it to him
because of his mother's eyes, as he thought with a faint smile. Then
he called at his publisher's and at the office of a leading review to
which he was a regular contributor, telling them to expect no more
work from him for a while; he was going abroad to take a long-earned
holiday. He lunched at his club, speaking in a more than usually
friendly manner to the few men with whom at times he had found it a
pleasure to associate, and finally, with that sense of unreality
growing stronger and stronger, he found himself once more in the Park,
in his usual chair, looking out with the same keen sympathy upon the
intensely joyous, beautiful phase of life which floated around him.
The afternoon breeze rustled pleasantly among the cool green leaves
above his head, and the sunlight slanted full across the shaded walk.
On every hand were genial voices, cordial greetings, and light
farewells. With a sense almost of awe, he thought of the days when he
had sat there waiting for her carriage, that he might look for a few
moments upon that pale-faced woman, whose influence over him seemed
already to have commenced before even any words had passed between
them. He sat there, gravely acknowledging the salutes of those
with whom he was acquainted, wearing always the same faint and
impenetrable smile--wonderful mask of a broken heart. And still the
memories came surging into his brain. He thought of that grey morning
when he had sat there alone, oppressed by some dim premonitions of the
tragedy amongst whose shadows he was already passing, so that even the
wind which had followed the dawn, and shaken the rain-drops down upon
him, had seemed to carry upon its bosom wailing cries and sad human
voices. As the slow moments passed along, he found himself watching
for her carriage with some remnant of the old wistfulness. But it
never came, and for that he was thankful.

At last he rose, and walked leisurely back to his rooms. He gave
orders to his servant to pack all his things for a journey; then, for
the last time, he stood up in the midst of his possessions, looking
around him with a vague sorrowfulness at the little familiar objects
which had become dear to him, both by association and by reason of a
certain sense of companionship which he had always been able to feel
for beautiful things, however inanimate. It was here that he had come
when he had first left Oxford, full of certain definite ambitions, and
with a mind fixed at lea