Upcountry Dog Collars

chapter cxiv the three weeks which the appointmentlasted drew to an end. philip had attended sixty-two cases, and hewas tired out. when he came home about ten o'clock on hislast night he hoped with all his heart that he would not be called out again.he had not had a whole night's rest for ten

Upcountry Dog Collars, days. the case which he had just come from washorrible. he had been fetched by a huge, burly man,the worse for liquor, and taken to a room in an evil-smelling court, which wasfilthier than any he had seen: it was a

tiny attic; most of the space was taken up by a wooden bed, with a canopy of dirty redhangings, and the ceiling was so low that philip could touch it with the tips of hisfingers; with the solitary candle that afforded what light there was he went over it, frizzling up the bugs that crawled uponit. the woman was a blowsy creature of middleage, who had had a long succession of still-born children. it was a story that philip was notunaccustomed to: the husband had been a soldier in india; the legislation forcedupon that country by the prudery of the

english public had given a free run to the most distressing of all diseases; theinnocent suffered. yawning, philip undressed and took a bath,then shook his clothes over the water and watched the animals that fell outwriggling. he was just going to get into bed whenthere was a knock at the door, and the hospital porter brought him a card."curse you," said philip. "you're the last person i wanted to seetonight. who's brought it?""i think it's the 'usband, sir. shall i tell him to wait?"

philip looked at the address, saw that thestreet was familiar to him, and told the porter that he would find his own way. he dressed himself and in five minutes,with his black bag in his hand, stepped into the street. a man, whom he could not see in thedarkness, came up to him, and said he was the husband."i thought i'd better wait, sir," he said. "it's a pretty rough neighbour'ood, andthem not knowing who you was." philip laughed. "bless your heart, they all know thedoctor, i've been in some damned sight

rougher places than waver street."it was quite true. the black bag was a passport throughwretched alleys and down foul-smelling courts into which a policeman was not readyto venture by himself. once or twice a little group of men hadlooked at philip curiously as he passed; he heard a mutter of observations and then onesay: "it's the 'orspital doctor." as he went by one or two of them said:"good-night, sir." "we shall 'ave to step out if you don'tmind, sir," said the man who accompanied him now.

"they told me there was no time to lose.""why did you leave it so late?" asked philip, as he quickened his pace.he glanced at the fellow as they passed a lamp-post. "you look awfully young," he said."i'm turned eighteen, sir." he was fair, and he had not a hair on hisface, he looked no more than a boy; he was short, but thick set. "you're young to be married," said philip."we 'ad to." "how much d'you earn?""sixteen, sir." sixteen shillings a week was not much tokeep a wife and child on.

the room the couple lived in showed thattheir poverty was extreme. it was a fair size, but it looked quitelarge, since there was hardly any furniture in it; there was no carpet on the floor;there were no pictures on the walls; and most rooms had something, photographs or supplements in cheap frames from thechristmas numbers of the illustrated papers.the patient lay on a little iron bed of the cheapest sort. it startled philip to see how young shewas. "by jove, she can't be more than sixteen,"he said to the woman who had come in to

'see her through.' she had given her age as eighteen on thecard, but when they were very young they often put on a year or two. also she was pretty, which was rare inthose classes in which the constitution has been undermined by bad food, bad air, andunhealthy occupations; she had delicate features and large blue eyes, and a mass of dark hair done in the elaborate fashion ofthe coster girl. she and her husband were very nervous."you'd better wait outside, so as to be at hand if i want you," philip said to him.

now that he saw him better philip wassurprised again at his boyish air: you felt that he should be larking in the streetwith the other lads instead of waiting anxiously for the birth of a child. the hours passed, and it was not tillnearly two that the baby was born. everything seemed to be goingsatisfactorily; the husband was called in, and it touched philip to see the awkward,shy way in which he kissed his wife; philip packed up his things. before going he felt once more hispatient's pulse. "hulloa!" he said.he looked at her quickly: something had

happened. in cases of emergency the s. o. c.--seniorobstetric clerk--had to be sent for; he was a qualified man, and the 'district' was inhis charge. philip scribbled a note, and giving it tothe husband, told him to run with it to the hospital; he bade him hurry, for his wifewas in a dangerous state. the man set off. philip waited anxiously; he knew the womanwas bleeding to death; he was afraid she would die before his chief arrived; he tookwhat steps he could. he hoped fervently that the s. o. c. wouldnot have been called elsewhere.

