ht tormented him.

Now there had come unexpectedly a gleam of hope. If indeed, the man
Rackett thought of offering him the editorship of The Study he might
even yet taste the triumphs for which he had so vehemently longed. The
Study was a weekly paper of fair repute. Fadge had harmed it, no doubt
of that, by giving it a tone which did not suit the majority of its
readers--serious people, who thought that the criticism of contemporary
writing offered an opportunity for something better than a display of
malevolent wit. But a return to the old earnestness would doubtless set
all right again. And the joy of sitting in that dictatorial chair! The
delight of having his own organ once more, of making himself a power in
the world of letters, of emphasising to a large audience his developed
methods of criticism!

An embittered man is a man beset by evil temptations. The Study
contained each week certain columns of flying gossip, and when he
thought of this, Yule also thought of Clement Fadge, and sundry other
of his worst enemies. How the gossip column can be used for hostile
purposes, yet without the least overt offence, he had learnt only too
well. Sometimes the mere omission of a man's name from a list of authors
can mortify and injure. In our day the manipulation of such paragraphs
has become a fine art; but you recall numerous illustrations. Alfred
knew well enough how incessantly the tempter would be at his ear;
he said to himself that in certain instances yielding would be no
dishonour. He himself had many a time been mercilessly treated; in the
very interest of the public it was good that certain men should suffer a
snubbing, and his fingers itched to have hold of the editorial pen. Ha,
ha! Like the war-horse he snuffed the battle afar off.

No work this evening, though there were tasks which pressed for
completion. His study--the only room on the ground level except the
dining-room--was small, and even a good deal of the floor was encumbered
with books, but he found space for walking nervously hither and thither.
He was doing this when, about half-past nine, his wife appeared at the
door, bringing him a cup of coffee and some biscuits, his wonted supper.
Marian generally waited upon him at this time, and he asked why she had
not come.

'She has one of her headaches again, I'm sorry to say,' Mrs Yule
replied. 'I persuaded her to go to bed early.'

Having placed the tray upon the table--books had to be pushed aside-