"Good-by, old man," he said, holding out his hand.

Fairley took it with a childish smile.
"He's dead," said the old man softly, holding Lance's hand, but pointing to the hearth.

"Yes," said Lance, with the faintest of smiles on the palest of faces.

"You feel sorry for any one that's dead, don't you ?" Fairley nodded again.

Lance looked at him with eyes as remote as his own, shook his head, and turned away.