the minutes were interminable. he came at last, and, while he examined thepatient, in a low voice asked philip questions.philip saw by his face that he thought the case very grave. his name was chandler.he was a tall man of few words, with a long nose and a thin face much lined for hisage. he shook his head. "it was hopeless from the beginning.where's the husband?" "i told him to wait on the stairs," saidphilip.

"you'd better bring him in." philip opened the door and called him.he was sitting in the dark on the first step of the flight that led to the nextfloor. he came up to the bed. "what's the matter?" he asked."why, there's internal bleeding. it's impossible to stop it." the s. o. c. hesitated a moment, andbecause it was a painful thing to say he forced his voice to become brusque."she's dying." the man did not say a word; he stoppedquite still, looking at his wife, who lay,

pale and unconscious, on the bed.it was the midwife who spoke. "the gentlemen 'ave done all they could,'arry," she said. "i saw what was comin' from the first.""shut up," said chandler. there were no curtains on the windows, andgradually the night seemed to lighten; it was not yet the dawn, but the dawn was athand. chandler was keeping the woman alive by allthe means in his power, but life was slipping away from her, and suddenly shedied. the boy who was her husband stood at theend of the cheap iron bed with his hands resting on the rail; he did not speak; buthe looked very pale and once or twice

chandler gave him an uneasy glance, thinking he was going to faint: his lipswere gray. the midwife sobbed noisily, but he took nonotice of her. his eyes were fixed upon his wife, and inthem was an utter bewilderment. he reminded you of a dog whipped forsomething he did not know was wrong. when chandler and philip had gatheredtogether their things chandler turned to the husband."you'd better lie down for a bit. i expect you're about done up." "there's nowhere for me to lie down, sir,"he answered, and there was in his voice a

humbleness which was very distressing."don't you know anyone in the house who'll give you a shakedown?" "no, sir.""they only moved in last week," said the midwife."they don't know nobody yet." chandler hesitated a moment awkwardly, thenhe went up to the man and said: "i'm very sorry this has happened." he held out his hand and the man, with aninstinctive glance at his own to see if it was clean, shook it."thank you, sir." philip shook hands with him too.

chandler told the midwife to come and fetchthe certificate in the morning. they left the house and walked alongtogether in silence. "it upsets one a bit at first, doesn't it?"said chandler at last. "a bit," answered philip."if you like i'll tell the porter not to bring you any more calls tonight." "i'm off duty at eight in the morning inany case." "how many cases have you had?""sixty-three." "good. you'll get your certificate then."they arrived at the hospital, and the s. o.

c. went in to see if anyone wanted him.philip walked on. it had been very hot all the day before,and even now in the early morning there was a balminess in the air.the street was very still. philip did not feel inclined to go to bed. it was the end of his work and he need nothurry. he strolled along, glad of the fresh airand the silence; he thought that he would go on to the bridge and look at day breakon the river. a policeman at the corner bade him good-morning. he knew who philip was from his bag."out late tonight, sir," he said.

philip nodded and passed. he leaned against the parapet and lookedtowards the morning. at that hour the great city was like a cityof the dead. the sky was cloudless, but the stars weredim at the approach of day; there was a light mist on the river, and the greatbuildings on the north side were like palaces in an enchanted island. a group of barges was moored in midstream.it was all of an unearthly violet, troubling somehow and awe-inspiring; butquickly everything grew pale, and cold, and gray.

