"Religion in him never died, but became a habit--a habit of enduring
hardness, and cleaving to the steadfast performance of duty in the
face of the strongest allurements to the pleasanter and easier
course."
Life of Charles Lamb, by A. Ainger.
Derrick was in good spirits the next day. He talked much of Major
Vaughan, wondered whether the voyage home had restored his health,
discussed the probable length of his leave, and speculated as to the
nature of his illness; the telegram had of course given no details.
"There has not been even a photograph for the last five years," he
remarked, as we walked down to the quay together. "Yet I think I
should know him anywhere, if it is only by his height. He used to
look so well on horseback. I remember as a child seeing him in a
sham fight charging up Caesar's Camp."
"How old were you when he went out?"
"Oh, quite a small boy," replied Derrick. "It was just before I
first stayed with you. However, he has had a regular succession of
photographs sent out to him, and will know me easily enough."
Poor Derrick! I can't think of that day even now without a kind of
mental shiver.
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