ght that by a mere smile,
a bending of the finger, the world was my friend for life. I soon
found my mistake. Friendship is a very slow and gradual affair, and I
distrust the mushroom growth profoundly. Life isn't easy in that kind
of way; you and I have found that out together.

"I wish you every success in your new life; I have no doubt whatever
that you will get on, and I hope that you will let me hear sometimes
from you.

"Things have been happening quickly during the last few days. My
father died this morning; he was himself glad to go, but I shall miss
him terribly--he has been a most splendid friend to me during these
weeks. Then I know that you will be interested to hear that I am
engaged to Miss Bethel--you know her, do you not? I hope and believe
that we shall be very happy.

"As to Robin, he has, as you say, been having a bad time. To do him
justice it has not been only the fear of the letters that has hung over
him--he has also discovered a good many things about himself that have
hurt and surprised him.

"Well, good-bye--I am sure that you will look back on the Robin episode
with gratitude. It has done a great deal for all of us. Good luck to
you!--Always your friend,

HENRY TROJAN."

He turned on the lights in his room and tried to read, but he found
that that was impossible. His eyes wandered off the page and he
listened: he caught himself again and again straining his ears for a
sound. He pictured the coming of steps up the stairs and then sharp
and loud along the passage--then a pause and a knock on his door.
Often he fancied that he heard it, but it was only fancy and he turned
away disappointed; but he was sure that Robin would come.

They had decided not to dine downstairs together on that evening--they
were, all of them, overwrought and the situation was strained; they
were wondering what he was going to do. There were, of course, a
thousand things to be done, but he was glad that they had left him
alone for that night at any rate. He wanted to be quiet.

He had written a letter of enormous length to Mary, explaining to her
what had happened and telling her that he would come to her in the
morning. It was very hard, even then, not to rush down to her, but he
felt that he must keep that day at least sacred to his father.

Would Robin come? It was quarter to seven and that terrible sleep was
beginning to overcome him again. The fire, the walls, the pictures,
danced before