ter all, his
silence had arisen from other causes still; perhaps, as his health
declined, he had come to find a morbid satisfaction in the idea that
he was alone--forgotten by those he cared for--until his very
isolation had become dear to him. He had been a fool--he knew that
now--his two friends had mourned him sincerely, and would have been
overjoyed to hear that he was alive. He had wronged them--what if he
had wronged Mabel too? Another had won her, but had not his own false
delicacy and perverted pride caused him to miss the happiness he
hungered for? 'At all events,' he thought, 'I won't whine about it.
Before I go out again I will know the worst. If the other man is a
good fellow, and will make her happy, I can bear it.' But deep down in
his heart a spark of hope glimmered still.

'Well, I must be going,' said Caffyn, breaking in on his reverie.
'I've got to pack before I go to bed. Look here, Vincent' (and he
consulted the Bradshaw as he spoke), 'there's a train at ten in the
morning, from Euston; gets in to Drigg late at night; we can sleep
there, and drive over to Wastwater next day. Will that do you?'

'It's rather sudden,' said Holroyd, hesitating.

'Oh, come, old fellow, you're not going to back out of it now. I've
stayed over a day on the chance of bringing you; you promised to come
just now; there's nothing to keep you, and I've set my heart on having
you.'

'Then I'll come,' said Holroyd. 'We'll meet on the platform
to-morrow.'

Mark breathed more freely again. He accompanied Caffyn down to the
front door, and then, as they stood for a moment in the little passage
dimly lighted by a feeble kerosene lamp on a bracket, each looked at
the other strangely.

'Well,' said Caffyn, with a light laugh, 'I hope you are satisfied:
he'll be well out of the way for at least a fortnight, and, if this
Gilroy business comes off, he may be taken off your hands altogether
before you come back.'

'I know,' said Mark, 'you've been awfully kind about it; the--the only
thing I can't understand is, _why_ you're taking all this trouble.'
For this was beginning to exercise his mind at last.

'Oh,' said Caffyn, 'is _that_ it? Well, I don't mind telling you--I
like you, my boy, and if anything I can do will save you a little
worry and give me a companion in my loneliness into the bargain (mind,
I don't say that hasn't something to do with it), why, I'm delighted
to do it. But if you'd rather see some more of him before