then the sun rose, a ray of yellow goldstole across the sky, and the sky was iridescent. philip could not get out of his eyes thedead girl lying on the bed, wan and white, and the boy who stood at the end of it likea stricken beast. the bareness of the squalid room made thepain of it more poignant. it was cruel that a stupid chance shouldhave cut off her life when she was just entering upon it; but in the very moment ofsaying this to himself, philip thought of the life which had been in store for her, the bearing of children, the dreary fightwith poverty, the youth broken by toil and

deprivation into a slatternly middle age--he saw the pretty face grow thin and white, the hair grow scanty, the pretty hands, worn down brutally by work, become like theclaws of an old animal--then, when the man was past his prime, the difficulty ofgetting jobs, the small wages he had to take; and the inevitable, abject penury of the end: she might be energetic, thrifty,industrious, it would not have saved her; in the end was the workhouse or subsistenceon the charity of her children. who could pity her because she had diedwhen life offered so little? but pity was inane.philip felt it was not that which these

people needed. they did not pity themselves.they accepted their fate. it was the natural order of things. otherwise, good heavens! otherwise theywould swarm over the river in their multitude to the side where those greatbuildings were, secure and stately, and they would pillage, burn, and sack. but the day, tender and pale, had brokennow, and the mist was tenuous; it bathed everything in a soft radiance; and thethames was gray, rosy, and green; gray like mother-of-pearl and green like the heart ofa yellow rose.

the wharfs and store-houses of the surreyside were massed in disorderly loveliness. the scene was so exquisite that philip'sheart beat passionately. he was overwhelmed by the beauty of theworld. beside that nothing seemed to matter. chapter cxv philip spent the few weeks that remainedbefore the beginning of the winter session in the out-patients' department, and inoctober settled down to regular work. he had been away from the hospital for solong that he found himself very largely among new people; the men of differentyears had little to do with one another,

and his contemporaries were now mostly qualified: some had left to take upassistantships or posts in country hospitals and infirmaries, and some heldappointments at st. luke's. the two years during which his mind hadlain fallow had refreshed him, he fancied, and he was able now to work with energy.the athelnys were delighted with his change of fortune. he had kept aside a few things from thesale of his uncle's effects and gave them all presents.he gave sally a gold chain that had belonged to his aunt.

she was now grown up.she was apprenticed to a dressmaker and set out every morning at eight to work all dayin a shop in regent street. sally had frank blue eyes, a broad brow,and plentiful shining hair; she was buxom, with broad hips and full breasts; and herfather, who was fond of discussing her appearance, warned her constantly that shemust not grow fat. she attracted because she was healthy,animal, and feminine. she had many admirers, but they left herunmoved; she gave one the impression that she looked upon love-making as nonsense;and it was easy to imagine that young men found her unapproachable.

sally was old for her years: she had beenused to help her mother in the household work and in the care of the children, sothat she had acquired a managing air, which made her mother say that sally was a bittoo fond of having things her own way. she did not speak very much, but as shegrew older she seemed to be acquiring a quiet sense of humour, and sometimesuttered a remark which suggested that beneath her impassive exterior she was quietly bubbling with amusement at herfellow-creatures. philip found that with her he never got onthe terms of affectionate intimacy upon which he was with the rest of athelny'shuge family.

now and then her indifference slightlyirritated him. there was something enigmatic in her. when philip gave her the necklace athelnyin his boisterous way insisted that she must kiss him; but sally reddened and drewback. "no, i'm not going to," she said. "ungrateful hussy!" cried athelny."why not?" "i don't like being kissed by men," shesaid. philip saw her embarrassment, and, amused,turned athelny's attention to something else.that was never a very difficult thing to

do. but evidently her mother spoke of thematter later, for next time philip came she took the opportunity when they were alonefor a couple of minutes to refer to it. "you didn't think it disagreeable of melast week when i wouldn't kiss you?" "not a bit," he laughed."it's not because i wasn't grateful." she blushed a little as she uttered theformal phrase which she had prepared. "i shall always value the necklace, and itwas very kind of you to give it me." philip found it always a little difficultto talk to her. she did all that she had to do verycompetently, but seemed to feel no need of

