ke up to-morrow and think differently. If I were you, my dear, I would
have a good long walk, and then a Turkish bath; and then I would just
write to her, and tell her all about it, and you'll see how beautifully
it'll all come straight"; and in the enthusiasm of advice Mrs. Shelton
rose, and, with a faint stretch of her tiny figure, still so young,
clasped her hands together. "Now do, that 's a dear old Dick! You 'll
just see how lovely it'll be!" Shelton smiled; he had not the heart to
chase away this vision. "And give her my warmest love, and tell her I 'm
longing for the wedding. Come, now, my dear boy, promise me that's what
you 'll do."

And Shelton said: "I'll think about it."

Mrs. Shelton had taken up her stand with one foot on the fender, in spite
of her sciatica.

"Cheer up!" she cried; her eyes beamed as if intoxicated by her
sympathy.

Wonderful woman! The uncomplicated optimism that carried her through
good and ill had not descended to her son.

From pole to pole he had been thrown that day, from the French barber,
whose intellect accepted nothing without carping, and whose little
fingers worked all day, to save himself from dying out, to his own
mother, whose intellect accepted anything presented with sufficient glow,
but who, until she died, would never stir a finger. When Shelton reached
his rooms, he wrote to Antonia:

I can't wait about in London any longer; I am going down to Bideford to
start a walking tour. I shall work my way to Oxford, and stay there till
I may come to Holm Oaks. I shall send you my address; do write as usual.

He collected all the photographs he had of her--amateur groups, taken by
Mrs. Dennant--and packed them in the pocket of his shooting-jacket.
There was one where she was standing just below her little brother, who
was perched upon a wall. In her half-closed eyes, round throat, and
softly tilted chin, there was something cool and watchful, protecting the
ragamuffin up above her head. This he kept apart to be looked at daily,
as a man says his prayers.

PART II

THE COUNTRY

CHAPTER XVI

THE INDIAN CIVILIAN

One morning then, a week later, Shelton found himself at the walls of
Princetown Prison.

He had seen this lugubrious stone cage before. But the magic of his
morning walk across the moor, the sight of the pagan tors, the songs of
the last cuckoo, had unprepared him for that dreary building. He left
the street, and, entering the