The doctor was speaking this like a soliloquy, slowly, and looking on the floor.

‘And I think in general I shall find it more in women than in men.’

Here the young people exchanged another smile, and the doctor looked up and went on.  ’Ay—­though weaker and more infirmly guarded, I believe they are better; for everyone is so much the better, by how much he comes nearer to God; and man in nothing is more like him than in being merciful.  Yet woman is far more merciful than man.  God is said to be love; and I am sure in that quality woman everywhere transcends.’

The doctor’s serious discourses were a mosaic of old divines and essayists, and Greek and Latin authors, as the writings of the Apostolic Fathers are, in a great measure, a tesselation of holy writ.  He assumed that everybody knew where to find them.  His business was only to repeat the truth wherever gleaned.  So I can’t tell how much was the doctor’s and how much theirs.

And when he had done upon this theme, and had risen to take leave, he said in his gentle and simple way—­

’And I brought you a little present—­a necklace and ear-rings—­old-fashioned, I’m afraid—­they were my dear mother’s diamonds, and were to have been—­’

Here there was a little pause—­they knew what was in his mind—­and he dried his eyes quickly.

’And won’t you take them, Gertie, for poor little Lily’s keepsake?  And so—­well, well—­little Gerty—­I taught you your catechism—­dear, dear!  Little Gerty going to be married!  And may God Almighty bless her to you, and you to her, with length of days, and all goodness; and with children, the inheritors of your fair forms, and all your graces, to gladden your home with love and duty, and to close your eyes at last with tender reverence; and to walk after you, when your time is over, in the same happy and honourable paths.’

Miss Gertrude was crying, and with two quick little steps she took his knotted old hand, and kissed it fervently and said—­

’I thank you, Sir, you’ve always been so good to me; I wish I could tell you—­and won’t you come to us, Sir, and see us very often—­when we are settled—­and bring good Mr. Loftus, and dear old Sally; and thank you, Sir, with all my heart, for your beautiful presents, and for your noble advice, Sir, which I will never forget, and for your blessing, and I wish I could show you how very much I love and reverence you.’

And my Lord Dunoran, though he was smiling, looked as if he had been crying too.  But men, you know, don’t like to be detected in that weakness, though everybody knows there are moments when bonus Homerus dormitat.

Good Doctor Walsingham made Dan Loftus his curate.  But when in the course of time a day came when the old rector was to meet his parishioners no more, and the parish was vacant, I do not hear that honest Dan succeeded to it.  Indeed I’m afraid that it needs sometimes a spice of the devil, or at least of the world, to get on in the Church.  But Lord Dunoran took him with him on the embassage to Lisbon, and afterwards he remained in his household as his domestic chaplain, much beloved and respected.  And there he had entire command of his lordship’s fine library, and compiled and composed, and did everything but publish and marry.