uld but
vaguely conjecture--save one! And that one stood out in the darkness of
his soul, clear as a cross against the falling night. Dicky had no chance
of winning any woman so long as he--the village idiot--the hideous
abortion--stood in his way. That was the truth as he saw it--the bitter,
unavoidable truth. O God, it wasn't fair--it wasn't fair!

The evening shadows were lengthening. The waves splashed softly against
the fallen rocks forty to fifty feet below. They seemed to be calling to
him. It was almost like a summons from far away--almost like a bugle-call
heard in the mists of sleep. Somehow they soothed him, lessening the
poignancy of his anguish, checking his wild rebellion, making him aware
of a strangely comforting peace.

As if God had spoken and stilled his inarticulate protest, the futile
agony of his striving died down. He began to be conscious vaguely that
somewhere within his reach there lay a way of escape. He stared out over
the silver-blue of the sea with strained and throbbing vision. The sun
had gone down behind High Shale, and the quiet shadows stretched towards
him. He had the feeling of a hunted man who has found sanctuary. Again,
more calmly, his tired brain considered the problem that had driven him
forth in such bitterness of soul.

There was Dicky--Dicky who loved him--whom he worshipped. Yes, certainly
Dicky loved him. He had never questioned that. He was the only person in
the world who had ever wanted him. But a deeper love, a deeper want, had
entered Dicky's life with the coming of Juliet. He wanted her with a
great heart-longing that Robin but dimly comprehended but of which he was
keenly conscious, made wise by the sympathy that linked them. He
knew--and this without any bitterness--that Dicky wanted Juliet as he had
never wanted him. It was an overmastering yearning in Dicky's soul, and
somehow--by some means--some sacrifice--it must be satisfied. Even
Dicky, it seemed, would have to sacrifice something; for he could not
have them both.

Yes, something would have to be sacrificed. Somehow this obstacle must be
cleared out of Dicky's path. Juliet could not come to Dicky while he was
there. He did not ask himself why this should be, but accepted it as
fact. He then was the main obstacle to Dicky's happiness, to the
fulfilment of his great desire. Then he must go. But whither? And leave
Dicky--and leave Dicky!

Again for a spell the anguish woke within him, but it did not possess