't think I shall live very
much longer now."

"Oh, my dear, don't say that. Why, of course you're going to live for
ever. I can't possibly spare you."

"Oh, I'm not sorry." Her voice broke and she hid her eyes, but in a
moment, drying them, she smiled bravely. "At first, I used to pray to God
that He might not take me first, because I didn't want your uncle to be
left alone, I didn't want him to have all the suffering, but now I know
that it wouldn't mean so much to your uncle as it would mean to me. He
wants to live more than I do, I've never been the wife he wanted, and I
daresay he'd marry again if anything happened to me. So I should like to
go first. You don't think it's selfish of me, Philip, do you? But I
couldn't bear it if he went."

Philip kissed her wrinkled, thin cheek. He did not know why the sight he
had of that overwhelming love made him feel strangely ashamed. It was
incomprehensible that she should care so much for a man who was so
indifferent, so selfish, so grossly self-indulgent; and he divined dimly
that in her heart she knew his indifference and his selfishness, knew them
and loved him humbly all the same.

"You will take the money, Philip?" she said, gently stroking his hand. "I
know you can do without it, but it'll give me so much happiness. I've
always wanted to do something for you. You see, I never had a child of my
own, and I've loved you as if you were my son. When you were a little boy,
though I knew it was wicked, I used to wish almost that you might be ill,
so that I could nurse you day and night. But you were only ill once and
then it was at school. I should so like to help you. It's the only chance
I shall ever have. And perhaps some day when you're a great artist you
won't forget me, but you'll remember that I gave you your start."

"It's very good of you," said Philip. "I'm very grateful." A smile came
into her tired eyes, a smile of pure happiness.

"Oh, I'm so glad."

XL

A few days later Mrs. Carey went to the station to see Philip off. She
stood at the door of the carriage, trying to keep back her tears. Philip
was restless and eager. He wanted to be gone.

"Kiss me once more," she said.

He leaned out of the window and kissed her. The train started, and she
stood on the wooden platform of the little station, waving her
handkerchief till it was out of sight. Her heart was dreadfully heavy, and
the few hundred yards to the vicarage seemed very, very long. It was