hings for certain, when I know
nothing. You're better in yourself than I am, and you may feel more of
the truth.'

The next morning, Lydia went to her work as usual. Gilbert had already
returned to his. The clear winter sunshine was already a thing of the
far past; in the streets was the slush of thaw, and darkness fell early
from the obscured sky.

CHAPTER XLI

THE LIVING

This winter the Newthorpes spent abroad. Mr. Newthorpe was in very
doubtful health when he went to Ullswater, just before Egremont's
return to England, and by the end of the autumn his condition was such
as to cause a renewal of Annabel's former fears. On a quick decision,
they departed for Cannes, and remained there till early in the
following April.

'There's a sort of absurdity,' Mr. Newthorpe remarked, 'in living when
you can think of nothing but how you're to save your life. Better have
done with it, I think. It strikes me as an impiety, too, to go playing
at hide-and-seek with the gods.'

They came back to Eastbourne, which, on the whole, seemed to suit the
invalid during these summer months. He did little now but muse over a
few favourite books and listen to his daughter's conversation.
Comparatively a young man, his energies were spent, his life was behind
him. To Annabel it was infinitely sorrowful to have observed this rapid
process of decay. She could not be persuaded that the failure of his
powers was anything more than temporary. But her father lost no
opportunity of warning her that she deceived herself. He had his
reasons for doing so.

His temper was perfect: his outlook on the world remained that of a
genial pessimist, a type of man common enough in our day. He seemed to
find a pleasure in urbanely mocking at his own futility.

'I am the sort of man,' he once said, 'of whom Tourgueneff would make
an admirable study. There's tragedy in me, if you have the eyes to see
it. I don't think any one can help feeling kindly towards me. I don't
think any one can altogether despise me. Yet my life is a mere
inefficacy.'

'You have had much enjoyment in your life, father,' Annabel replied,
'and enjoyment of the purest kind. In our age of the world I think that
must be a sufficient content.'

'Why, there you've hit it, Bell. 'Tis the age. There's somebody else I
know who had better take warning by me. But I think he has done.'

They were talking thus as they sat alone in one of the places of
shelter on the Parade. Other pe