“At last I drew out the flask, and touched the spring.  It opens by pressing a penknife into one of a number of rivets; you can then unscrew it.

“When it was open I discovered that the little vial inside had been broken, and that somehow or other the life-giving fluid had evaporated unperceived.  I had not opened it for a year or more.

“I saw at once that God intended it not to be at my time—­that was very clear; and after considerable reflection and a wakeful night, I came to the conclusion that my divine Impulse did not lead me to adopt a course of action, but only to avoid a course—­the fact which I developed in my letter to you.  And then came the resolve, tardy and weak at first, but gaining ground, warning me that perhaps it was an inglorious flight; though I knew it was pardonable, I felt as if God might meet me with ’Not wrong, but if you are really bent on the highest, you must do better than this.’  It might, I felt, be losing a great opportunity—­the opportunity of facing a hopeless situation, a thing I had never done.

“And so I came to the conclusion to fight on, and my reward is coming slowly; contentment seems to return, and Edward is an ever-increasing joy; he fills my life and thoughts.  Oh, if I can only make him good; put him in the way of inward happiness!  I break out into prayer and aspirations for him in his presence when I think of the utterly heedless way in which he regards the future, and the awful, the momentous issues it contains.  He, dear lad, thinks nothing of it, except as a sign of my love for him.  We have no misunderstandings, and I seem somehow to love the world better, more passionately, since he came to me.

“I send you a few flowers from our garden, and Edward sends his love, if that is respectful enough.

“I am your affectionate friend,
“Arthur Hamilton.”

CHAPTER XI

Down at Tredennis the year begun to fly with the speed of which uneventful enjoyable monotony alone possesses the secret.

“Our days are very similar here, and I find them very agreeable.  Edward thinks the same, he assures me, though I feel it may arise in his case from a want of breadth of view and lack of experience to argue from.

“In the summer months we get up early, and generally bathe in the stream, where I have contrived to get one of the pools sufficiently enlarged; as the weather gets colder I am compelled by my doctor to relinquish this.  Then we read and write till breakfast, which we have at eight o’clock.  In winter this is the first event of the day; in the morning we work for an hour or two and then go out, returning to lunch; after which we sun ourselves till five o’clock, or drive; and then, after tea, work again for three hours:  the day thus concludes.

“I certainly don’t coddle my boy, and I don’t think I pet him, for I have the deepest horror of that practice:  nothing is so weakening for both parties; it develops sentimentalism, and all mawkishness I abhor!—­though I am what you would call ridiculously fond of him.  However, you must come and see us, and give me your most candid opinion, criticism, and censure on my educational methods.