as
astonished at its religious tone, which seemed to him neither mawkish nor
sentimental. He knew nothing of his mother, dead now for nearly twenty
years, but that she was beautiful, and it was strange to learn that she
was simple and pious. He had never thought of that side of her. He read
again what she said about him, what she expected and thought about him; he
had turned out very differently; he looked at himself for a moment;
perhaps it was better that she was dead. Then a sudden impulse caused him
to tear up the letter; its tenderness and simplicity made it seem
peculiarly private; he had a queer feeling that there was something
indecent in his reading what exposed his mother's gentle soul. He went on
with the Vicar's dreary correspondence.

A few days later he went up to London, and for the first time for two
years entered by day the hall of St. Luke's Hospital. He went to see the
secretary of the Medical School; he was surprised to see him and asked
Philip curiously what he had been doing. Philip's experiences had given
him a certain confidence in himself and a different outlook upon many
things: such a question would have embarrassed him before; but now he
answered coolly, with a deliberate vagueness which prevented further
inquiry, that private affairs had obliged him to make a break in the
curriculum; he was now anxious to qualify as soon as possible. The first
examination he could take was in midwifery and the diseases of women, and
he put his name down to be a clerk in the ward devoted to feminine
ailments; since it was holiday time there happened to be no difficulty in
getting a post as obstetric clerk; he arranged to undertake that duty
during the last week of August and the first two of September. After this
interview Philip walked through the Medical School, more or less deserted,
for the examinations at the end of the summer session were all over; and
he wandered along the terrace by the river-side. His heart was full. He
thought that now he could begin a new life, and he would put behind him
all the errors, follies, and miseries of the past. The flowing river
suggested that everything passed, was passing always, and nothing
mattered; the future was before him rich with possibilities.

He went back to Blackstable and busied himself with the settling up of his
uncle's estate. The auction was fixed for the middle of August, when the
presence of visitors for the summer holidays would make it possible to g