We went off to lunch with the old matron, who talked cheerfully about things in general:  and it was strange to feel that what was to us so deep a tragedy was to her just a familiar experience, a thing that happened day by day.

Then the doctor came in, a tall, thin, pale, unembarrassed man, very frank and simple.

“Yes,” he said, “there’s a risk—­I don’t deny that!  One never knows exactly what the mischief is or how far it extends.  I told Mr. Payne exactly what I thought.  He is the sort of man to whom one can do that.  But he is strong, he has lived a healthy life, he has a great vitality—­everything is in his favour.  How long has he seemed to be ill, by the way?”

“Some three or four months, I think,” said Barthrop.  “But it is difficult when you see anyone every day to realise a change—­and then he is always cheerful.”

“He is,” said the doctor.  “I never saw a better patient.  He told me his symptoms like a doctor describing someone else’s case, I never heard anything so impersonal!  We managed to catch Dr. Angus—­that’s the specialist, you know, who will operate.  Mr. Payne wasn’t in the least flurried.  He showed no sign of being surprised:  we sent him in here at once, and he seems to have made friends with everyone.  That’s all to the good, of course.  He’s not a nervous subject.  No,” he added reflectively, “he has an excellent chance of recovery.  But I should deceive you if I pretended there was no risk.  There is a risk, and we must hope for the best.  By the way, gentlemen,” he added, taking up his hat, “I hope you won’t think of staying in town.  Mr. Payne seems most anxious that you should go back, and I think his wish should be paramount.  You can do nothing here, and I think your remaining would fret him.  I won’t attempt to dictate, but I feel that you would do well to go!”

“Oh, yes, we will go,” said Barthrop.  “You will let us know how all goes?”

“Of course!” said the doctor.  “You shall hear at once!”

We went back, and spent an hour with Father Payne.  I shall never forget that hour:  he talked on quietly, seeing that we were unable to do our part.  He spoke about the men and their work, and gave pleasant, half-humorous summaries of their characters.  He gave us some little reminiscences of his life in London; he talked about the villagers at Aveley, and the servants.  I realised afterwards that he had spoken a few words about every single person in the circle, small or great.  The time sped past, and presently they told us that our cab was at the door, “Now don’t make me think you are going to miss the train, old boys!” said Father Payne, raising himself up to shake hands.  “I have enjoyed the sight of you.  Give them all my love:  be good and wise!  God bless you both!” He shook hands with Barthrop and with me, and I felt the soft touch of his firm hand, as I had done at our first meeting.  Barthrop did not speak, and went hurriedly from the room, without looking round.  I could not help it, but I bent down and kissed his hand.  “Well, well!” he said indulgently, and gave me a most tender and beautiful look out of his big eyes, and then he mentioned to me to go.  I went in silence.