The prayer brought to him the picture of his children kneeling, morning and evening, with the self-same petitions.

They had said them only a few hours ago, and would say them again a few hours hence.

Even the dying man felt there was something more than mere emotion for him expressed in the tremulous tones of Roland Sefton's voice.

He held out his hand to him when he had finished, and grasped his warmly.
"God bless you!" he said.

But he was weary, and his strength was failing him.