ferred not to think
about stung him into a fit of frenzy that lasted for a day and night.
When his heart was so full of despair that it would hold no more,
body and soul together seemed to be dropping without check through the
darkness.

Then came fear of darkness and desperate attempts to reach the light
again. But there was no light to be reached. When that agony had left
him sweating and breathless, the downward flight would recommence till
the gathering torture of it spurred him into another fight as hopeless
as the first. Followed some few minutes of sleep in which he dreamed
that he saw. Then the procession of events would repeat itself till he
was utterly worn out and the brain took up its everlasting consideration
of Maisie and might-have-beens.

At the end of everything Mr. Beeton came to his room and volunteered to
take him out. 'Not marketing this time, but we'll go into the Parks if
you like.'

'Be damned if I do,' quoth Dick. 'Keep to the streets and walk up and
down. I like to hear the people round me.'

This was not altogether true. The blind in the first stages of their
infirmity dislike those who can move with a free stride and unlifted
arms--but Dick had no earthly desire to go to the Parks. Once and
only once since Maisie had shut her door he had gone there under Alf's
charge. Alf forgot him and fished for minnows in the Serpentine with
some companions. After half an hour's waiting Dick, almost weeping with
rage and wrath, caught a passer-by, who introduced him to a friendly
policeman, who led him to a four-wheeler opposite the Albert Hall. He
never told Mr. Beeton of Alf's forgetfulness, but... this was not the
manner in which he was used to walk the Parks aforetime.

'What streets would you like to walk down, then?' said Mr. Beeton,
sympathetically. His own ideas of a riotous holiday meant picnicking
on the grass of Green Park with his family, and half a dozen paper bags
full of food.

'Keep to the river,' said Dick, and they kept to the river, and the rush
of it was in his ears till they came to Blackfriars Bridge and struck
thence on to the Waterloo Road, Mr. Beeton explaining the beauties of
the scenery as he went on.

'And walking on the other side of the pavement,' said he, 'unless I'm
much mistaken, is the young woman that used to come to your rooms to
be drawed. I never forgets a face and I never remembers a name, except
paying tenants, o' course!'

'Stop her,' said Dick. 'It's Bes