his sky.
All his waking hours his heart gazed and gazed thereat, and stayed
unacquainted, still, and appalled.

Now that in sleep blood was out of his dreams a vision cruelly sweet
came in place, and he was in the presence of Diadyomene, following her,
reaching to her, close to her, yet never quite winning the perfect
pressure of her lips, nor her gracious surrender to the worship of his
hand; and waking was to unrighteous regret that he had turned from that
splendid offer and lost it.

Too swift and few ran the suns, and the inevitable time was at hand for
bearing the world and its eyes under the hard bond of his promise. The
youth and vigour of his body set him on his feet oversoon, while all the
soundness his spirit had gained was trembling for its weakness, fear for
its cowardice, shame for its shame.

'Where shall he go?'

'Christian,' said Lois, 'where will you go?'

He wondered what she said. Open talk had passed over him unregarded; he
had lost the knack of understanding except he tried hard.

Giles sighed. 'Far, indeed, far; for where is our boy not known, the best
fisher for his years, the best at sail and oar, the strongest proved in
the pick of the coast. Far, indeed, for him not to be known.'

That Christian understood, for he broke silence hoarsely.

'Say out: far indeed for him not to be known as beaten for a thief,
drowned like a dog.'

Rhoda's hand slipped to his, unseen; she drew it softly against her lips.
He did not heed.

'My boy,' said Lois, 'what will you do?'

'Mother, do you bid me go?'

His hot brain knew of a grand enclosure where satisfying coolness and
peace and splendid shade reigned, for no man's solace and award.

'You bid me go?'

'Dare you stay?' she said, 'dare I bid you?'

His voice shook. 'What sort--of killing?' he asked, daunted now.

Giles swore softly after the manner of his kind, under danger of tears.

'Where are your senses, lad? Great storms can't last. This is over, his
Reverence will tell you that. Not twice in a lifetime, I guess, can the
devil brew the like.'

'You bid me go?'

'Not now, not yet,' said Lois tremulously; 'but sin and shame were to
keep you to a trial beyond your strength.'

He said quite brokenly: 'You are looking for a broken promise.'

'Not that. Only--only, we know that 'twould be easier for you to face
stranger folk, and hard though it be to let you go, far harder were it
for you to stay, and we cannot ask it.'

Christian'