiality than usual,
remarking as he accepted the flowers: "Mr. Carl is much better. You shall
see him tomorrow."

The joyous-hearted boy bounded downstairs and, throwing his arms around
his mother's neck, repeated the words of the nurse. Enoch met Tom in the
hall next day. The lad was dressed in his best clothes and was nervously
impatient. "Now Tom," said Enoch, "promise me that you will not talk,
and you must not cry, and, remember, you can only stay ten minutes."

"All right! I