“Nearly finished,” echoed Molly.  “Isn’t it a booful big hole?”

“What’s it for?” asked Larpent.

Toby’s voice answered him.  She had risen and followed him.  It had an odd break in it—­the sound of laughter that is mingled with tears.  “They’re digging a hole to bury me in.  Isn’t it a great idea?”

He wheeled and looked at her.  There was no sign of tears in the wide blue eyes that met his own.  Yet he put his hand on her shoulder with the gesture of one who comforts a child.

“Before I go,” he said, “I want to tell you something—­something no one has told me, but that I’ve found out for myself.  There is only one thing on this earth worth having—­only one thing that counts.  It isn’t rank or wealth or even happiness.  It swamps the lot, just because it’s the only thing in God’s creation that lasts.  And you’ve got it.  In heaven’s name, don’t throw it away!”

He spoke with the simplicity and strength of a man who never wastes his words, and having spoken, he released her without farewell and turned away.

Toby stood quite motionless for several seconds, watching him; then, as he did not look round, hurriedly she addressed the eldest child.

“Take care of Betty a moment, Eileen darling!  I shall be back directly.”  And with the words she was gone, like an arrow, in pursuit.

He must have heard her feet upon the sand, but he did not turn.  Perhaps his thoughts were elsewhere, for when at the quick pressure of her hand on his arm he paused to look at her, she saw that his eyes were very sad.

“Well?” he said, with the glimmer of a smile.  “Well,—­Toinette?”

She clasped her two hands upon his arm, holding it very tightly, her face uplifted.  “Please—­I want to thank you,” she said breathlessly.  “You have been—­so very good.”

He shook his head.  “I have done—­nothing,” he said.  “Don’t thank me!”

She went on with nervous haste.  “And it does make a difference to me.  I—­I—­I’m glad I know, though it must have been—­a great shock to you.”

“It would have been a much worse shock if it had been anyone else,” he said.

“Would it?  How nice of you!” Her lip trembled.  “Well then, I’m glad it wasn’t.”  She began to walk on with him.  “Do you mind telling me—­did you—­did you—­forgive her?”

“Yes,” he said very quietly.

A quick shiver went through her.  “Then I must too,” she said.  “At least—­I must try.  She—­she—­I loved her once, you know, before I began to understand.”

“Everyone loved her,” he said.

“But life is very difficult, isn’t it?” she urged rather tremulously.

“Your life has been,” he said.

She nodded.  “One can’t help—­can’t help—­making mistakes—­even bad ones—­sometimes.”

“You’ve just made one,” he said.

She faced him valiantly.  “Ah, but you don’t understand.  You—­you can’t throw away—­what you’ve never had, can you—­can you?”