k. Write to me in the hols; I'll
look you up if I'm in town. If not, cheer-o!"

He was gone in a second.

"_'So some time token the last of all our evenings_
_Crowneth memorially the last of all our days ...'_"

Gordon murmured to himself as he walked slowly down to the dining
hall....

The next morning there was the inevitable bustle, the tipping of the
servants, the good-byes, the promises to write at least twice during the
holidays, the promises which were never kept.

"Here, Bamford, I say," shouted Gordon, "take my bag down to the
station."

Bamford looked almost surly at being told to do anything on that last
day. "Authority forgets a dying king," thought Gordon. His power could
not have been so great if it began to wane almost before he had gone.

The eight-forty came into the station, snorting and puffing.

Gordon secured a corner seat, and leant out of the window, shaking hands
with everyone he could see.

"You'll be down next term, won't you?" yelled Morgan, bursting as ever
with good will.

"I expect so," said Gordon.

But in his heart of hearts he knew that he would never come back. He
would be afraid lest he should find the glamour with which he had
surrounded the grey studies and green walks of Fernhurst merely a mist
of sentiment that would fade away. So many things that he had believed
in he had found untrue. But he wanted to keep fresh in his mind the
memory of Fernhurst as he had last seen it, beautiful and golden in the
morning sun.

The train slowly steamed out. Hands were waved, handkerchiefs fluttered.
Slowly the Abbey turned from ochre-brown to blue, till it was hidden out
of sight.

Gordon sank back into his seat. He was on the threshold of life; and he
stepped out into the sunlight with a smile, which, though it might be a
little cynical, as if he had been disillusioned, held none the less the
quiet confidence of a wayfarer who knew what lay before him, and felt
himself well equipped and fortified "for the long littleness of life."

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