life; it is she who weaves sweet dreams into his dull sleep. You
know nothing of all this as yet; and your worthy old friend--to whom
my greetings--has held aloof from it all his life....

"For your private eye: it is a dying man who speaks thus. You must
know that my poor child, our Pul, regards you as the most perfect of
men and esteems you above all others. You know her and Joanna.
Bear witness to your friend that no evil word ever passed the lips
of either of them. Far be it from me to advise you, who bear the
image of another woman in your heart,--to say: marry the child, she
is the wife for you. But this much to you both--Father and son--I
do advise you to live with the mother and daughter as true and
friendly house-mates. You will none of you repent doing so. This
is a dying man's word. I can write no more. You are the women's
guardian, Philip, a faithful one I know. A common aim makes men
grow alike. You and I, for many a year.--Take good care of them for
me; I entreat you--good care."

The last words were separated and written all astray; the old man could
hardly make them out. He now sat looking, as Phillipus had done before,
sorely puzzled and undecided over this strange document.

"Well?" asked the leech at last.

"Aye-well?" repeated the other with a shrug. Then both again were
silent; till Horapollo rose, and taking his staff, also paced the room
while he murmured, half to himself and half to his younger friend "They
are two quiet, reasonable women. There are not many of that sort, I
fancy. How the little one helped me up from the low seat in the garden!"
It was a reminiscence that made him chuckle to himself; he stopped