hands. How could he possibly go and leave Lawrence dead and
forgotten? This view seemed to him to be sanity and common sense.

As his mind darted up this turning it was driven back. He saw Lawrence
Stephen smiling at him as he had smiled at him when Reveillaud died.
Lawrence would have wanted him to go more than anything. He would have
chosen to be dead and forgotten rather than keep him.

At night these thoughts left him. He began to think of Nicky and of his
people. His father and mother would never be happy again. Nicky had been
more to them than he was, or even John. He had been more to Dorothy. It
was hard on Dorothy to lose Nicky and Drayton too.

He thought of Nicky and Veronica. Poor little Ronny, what would she do
without Nicky? He thought of Veronica, sitting silent in the train, and
looking at him with her startling look of spiritual maturity. He thought
of Veronica singing to him over and over again:

"London Bridge is broken down--

* * * * *

"Build it up with gold so fine--

* * * * *

"Build it up with stones so strong--"

He thought of Veronica running about the house and crying, "Where's
Nicky? I want him."

Monday was like Sunday, except that he walked up Karva Hill in the
morning and up Greffington Edge in the afternoon, instead of Renton
Moor. Whichever way he went his thoughts went the same way as yesterday.
The images were, if anything, more crowded and more horrible; but they
had lost their hold. He was tired of looking at them.

About five o'clock he turned abruptly and went back to the village the
same way by which he came.

And as he swung down the hill road in sight of Renton, suddenly there
was a great clearance in his soul.

When he went into the cottage he found Veronica there waiting for him.
She sat with her hands lying in her lap, and she had the same look he
had seen when she was in the train.

"Ronny--"

She stood up to greet him, as if it had been she who was staying there
and he who had incredibly arrived.

"They told me you wouldn't be long," she said.

"I? You haven't come because you were ill or anything?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No. Not for anything like that."

"I didn't write, Ronny. I couldn't."

"I know." Their eyes met, measuring each other's grief. "That's why I
came. I couldn't bear to leave you to it."

* * * * *

"I'd have com