elied the appearance. Peak
moved about the study, glancing at pictures and books, Earwaker eyeing
him the while with not unfriendly expression. They were sincerely glad
to see each other, and when Peak seated himself it was with an audible
sigh of contentment.

'And what are you doing?' he inquired.

The journalist gave a brief account of his affairs, and Peak brightened
with pleasure.

'This is good news. I knew you would shake off the ragamuffins before
long. Give me some of your back numbers, will you? I shall be curious
to examine your new style.'

'And you?--Come to live in London?'

'No; I am at Bristol, but only waiting. There's a chance of an
analyst's place in Lancashire; but I may give the preference to an
opening I have heard of in Belgium. Better to go abroad, I think.'

'Perhaps so.'

'I have a question to ask you. I suppose you talked about that
_Critical_ article of mine _before_ you received my request for
silence?'

'That's how it was,' Earwaker replied, calmly.

'Yes; I understood. It doesn't matter.'

The other puffed at his pipe, and moved uneasily.

'I am taking for granted,' Peak continued, 'that you know how I have
spent my time down in Devonshire.'

'In outline. Need we trouble about the details?'

'No. But don't suppose that I should feel any shame in talking to you
about them. That would be a confession of base motive. You and I have
studied each other, and we can exchange thoughts on most subjects with
mutual understanding. You know that I have only followed my convictions
to their logical issue. An opportunity offered of achieving the supreme
end to which my life is directed, and what scruple could stand in my
way? We have nothing to do with names and epithets. _Here_ are the
facts of life as I had known it; _there_ is the existence promised as
the reward of successful artifice. To live was to pursue the object of
my being. I could not feel otherwise; therefore, could not act
otherwise. You imagine me defeated, flung back into the gutter.' His
words came more quickly, and the muscles of his face worked under
emotion. 'It isn't so. I have a great and reasonable hope. Perhaps I
have gained everything I really desired. I could tell you the strangest
story, but there a scruple _does_ interpose. If we live another twenty
years--but now I can only talk about myself.'

'And this hope of which you speak,' said Earwaker, with a grave smile,
'points you at present to sober work among