in lodgings. If the
disease prove irremediable, I must prepare myself for the worst. What
I wish to say is, that it will be better if from to-day you consider
yourself as working for your own subsistence. So long as I remain here
this house is of course your home; there can be no question between us
of trivial expenses. But it is right that you should understand what my
prospects are. I shall soon have no home to offer you; you must look to
your own efforts for support.'

'I am prepared to do that, father.'

'I think you will have no great difficulty in earning enough for
yourself. I have done my best to train you in writing for the
periodicals, and your natural abilities are considerable. If you
marry, I wish you a happy life. The end of mine, of many long years of
unremitting toil, is failure and destitution.'

Marian sobbed.

'That's all I had to say,' concluded her father, his voice tremulous
with self-compassion. 'I will only beg that there may be no further
profitless discussion between us. This room is open to you, as always,
and I see no reason why we should not converse on subjects disconnected
with our personal differences.'

'Is there no remedy for cataract in its early stages?' asked Marian.

'None. You can read up the subject for yourself at the British Museum. I
prefer not to speak of it.'

'Will you let me be what help to you I can?'

'For the present the best you can do is to establish a connection for
yourself with editors. Your name will be an assistance to you. My advice
is, that you send your "Harrington" article forthwith to Trenchard,
writing him a note. If you desire my help in the suggestion of new
subjects, I will do my best to be of use.'

Marian withdrew. She went to the sitting-room, where an ochreous
daylight was beginning to diffuse itself and to render the lamp
superfluous. With the dissipation of the fog rain had set in; its
splashing upon the muddy pavement was audible.

Mrs Yule, still with a duster in her hand, sat on the sofa. Marian took
a place beside her. They talked in low, broken tones, and wept together
over their miseries.

CHAPTER XXXI. A RESCUE AND A SUMMONS

The chances are that you have neither understanding nor sympathy for men
such as Edwin Reardon and Harold Biffen. They merely provoke you.
They seem to you inert, flabby, weakly envious, foolishly obstinate,
impiously mutinous, and many other things. You are made angrily
contemptuous by their failure