he fire.

"I will not consent," he said, evidently to himself, "to be a drag on
anyone. If that has come, then I must go!"

Bianca, placing herself beside him on her knees, pressed her hot cheek
against his temple.

"But it has not come, Dad."

"I hope not," said Mr. Stone. "I wish to end my book first."

The sudden grim coherence of his last two sayings terrified Bianca more
than all his feverish, utterances.

"I rely on your sitting quite still," she said, "while I go and find
her." And with a feeling in her heart as though two hands had seized and
were pulling it asunder, she went out.

Some half-hour later Hilary slipped quietly in, and stood watching at the
door. Mr. Stone, seated on the very verge of his armchair, with his
hands on its arms, was slowly rising to his feet, and slowly falling back
again, not once, but many times, practising a standing posture. As
Hilary came into his line of sight, he said:

"I have succeeded twice."

"I am very glad," said Hilary. "Won't you rest now, sir?"

"It is my knees," said Mr. Stone. "She has gone to find her."

Hilary heard those words with bewilderment, and, sitting down on the
other chair, waited.

"I have fancied," said Mr. Stone, looking at him wistfully, "that when we
pass away from life we may become the wind. Is that your opinion?"

"It is a new thought to me," said Hilary.

"It is not tenable," said Mr. Stone. "But it is restful. The wind is
everywhere and nowhere, and nothing can be hidden from it. When I have
missed that little girl, I have tried, in a sense, to become the wind;
but I have found it difficult."

His eyes left Hilary's face, whose mournful smile he had not noticed, and
fixed themselves on the bright fire. "'In those days,"' he said, "'men's
relation to the eternal airs was the relation of a billion little
separate draughts blowing against the south-west wind. They did not wish
to merge themselves in that soft, moon-uttered sigh, but blew in its face
through crevices, and cracks, and keyholes, and were borne away on the
pellucid journey, whistling out their protests.'"

He again tried to stand, evidently wishing to get to his desk to record
this thought, but, failing, looked painfully at Hilary. He seemed about
to ask for something, but checked himself.

"If I practise hard," he murmured, "I shall master it."

Hilary rose and brought him paper and a pencil. In bending, he saw that
Mr. Stone's eyes were dim with m