hat the note
that had reached him was all part of Purvis's horrible sensationalism
and his lies, and that no earthly notice should be taken of it; also,
that it would be sheer madness to risk his own life and his friends'
for this contemptible fellow. Jane, on the other side--possibly an
angel, but to the ordinary mind merely a very handsome English
girl--stood there saying nothing, but looking beautiful.

Toffy continued to pick out the tune with his forefinger from Mrs.
Chance's book:

[Illustration: music fragment:
A-bide with me! fast falls the e-ven-tide;
The dark-ness deep-ens: Lord with a a-bide!]

It all came before him in a flash: the village church, and the swinging
oil-lamps above the pews; he and Jane together in Miss Abingdon's pew,
and Mrs. Wrottesley playing the old hymn-tunes on the little organ. He
could not remember ever attending very particularly to the evening
service. He used to follow it in a very small Prayer Book, and it was
quite sufficient for him that Jane was with him. He had never been a
religious man in the ordinary sense of the word. He had wished with
all his heart when his mother died that he had known more about sacred
things, but they had never seemed a necessary part of his life. He
knew the code of an English gentleman, and that code was a high one.
The youngsters in the regiment knew quite well that he was 'as straight
as they make 'em'; but he had never inflicted advice nor had a moment's
serious conversation with one of them.

Another ten minutes had passed, and left only five minutes to spare;
but Jane was smiling a little, and Toffy was fingering out quavering
notes on the old piano:

[Illustration: music fragment:
When o-ther help-ers fail, and com-forts flee,
Help of the help-less, oh, a-bide with me!]

Life seemed to get bigger as he listened. There were no such things as
difficulties. You had just to know what you ought to do, and then to
try to do it. You had not to pit yourself against a mean mind, and act
meanly by it. Each man had his own work to do, and what other men did
or left undone was their own business. His brother was in a mess, and
he had to help him out of it, whether he deserved it or no--not
weighing his merit, but pardoning his offences and just helping him in
his need. The glories of life might fade away, as the old hymn said,
or they might last; but all that each man had to care about so long as
he remained here was to do