you will
never see this letter I suppose, and so it doesn't matter; but if you do,
and I pray that you may--well, if I am only worth taking at my best, I am
not worth taking at all. I want you to know the worst of me--you, and no
one else.

"With Uncle Nic it is not as with my stepfather; his opposition only
makes me angry, mad, ready to do anything, but with Uncle Nic I feel so
bruised--so sore. He said: 'It is not so much the money, because there
is always mine.' I could never do a thing he cannot bear, and take his
money, and you would never let me. One knows very little of anything in
the world till trouble comes. You know how it is with flowers and trees;
in the early spring they look so quiet and self-contained; then all in a
moment they change--I think it must be like that with the heart. I used
to think I knew a great deal, understood why and how things came about; I
thought self-possession and reason so easy; now I know nothing. And
nothing in the world matters but to see you and hide away from that look
in Uncle Nic's eyes. Three months ago I did not know you, now I write
like this. Whatever I look at, I try to see as you would see; I feel,
now you are away even more than when you were with me, what your thoughts
would be, how you would feel about this or that. Some things you have
said seem always in my mind like lights--"

A slanting drift of rain was striking the veranda tiles with a cold,
ceaseless hissing. Christian shut the window, and went into her uncle's
room.

He was lying with closed eyes, growling at Dominique, who moved about
noiselessly, putting the room ready for the night. When he had finished,
and with a compassionate bow had left the room, Mr. Treffry opened his
eyes, and said:

"This is beastly stuff of the doctor's, Chris, it puts my monkey up; I
can't help swearing after I've taken it; it's as beastly as a vulgar
woman's laugh, and I don't know anything beastlier than that!"

"I have a letter from Greta, Uncle Nic; shall I read it?"

He nodded, and Christian read the letter, leaving out the mention of
Harz, and for some undefined reason the part about Sarelli.

"Ay!" said Mr. Treffry with a feeble laugh, "Greta and her money! Send
her some more, Chris. Wish I were a youngster again; that's a beast of a
proverb about a dog and his day. I'd like to go fishing again in the
West Country! A fine time we had when we were youngsters. You don't get
such times these days.