"That I will."

He took out of his pocket a little case of leather, with an under one
of black silk; within this, again, was a book. He would not let it
go out of his hands, but held it so that I could see the leaves. It
was a Greek Testament.

"Look here."

He pointed to the fly-leaf, and I read:

"Guy Halifax, his Book.

"Guy Halifax, gentleman, married Muriel Joyce, spinster, May 17, in
the year of our Lord 1779.

"John Halifax, their son, born June 18, 1780."

There was one more entry, in a feeble, illiterate female hand: "Guy
Halifax, died Jannary 4, 1781."

"What shall I write, John?" said I, after a minute or so of silence.

"I'll tell you presently. Can I get you a pen?"

He leaned on my shoulder with his left hand, but his right never once
let go of the precious book.

"Write--'Muriel Halifax, died January 1, 1791.'"