conversation; yet there was nothingunsociable in her. one sunday afternoon when athelny and hiswife had gone out together, and philip, treated as one of the family, sat readingin the parlour, sally came in and sat by the window to sew. the girls' clothes were made at home andsally could not afford to spend sundays in idleness.philip thought she wished to talk and put down his book. "go on reading," she said."i only thought as you were alone i'd come and sit with you.""you're the most silent person i've ever

struck," said philip. "we don't want another one who's talkativein this house," she said. there was no irony in her tone: she wasmerely stating a fact. but it suggested to philip that shemeasured her father, alas, no longer the hero he was to her childhood, and in hermind joined together his entertaining conversation and the thriftlessness which often brought difficulties into their life;she compared his rhetoric with her mother's practical common sense; and though theliveliness of her father amused her she was perhaps sometimes a little impatient withit.

philip looked at her as she bent over herwork; she was healthy, strong, and normal; it must be odd to see her among the othergirls in the shop with their flat chests and anaemic faces. mildred suffered from anaemia.after a time it appeared that sally had a suitor. she went out occasionally with friends shehad made in the work-room, and had met a young man, an electrical engineer in a verygood way of business, who was a most eligible person. one day she told her mother that he hadasked her to marry him.

"what did you say?" said her mother."oh, i told him i wasn't over-anxious to marry anyone just yet awhile." she paused a little as was her habitbetween observations. "he took on so that i said he might come totea on sunday." it was an occasion that thoroughly appealedto athelny. he rehearsed all the afternoon how heshould play the heavy father for the young man's edification till he reduced hischildren to helpless giggling. just before he was due athelny routed outan egyptian tarboosh and insisted on putting it on.

"go on with you, athelny," said his wife,who was in her best, which was of black velvet, and, since she was growing stouterevery year, very tight for her. "you'll spoil the girl's chances." she tried to pull it off, but the littleman skipped nimbly out of her way. "unhand me, woman.nothing will induce me to take it off. this young man must be shown at once thatit is no ordinary family he is preparing to enter.""let him keep it on, mother," said sally, in her even, indifferent fashion. "if mr. donaldson doesn't take it the wayit's meant he can take himself off, and

good riddance." philip thought it was a severe ordeal thatthe young man was being exposed to, since athelny, in his brown velvet jacket,flowing black tie, and red tarboosh, was a startling spectacle for an innocentelectrical engineer. when he came he was greeted by his hostwith the proud courtesy of a spanish grandee and by mrs. athelny in analtogether homely and natural fashion. they sat down at the old ironing-table inthe high-backed monkish chairs, and mrs. athelny poured tea out of a lustre teapotwhich gave a note of england and the country-side to the festivity.

she had made little cakes with her ownhand, and on the table was home-made jam. it was a farm-house tea, and to philip veryquaint and charming in that jacobean house. athelny for some fantastic reason took itinto his head to discourse upon byzantine history; he had been reading the latervolumes of the decline and fall; and, his forefinger dramatically extended, he poured into the astonished ears of the suitorscandalous stories about theodora and irene. he addressed himself directly to his guestwith a torrent of rhodomontade; and the young man, reduced to helpless silence andshy, nodded his head at intervals to show

that he took an intelligent interest. mrs. athelny paid no attention to thorpe'sconversation, but interrupted now and then to offer the young man more tea or to pressupon him cake and jam. philip watched sally; she sat with downcasteyes, calm, silent, and observant; and her long eye-lashes cast a pretty shadow on hercheek. you could not tell whether she was amusedat the scene or if she cared for the young man.she was inscrutable. but one thing was certain: the electricalengineer was good-looking, fair and clean- shaven, with pleasant, regular features,and an honest face; he was tall and well-

made. philip could not help thinking he wouldmake an excellent mate for her, and he felt a pang of envy for the happiness which hefancied was in store for them. presently the suitor said he thought it wasabout time he was getting along. sally rose to her feet without a word andaccompanied him to the door. when she came back her father burst out: "well, sally, we think your young man verynice. we are prepared to welcome him into ourfamily. let the banns be called and i will composea nuptial song."

