d seas, so that the border-line
between natural and supernatural is very faintly marked.

But to-day Granger had given way before the wave of emotional memories
and had permitted his mind to recapitulate all the happiness which he
had lost; and with this result, that like a child in a darkened house
he feared to advance and stood still trembling, questioning the
future, anticipating and dreading that which was next to come. It was
the second week in April; the break-up of the winter had almost begun;
the spring was striding up from the south and a cry of travel was in
the air, both hopeful and melancholy. The world would soon be growing
young again. Even in this desperate land the scars of the frost would
soon be obliterated; but to his own life, he was painfully aware, the
spring had vouchsafed no promise of return. Was it gone forever? he
asked.

At the present moment he was remembering London and St. James's Park
with its banks of daffodils and showers of white may-blossom, its
groups of laughing children at play, its parade of black-coated
horsemen, with here and there the scarlet flash of a Life-guard as he
sped trotting by, and for bass accompaniment to this music of the Joy
of Life the continual low thunder which in the Mall the prancing
hoofs of countless carriage-horses strummed.

Now it was Piccadilly in which he wandered, returning from the west
with his back toward the setting sun; the street-lamps had just been
kindled, and ahead of him, massed above the housetops, the blue-grey
clouds of evening hung. He watched the faces of the people as they
passed, some eager, some jaded, some pleasure-seeking, some smug, and
he strove to conjecture their aim in life. At the Circus he paused
awhile, breathing deep and filling out his lungs with fragrance of
violets and narcissi, which flower-girls clamoured for him to
purchase. He bought a bunch and smiled faintly, contrasting the
beautiful significance of the name of the vendor's profession with the
slatternly person to whom it was applied. Then onwards he went to
Leicester Square where the dazzling lights of music-halls flared and
quickened, and scarlet-lipped Folly smiled out upon him from street
corners, and beckoned through the dusk. In the old days it had always
been when he had attained this point in his advance that the pleasure
of London had failed, leaving him with a cramped sensation, a frenzied
desire for escape, and an overwhelming sense of the inherent