barrier as proud and impassable as that which in these times the rich
shut against the poor, the aristocrat against the plebeian. John,
glancing once up at them, hurriedly moved on.

"Stay; you will come and see us, Mr. Halifax? Promise!"

"If you wish it."

"And promise, too, that under all circumstances you will tell me, as
you did this morning, the 'plain truth'? Yes, I see you will.
Good-bye."

The iron gates closed upon her, and against us. We took our silent way
up to the Mythe to our favourite stile. There we leaned--still in
silence, for many minutes.

"The wind is keen, Phineas; you must be cold."

Now I could speak to him--could ask him to tell me of his pain.

"It is so long since you have told me anything. It might do you good."

"Nothing can do me good. Nothing but bearing it. My God! what have I
not borne! Five whole months to be dying of thirst, and not a drop of
water to cool my tongue."

He bared his head and throat to the cutting wind--his chest heaved, his
eyes seemed in a flame.

"God forgive me!--but I sometimes think I would give myself body and
soul to the devil for one glimpse of her face, one touch of her little
hand."

I made no answer. What answer could be made to such words as these? I
waited--all I could do--till the paroxysm had gone by. Then I
hinted--as indeed seemed not unlikely--that he might see her soon.

"Yes, a great way off, like that cloud up there. But I want her
near--close--in my home--at my heart;--Phineas," he gasped, "talk to
me--about something else--anything. Don't let me think, or I shall go
clean mad."

And indeed he looked so. I was terrified. So quiet as I had always
seen him when we met, so steadily as he had pursued his daily duties;
and with all this underneath--this torment, conflict, despair, of a
young man's love. It must come out--better it should.

"And you have gone on working all this while?"

"I was obliged. Nothing but work kept me in my senses. Besides"--and
he laughed hoarsely--"I was safest in the tan-yard. The thought of her
could not come there. I was glad of it. I tried to be solely and
altogether what I am--a 'prentice lad--a mere clown."

"Nay, that was wrong."

"Was it? Well, at last it struck me so. I thought I would be a
gentleman again--just for a pretence, you know--a dream--a bit of the
old dream back again. So I went to London."

"And met the Jessops there?"

"Yes; though I did not know she wa