sally set about clearing away the tea-things. she did not answer. suddenly she shot a swift glance at philip."what did you think of him, mr. philip?" she had always refused to call him unclephil as the other children did, and would not call him philip. "i think you'd make an awfully handsomepair." she looked at him quickly once more, andthen with a slight blush went on with her business. "i thought him a very nice civil-spokenyoung fellow," said mrs. athelny, "and i

think he's just the sort to make any girlhappy." sally did not reply for a minute or two,and philip looked at her curiously: it might be thought that she was meditatingupon what her mother had said, and on the other hand she might be thinking of the manin the moon. "why don't you answer when you're spokento, sally?" remarked her mother, a little irritably. "i thought he was a silly.""aren't you going to have him then?" "no, i'm not." "i don't know how much more you want," saidmrs. athelny, and it was quite clear now

that she was put out."he's a very decent young fellow and he can afford to give you a thorough good home. we've got quite enough to feed here withoutyou. if you get a chance like that it's wickednot to take it. and i daresay you'd be able to have a girlto do the rough work." philip had never before heard mrs. athelnyrefer so directly to the difficulties of her life. he saw how important it was that each childshould be provided for. "it's no good your carrying on, mother,"said sally in her quiet way.

"i'm not going to marry him." "i think you're a very hard-hearted, cruel,selfish girl." "if you want me to earn my own living,mother, i can always go into service." "don't be so silly, you know your fatherwould never let you do that." philip caught sally's eye, and he thoughtthere was in it a glimmer of amusement. he wondered what there had been in theconversation to touch her sense of humour. she was an odd girl. chapter cxvi during his last year at st. luke's philiphad to work hard.

he was contented with life. he found it very comfortable to be heart-free and to have enough money for his needs. he had heard people speak contemptuously ofmoney: he wondered if they had ever tried to do without it. he knew that the lack made a man petty,mean, grasping; it distorted his character and caused him to view the world from avulgar angle; when you had to consider every penny, money became of grotesque importance: you needed a competency to rateit at its proper value.

he lived a solitary life, seeing no oneexcept the athelnys, but he was not lonely; he busied himself with plans for thefuture, and sometimes he thought of the past. his recollection dwelt now and then on oldfriends, but he made no effort to see them. he would have liked to know what was becomeof norah nesbit; she was norah something else now, but he could not remember thename of the man she was going to marry; he was glad to have known her: she was a goodand a brave soul. one evening about half past eleven he sawlawson, walking along piccadilly; he was in evening clothes and might be supposed to becoming back from a theatre.

philip gave way to a sudden impulse andquickly turned down a side street. he had not seen him for two years and feltthat he could not now take up again the interrupted friendship. he and lawson had nothing more to say toone another. philip was no longer interested in art; itseemed to him that he was able to enjoy beauty with greater force than when he wasa boy; but art appeared to him unimportant. he was occupied with the forming of apattern out of the manifold chaos of life, and the materials with which he workedseemed to make preoccupation with pigments and words very trivial.

lawson had served his turn. philip's friendship with him had been amotive in the design he was elaborating: it was merely sentimental to ignore the factthat the painter was of no further interest to him. sometimes philip thought of mildred. he avoided deliberately the streets inwhich there was a chance of seeing her; but occasionally some feeling, perhapscuriosity, perhaps something deeper which he would not acknowledge, made him wander about piccadilly and regent street duringthe hours when she might be expected to be

there.he did not know then whether he wished to see her or dreaded it. once he saw a back which reminded him ofhers, and for a moment he thought it was she; it gave him a curious sensation: itwas a strange sharp pain in his heart, there was fear in it and a sickening dismay; and when he hurried on and foundthat he was mistaken he did not know whether it was relief that he experiencedor disappointment. at the beginning of august philip passedhis surgery, his last examination, and received his diploma.it was seven years since he had entered st.

