“And what credit, sir, to us?  Our knowledge did not belong to us, but to Him who made us, and the universe; and our sons’ belonged to Him likewise.  If they be wiser than their teachers, it is only because they, like their teachers, have made His testimonies their study.  When we rejoice in the progress of science, we rejoice not in ourselves, not in our children, but in God our Instructor.”

And all the while, hidden in the gloom behind, stands Grace, her arms folded over her bosom, watching every movement of the old man; and listening, too, to every word.  She can understand but little of it:  but she loves to hear it, for it reminds her of Tom Thurnall.  Above all she loves to hear about the microscope, a mystery inseparable in her thoughts from him who first showed her its wonders.

At last the old man speaks again:—­

“Ah!  How delighted my boy will be when he returns, to find that so much has been done during his absence.”

Claude is silent awhile, startled.

“You are surprised to hear me speak so confidently?  Well, I can only speak as I feel.  I have had, for some days past, a presentiment—­you will think me, doubtless, weak for yielding to it.  I am not superstitious.”

“Not so,” said Claude, “but I cannot deny that such things as presentiments may be possible.  However miraculous they may seem, are they so very much more so than the daily fact of memory?  I can as little guess why we can remember the past as why we may not, at times, be able to foresee the future.”

“True.  You speak, if not like a physician, yet like a metaphysician; so you will not laugh at me, and compel the weak old man and his fancy to take refuge with a girl—­who is not weak.—­Grace, darling, you think still that he is coming?”

She came forward and leaned over him.

“Yes,” she half whispered.  “He is coming soon to us:  or else we are soon going to him.  It may mean that, sir.  Perhaps it is better that it should.”

“It matters little, child, if he be near, as near he is.  I tell you, Mr. Mellot, this conviction has become so intense during the last week, that—­that I believe I should not be thrown off my balance if he entered at this moment....  I feel him so near me, sir, that—­that I could swear, did I not know how the weak brain imitates expected sounds, that I heard his footstep outside now.”

“I heard horses’ footsteps,” says Claude.—­“Ah, there comes Stangrave and our host.”

“I heard them:  but I heard my boy’s likewise,” said the old man quietly.

The next minute he seemed to have forgotten the fancy, as the two hunters entered, and Mark began open-mouthed as usual—­

“Well, Ned!  In good company, eh?  That’s right.  Mortal cold I am!  We shall have a white Christmas, I expect.  Snow’s coming.”

“What sport?” asked the doctor blandly.

“Oh!  Nothing new.  Bothered about Sidricstone till one.  Got away at last with an old fox, and over the downs into the vale.  I think Mr. Stangrave liked it?”