for him.

"Faith," he exclaimed, when he was already at the door, "who d'ye think
I saw last Sunday? As I was free in the afternoon, I took a walk, and,
coming back, I went into a little coffee-shop for a cup of tea. A man
in an apron came up to serve me, and, by me soul, if it wasn't poor old
Egger! I've heard not a word of him since he left last Christmas. He
was ashamed of himself, poor devil; but I did my best to make him easy.
After all, he's better off than in the scholastic line."

Waymark laughed at this incident, and stood watching O'Gree's progress
down the street for a minute or two. Then he went to his room again,
and sitting down with a sigh, fell into deep brooding.

CHAPTER XXXII

A VISION OF SIN

Maud Enderby's life at home became ever more solitary. Such daily
intercourse as had been established between her mother and herself grew
less and less fruitful of real intimacy, till at length it was felt by
both to be mere form. Maud strove against this, but there was no
corresponding effort on the other side; Mrs. Enderby showed no dislike
for her daughter, yet unmistakably shunned her. If she chanced to enter
the sitting-room whilst Maud was there, she would, if possible, retreat
unobserved; or else she would feign to have come in quest of something,
and at once go away with it. Maud could not fail to observe this, and
its recurrence struck a chill to her heart. She had not the courage to
speak to her mother; a deadweight of trouble, a restless spirit of
apprehension, made her life one of passive endurance; she feared to
have the unnatural conditions of their home openly recognised. Very
often her thoughts turned to the time when she had found refuge from
herself in the daily occupation of teaching, and, had she dared, she
would gladly have gone away once more as a governess. But she could not
bring herself to propose such a step. To do so would necessitate
explanations, and that was what she dreaded most of all. Whole days,
with the exception of meal-times, she spent in her own room, and there
no one ever disturbed her. Sometimes she read, but most often sat in
prolonged brooding, heedless of the hours.

Her father was now constantly away from home. He told her that he
travelled on business. It scarcely seemed to be a relief to him to rest
awhile in his chair; indeed, Paul had grown incapable of resting. Time
was deepening the lines of anxiety on his sallow face. His mind seemed
for ever rac