s head sank: they all knew that he had not strength nor courage
to stand upright under a disgraced life; he need but acquiesce for the
last spark of self-respect to be extinct.

It was long before he lifted his head; Rhoda only was there. He asked
after Lois. She had gone with his Reverence up towards the church. He
asked after Giles. He had gone down to the quay to his work of refitting
the old boat.

Tears stung his brain for the wicked destruction of his own boat, that
like a living creature he had loved, and had not saved, and could not
avenge.

Rhoda left him but for a moment; passing out to the linhay, the door she
left ajar.

Christian stood up, touched his brow once or twice with uncertain
fingers, drew sharp breath, crossed himself, and stept out into the
world.

He reeled in the sunlight. Its enmity struck at him, and he put up his
hands against an unknown trouble, for in through his eyes into his brain
flew strange little white birds and nested there and were not still.

He alone stood upright in the midst of a rocking world; under his feet
walked the path, the road, the street, bringing up an ambush of eyes, and
grey birds and fire.

In the street his coming started a scare. Only yesterday said he was long
a-dying, so that now women fell back afraid of a ghost, for with every
trace of sunburn gone his face was of a whiteness astonishing in the
south. But some harder men cursed at the stubborn devil in the boy, that
kept him alive out of all reckoning, and unsubdued. Face to face none met
him till the corner where the street beached and the quay branched. There
stood an idle group that suddenly gave before a reeling, haggard
embodiment of hatred.

These very eyes he knew again, and the one memory within them legible;
hot, red-hot, they burned him. Red birds and black flew in and sounded
shrill, and beak and claw tore at a little nook where a promise lay
shrunk and small. Again he crossed himself, and passed on, till none
stood between him and the sea.

Hot, smooth sand stretched curving round the bay with the hard, grey quay
lying callous upon it; tall masts peered, windows gleamed and glared, and
behind him lay a lifetime of steep street. But strong salt gusts spoke
to him from the blessed, lonely sea. The tide was leaping in fast and
white; short waves crested and glittered over the expanse of moving blue.

Rhoda caught his sleeve and stood beside him panting and trembling,
amazed at his streng