“And he never had a chance before,” said Herbert.

“No.  Which makes a great difference—­all indeed between the Publicans, or the Heathens, and the Pharisees.  He can’t read, and I doubt whether he said the words rightly after me; but I am sure he meant them.”

“I suppose all this has done great good?” said Jenny.

“It will be our fault if it do not do permanent good.  It ought,” said Julius, gravely.  “No, no, Herbert, I did not mean to load you with the thought.  Getting well is your business for the present—­ not improving the occasion to others.”

To which all that Herbert answered was, “Harry Hornblower!” as if that name spoke volumes of oppression of mind.

That discussion, however, was hindered by Mrs. Hornblower’s own arrival with one of her lodger’s numerous meals, and Julius went off to luncheon.  The next step on the stairs made Herbert start and exclaim, “That’s the dragoon!  Come in, Phil.”

And there did indeed stand the eldest brother, who had obtained a few days’ leave, as he told them, and had ridden over from Strawyers after church.  He came in with elaborate caution in his great muddy boots, and looked at Herbert like a sort of natural curiosity, exclaiming that he only wanted a black cap and a pair of bands to be exactly like Bishop Bowater, a Caroline divine, with a meek, oval, spiritual face, and a great display of delicate attenuated fingers, the length of which had always been a doubt and marvel to his sturdy descendants.

“Hands and all,” quoth Philip; “and what are you doing with them?” as he spied a Greek Testament in the fingers, and something far too ponderous for them within reach.  “Jenny, how dare you?” he remonstrated, poising the bigger book as if to heave it at her head.  “That’s what comes of your encouraging followers, eh?”

“Ah!” said Jenny, pretending to dodge the missile, while Rollo exercised great forbearance in stifling a bark, “Greek is not quite so severe to some folks as dragoon captains think.”

“Severe or not he might let it alone,” said Phil, looking much disposed to wrest away the little book, which Herbert thrust under his pillow, saying—­

“It was only the Lesson.”

“Why can’t you read the Lesson like a sensible man in its native English?  Don’t laugh, children, you know what I mean.  There’s no good in this fellow working his brain.  He can’t go up again before September, and according to the Bishop’s letter to my father, he is safe to pass, if he could not construe a line, after what he did at Wil’sbro’.  The Bishop and Co. found they had made considerable donkeys of themselves.  Yes, ’tis the ticket for you to be shocked; but it is just like badgering a fellow for his commission by asking him how many facets go to a dragon-fly’s eye, instead of how he can stand up to a battery.”

“So I thought,” said Herbert; “but I know now what it is to be in the teeth of the battery without having done my best to get my weapons about me.”