r; a last
glimpse vouchsafed to him of life's beginning as he set his face
towards the end. Then came a thought of joy. The keen sensations which
he himself had lost were his child's inheritance. Somewhere in the
fields, this summer morning, Hughie was delighting in the scent, the
touch, of earth, young amid a world where all was new. The stereotyped
phrase about parents living again in their children became a reality
and a source of deep content. So does a man repeat the experience of
the race, and with each step onward live into the meaning of some old
word that he has but idly echoed.

On the day before he left, a letter reached him from Alma. He had felt
surprise at not hearing sooner from her; but Alma's words explained the
delay.

'I have been thinking a great deal,' she wrote, 'and I want to tell you
of my thoughts. Don't imagine they are mere fancies, the result of
ill-health. I feel all but well again, and have a perfectly clear head.
And perhaps it is better that I should write what I have to say,
instead of speaking it. In this way I oblige you to hear me out. I
don't mean that you are in the habit of interrupting me, but perhaps
you would if I began to talk as I am going to write.

'Why can't we stay at Pinner?

'There, that shall have a line to itself. Take breath, and now listen
again. I dislike the thought of removing to Gunnersbury--really and
seriously I dislike it. You know I haven't given you this kind of
trouble before; when we left Wales I was quite willing to have stayed
on if you had wished it--wasn't I? Forgive me, then, for springing this
upon you after all your arrangements are made; I could not do it if I
did not feel that our happiness (not mine only) is concerned. Would it
be possible to cancel your agreement with the Gunnersbury man? If not,
couldn't you sublet, with little or no loss? The Pinner house isn't let
yet--is it? Do let us stay where we are. I think it is the first
serious request I ever made of you, and I think you will see that I
have some right to make it.

'I had rather, much rather, that Hughie did not go to Mrs. Abbott's
school. Don't get angry and call me foolish. What I mean is, that I
would rather teach him myself. In your opinion I have neglected him,
and I confess that you are right. There now! I shall give up my music;
at all events, I shall not play again in public. I have shown what I
could do, and that's enough. You don't like it--though you have never
tried