ould also
receive,--and that in kind,--while that any sacrifice which he offered
would be returned to him doubled in value. Casting his bread upon the
waters, he accused himself of having expected to find it, not "after
many days," but immediately--a full baker's dozen ready to hand in his
pocket. His motives had not been wholly pure. Actually, though not at
the time consciously, he had assayed to strike a bargain with the
Almighty.

Just as he reached the top of the long, straight hill leading down into
Westchurch, Richard arrived at these unflattering conclusions. On
either side the road, upon the yellow surface of which the sunlight
played through the tossing leaves of the plane trees, were villas of
very varied and hybrid styles of architecture. They were, for the most
part, smothered in creepers, and set in gardens gay with blossom. Below
lay the sprawling, red-brick town blotted with purple shadow. A black
canal meandered through the heart of it, crossed by mean, humpbacked
bridges. The huge, amorphous buildings of its railway station--engine
sheds, goods warehouses, trailing of swiftly dispersed white smoke--the
grime and clamour of all that, its factory buildings and tall chimneys,
were very evident, as were the pale towers of its churches. And beyond
the ugly, pushing, industrial commonplace of it, striking a very
different note, the blue ribbon of the still youthful Thames, backed by
high-lying chalk-lands fringed with hanging woods, traversed a stretch
of flat, green meadows. Richard's eyes rested upon the scene absently,
since thought just now had more empire over him than any outward
seeing. For he perceived that he must cleanse himself yet further of
self-seeking. Those words, "if thou wilt be perfect sell that thou hast
and give to the poor, and follow thou Me," have not a material and
objective significance merely. They deal with each personal desire,
even the apparently most legitimate--with each indulgence of personal
feeling, even the apparently most innocent--with the inward attitude
and the atmosphere of the mind even more closely than with outward
action and conduct. And so Richard reached the conclusion that he must
strip himself yet nearer to the bone. He must digest the harsh truth
that virtue is its own reward in the sense that it is its only reward,
and must look for nothing beyond that. He had grown slack of late,
seduced by visions of pleasant things permitted most men but to him
forbidden,