d it into his pocket. Thus armed
he slipped down the stairs, past the open common room where the light
shone through the cracks in the shutters on a dismal array of sticky
beer-mugs and spirit glasses, down the sanded passage into the village
street.

It was full daylight now, and the sun never looked upon a lovelier
morning. The air was warm, but there was that sharp freshness in it
which is needful to make summer weather perfect, and which we always
miss by breakfasting at nine o'clock. The sky was blue, just flecked
with little clouds; the dewdrops sparkled upon every leaf and blade of
grass; touches of mist clung about the hollows, and the sweet breath
of the awakened earth was full of the perfect scent of an English
June, which is in its way even more delicious than the spicy odours of
the tropics. It was a morning to make sick men well, and men happy,
and atheists believers in a creative hand. How much more than did it
fire Arthur's pulses, already bounding with youth and health, with an
untold joy.

He felt like a child again, so free from care, so happy, except that
his heart swelled with a love beyond the knowledge of children. His
quick temperament had rebounded from the depths of unequal depression,
into which it so often fell, to the heights of a happy assurance. The
Tantalus cup was at his lips at last, and he would drink his full, be
sure! His eyes flashed and sparkled, his foot fell light and quick as
an antelope's, his brown cheek glowed--never had he looked so
handsome. Angela would not forget her promise; she would be waiting
for him by the lake, he was sure of that, and thither he made his way
through the morning sunshine. They were happy moments.

Presently he passed into the parish of Bratham, and his eye fell upon
a neat red brick cottage, a garden planted with sunflowers, and a
bright gravel path running to the rustic gate. He thought the garden
charmingly old-fashioned, and had just entered a mental note to ask
Angela who lived there, when the door opened, and figure he knew
emerged, bearing a mat in one hand and a mopstick in the other. He was
some way off, and at first could not quite distinguish who it was; but
before she had come to the gate he recognized Pigott. By this time she
had stepped into the road, and was making elaborate preparations to
dust her mat so that she did not see him, till he spoke to her.

"How are you, Pigott? What may you be doing down here? Why are you not
up at t