itter
outpouring of his soul, Piers had withdrawn himself with so obvious a
desire for privacy that Crowther had never attempted to cross the
boundary thus clearly defined. But his influence had made itself felt
notwithstanding. It would have been impossible to have lived with the man
for so long without imbibing some of that essential greatness of soul
that was his main characteristic, and Piers was ever swift to feel the
effect of atmosphere. He had come to look upon Crowther with a reverence
that in a fashion affected his daily life. That which Crowther regarded
as unworthy, he tossed aside himself without consideration. Crowther had
not despised him at his worst, and he was determined that he would show
himself to be not despicable. He was moreover under a solemn promise to
return to Crowther when he found himself at liberty, and in very
gratitude to the man he meant to keep that promise.

But, albeit he was braced for endurance, the long hours of waiting were
very hard to bear. His sole comfort lay in the fact that Avery was making
gradual progress in the right direction. It was a slow and difficult
recovery, as Maxwell Wyndham had foretold, but it was continuous. Tudor
assured him of this every day with a curt kindliness that had grown on
him of late. It was his own fashion of showing a wholly involuntary
sympathy of which he was secretly half-ashamed, and which he well knew
Piers would have brooked in no other form. It established an odd sort of
truce between them of which each was aware the while he sternly ignored
it. They could never be friends. It was fundamentally impossible, but at
least they had, if only temporarily, ceased to be enemies.

Little Mrs. Lorimer's sympathy was also of a half-ashamed type. She did
not want to be sorry for Piers, but she could not wholly restrain her
pity. The look in his eyes haunted her. Curiously it made her think of
some splendid animal created for liberty, and fretting its heart out in
utter, hopeless misery on a chain.

She longed with all her motherly heart to comfort him, and by the irony
of circumstance it fell to her to deal the final blow to what was left of
his hope. She wondered afterwards how she ever brought herself to the
task, but it was in reality so forced upon her that she could not evade
it. Avery, lying awake during the first hours of a still night, heard her
husband's feet pacing up and down the terrace, and the mischief was done.
She was thrown into pa