y
make a hundred pounds a year by it, I would rather be an author than a
king! For if one has something in one's soul to say--something that is
vital, true, and human as well as divine, the whole world will pause to
listen. Yes, Mary! In all its toil and stress, its scheming for
self-advantage, its political changes, its little temporary passing
shows of empires and monarchies, the world will stop to hear what the
Thinker and the Writer tells it! The words of old Socrates still ring
down the ages--the thoughts of Shakespeare are still the basis of
English literature!--what a grand life it is to be among the least of
one of the writing band! I tell you, Mary, that even if I fail, I shall
be proud to have at any rate _tried_ to succeed!"

"You will not fail!" she said, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm. "I
shall see you win your triumph!"

"Well, if I cannot conquer everything with you by my side, I shall be
but a poor and worthless devil!" he answered. "And now I must be off and
endeavour to make up for my lost time this morning, running after David!
Poor old chap! Don't worry about him, Mary. I think you may take his
word for it that he means to be back before Sunday."

He left her then, and all the day and all the evening too she spent the
time alone. It would have been impossible to her to express in words
how greatly she missed the companionship of the gentle old man who had
so long been the object of her care. There was a sense of desolate
emptiness in the little cottage such as had not so deeply affected her
for years--not indeed since the first months following immediately on
her own father's death. That Angus Reay kept away was, she knew, care
for her on his part. Solitary woman as she was, the villagers, like all
people who live in very small, mentally restricted country places, would
have idly gossiped away her reputation had she received her lover into
her house alone. So she passed a very dismal time all by herself; and
closing up the house early, took little Charlie in her arms and went to
bed, where, much to her own abashment, she cried herself to sleep.

Meanwhile, David himself, for whom she fretted, had arrived in Exeter.
The journey had fatigued him considerably, though he had been able to
get fairly good food and a glass of wine at one of the junctions where
he had changed _en route_. On leaving the Exeter railway station, he
made his way towards the Cathedral, and happening to chance on a very
smal