His eyes had a wavering, anxious look.

Some of that old sanity of the once healthy man was making a last effort for supremacy, breaking in upon illusive hopes and irresponsible deceptions.
It was only for a moment.

Presently, from the top of the hill, they looked down upon the long line of little homes lying along the banks of the river like peaceful watchmen in a pleasant land, with corn and wine and oil at hand.

The tall cross on the spire of the Parish Church was itself a message of hope.

He did not define it so; but the impression vaguely, perhaps superstitiously, possessed him.