At last,-- "This is very pleasant--to feel surer and surer, day by day, that one is not needed; that science moves forward swift and sure, under a higher guidance than one's own; that the sacred torch-race never can stand still; that He has taken the lamp out of old and failing hands, only to put it into young and brave ones, who will not falter till they reach the goal." Then he lies back again, with closed eyes, waiting for more facts from Claude.
"How beautiful!" says Claude--"I must compliment you, sir--to see the child-like heart thus still beating fresh beneath the honours of the grey head, without envy, without vanity, without ambition, welcoming every new discovery, rejoicing to see the young outstripping them." "And what credit, sir, to us?
Our knowledge did not belong to us, but to Him who made us, and the universe; and our sons' belonged to Him likewise.

If they be wiser than their teachers, it is only because they, like their teachers, have made His testimonies their study.

When we rejoice in the progress of science, we rejoice not in ourselves, not in our children, but in God our Instructor." And all the while, hidden in the gloom behind, stands Grace, her arms folded over her bosom, watching every movement of the old man; and listening, too, to every word.

She can understand but little of it: but she loves to hear it, for it reminds her of Tom Thurnall.

Above all she loves to hear about the microscope, a mystery inseparable in her thoughts from him who first showed her its wonders.
At last the old man speaks again:-- "Ah! How delighted my boy will be when he returns, to find that so much has been done during his absence." Claude is silent awhile, startled.
"You are surprised to hear me speak so confidently?
Well, I can only speak as I feel.