tual progression of our existence we should
be reconciled to loss, and taught that change itself is but another
form for aspiration. Aspiration which never can rest, or ought to
rest, in anything short of the One absolute Perfection--the One
all-satisfying Good "IN WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS, NEITHER SHADOW OF
TURNING."

I say this, to excuse myself for thoughts, which at times made me
grave--even in the happy home-light of John's study; where, for several
weeks after the last incident I have recorded, the family were in the
habit of gathering every evening. For poor Guy was a captive. The
"mere trifle" had turned out to be a sprained foot, which happening to
a tall and strong young man became serious. He bore his imprisonment
restlessly enough at first, but afterwards grew more reconciled--took
to reading, drawing, and society--and even began to interest himself in
the pursuits of his sister Maud, who every morning had her lessons in
the study.

Miss Silver first proposed this. She had evinced more feeling than was
usual to her, since Guy's accident; showed him many little feminine
kindnesses--out of compunction, it seemed; and altogether was much
improved. Of evenings, as now, she always made one of the "young
people," who were generally grouped together round Guy's sofa--Edwin,
Walter, and little Maud. The father and mother sat opposite--as usual,
side by side, he with his newspaper, she with her work. Or sometimes,
falling into pleasant idleness, they would slip hand in hand, and sit
talking to one another in an under-tone, or silently and smilingly
watch the humours of their children.

For me, I generally took to my nook in the chimney-corner--it was a
very ancient fire-place, with settles on each side, and dogs instead of
a grate, upon which many a faggot hissed and crackled its merry brief
life away. Nothing could be more cheery and comfortable than this
old-fashioned, low-roofed room, three sides of which were peopled with
books--all the books which John had gathered up during the course of
his life. Perhaps it was their long-familiar, friendly faces which
made this his favourite room, his own especial domain. But he did not
keep it tabooed from his family; he liked to have them about him, even
in his studious hours.

So, of evenings, we all sat together as now, each busy, and none
interrupting the rest. At intervals, flashes of talk or laughter broke
out, chiefly from Guy, Walter, or Maud, when Edwi