n them.
They always stuff one."

"And you thought you'd better, eh?" said Mr. Dawes, "in case you weren't
stuffed here."

Miss Pembroke, who house-kept somewhat economically, looked annoyed.

The voice of Mr. Pembroke was now heard calling from the house,
"Frederick! Frederick! My dear boy, pardon me. It was an important
letter about the Church Defence, otherwise--. Come in and see your
room."

He was glad to quit the little lawn. He had learnt too much there. It
was dreadful: they did not love each other. More dreadful even than the
case of his father and mother, for they, until they married, had got on
pretty well. But this man was already rude and brutal and cold: he was
still the school bully who twisted up the arms of little boys, and ran
pins into them at chapel, and struck them in the stomach when they were
swinging on the horizontal bar. Poor Agnes; why ever had she done it?
Ought not somebody to interfere?

He had forgotten his sandwiches, and went back to get them.

Gerald and Agnes were locked in each other's arms.

He only looked for a moment, but the sight burnt into his brain. The
man's grip was the stronger. He had drawn the woman on to his knee,
was pressing her, with all his strength, against him. Already her hands
slipped off him, and she whispered, "Don't you hurt--" Her face had no
expression. It stared at the intruder and never saw him. Then her lover
kissed it, and immediately it shone with mysterious beauty, like some
star.

Rickie limped away without the sandwiches, crimson and afraid. He
thought, "Do such things actually happen?" and he seemed to be looking
down coloured valleys. Brighter they glowed, till gods of pure flame
were born in them, and then he was looking at pinnacles of virgin snow.
While Mr. Pembroke talked, the riot of fair images increased.

They invaded his being and lit lamps at unsuspected shrines. Their
orchestra commenced in that suburban house, where he had to stand aside
for the maid to carry in the luncheon. Music flowed past him like
a river. He stood at the springs of creation and heard the primeval
monotony. Then an obscure instrument gave out a little phrase.

The river continued unheeding. The phrase was repeated and a listener
might know it was a fragment of the Tune of tunes. Nobler instruments
accepted it, the clarionet protected, the brass encouraged, and it rose
to the surface to the whisper of violins. In full unison was Love born,
flame of the fla