luke's hospital. he was nearly thirty.he walked down the stairs of the royal college of surgeons with the roll in hishand which qualified him to practice, and his heart beat with satisfaction. "now i'm really going to begin life," hethought. next day he went to the secretary's officeto put his name down for one of the hospital appointments. the secretary was a pleasant little manwith a black beard, whom philip had always found very affable.he congratulated him on his success, and

then said: "i suppose you wouldn't like to do a locumfor a month on the south coast? three guineas a week with board andlodging." "i wouldn't mind," said philip. "it's at farnley, in dorsetshire.doctor south. you'd have to go down at once; hisassistant has developed mumps. i believe it's a very pleasant place." there was something in the secretary'smanner that puzzled philip. it was a little doubtful."what's the crab in it?" he asked.

the secretary hesitated a moment andlaughed in a conciliating fashion. "well, the fact is, i understand he'srather a crusty, funny old fellow. the agencies won't send him anyone anymore. he speaks his mind very openly, and mendon't like it." "but d'you think he'll be satisfied with aman who's only just qualified? after all i have no experience.""he ought to be glad to get you," said the secretary diplomatically. philip thought for a moment.he had nothing to do for the next few weeks, and he was glad of the chance toearn a bit of money.

he could put it aside for the holiday inspain which he had promised himself when he had finished his appointment at st. luke'sor, if they would not give him anything there, at some other hospital. "all right.i'll go." "the only thing is, you must go thisafternoon. will that suit you? if so, i'll send a wire at once." philip would have liked a few days tohimself; but he had seen the athelnys the night before (he had gone at once to takethem his good news) and there was really no

reason why he should not start immediately. he had little luggage to pack.soon after seven that evening he got out of the station at farnley and took a cab todoctor south's. it was a broad low stucco house, with avirginia creeper growing over it. he was shown into the consulting-room.an old man was writing at a desk. he looked up as the maid ushered philip in. he did not get up, and he did not speak; hemerely stared at philip. philip was taken aback."i think you're expecting me," he said. "the secretary of st. luke's wired to youthis morning."

"i kept dinner back for half an hour.d'you want to wash?" "i do," said philip. doctor south amused him by his odd manner. he got up now, and philip saw that he was aman of middle height, thin, with white hair cut very short and a long mouth closed sotightly that he seemed to have no lips at all; he was clean-shaven but for small white whiskers, and they increased thesquareness of face which his firm jaw gave him.he wore a brown tweed suit and a white stock.

his clothes hung loosely about him asthough they had been made for a much larger man.he looked like a respectable farmer of the middle of the nineteenth century. he opened the door."there is the dining-room," he said, pointing to the door opposite."your bed-room is the first door you come to when you get on the landing. come downstairs when you're ready."during dinner philip knew that doctor south was examining him, but he spoke little, andphilip felt that he did not want to hear his assistant talk.

"when were you qualified?" he askedsuddenly. "yesterday.""were you at a university?" "no." "last year when my assistant took a holidaythey sent me a 'varsity man. i told 'em not to do it again.too damned gentlemanly for me." there was another pause. the dinner was very simple and very good.philip preserved a sedate exterior, but in his heart he was bubbling over withexcitement. he was immensely elated at being engaged asa locum; it made him feel extremely grown

up; he had an insane desire to laugh atnothing in particular; and the more he thought of his professional dignity themore he was inclined to chuckle. but doctor south broke suddenly into histhoughts. "how old are you?" "getting on for thirty.""how is it you're only just qualified?" "i didn't go in for the medical till i wasnearly twenty-three, and i had to give it up for two years in the middle." "why?""poverty." doctor south gave him an odd look andrelapsed into silence.

at the end of dinner he got up from thetable. "d'you know what sort of a practice thisis?" "no," answered philip. "mostly fishermen and their families.i have the union and the seamen's hospital. i used to be alone here, but since theytried to make this into a fashionable sea- side resort a man has set up on the cliff,and the well-to-do people go to him. i only have those who can't afford to payfor a doctor at all." philip saw that the rivalry was a sorepoint with the old man. "you know that i have no experience," saidphilip.

"you none of you know anything."he walked out of the room without another word and left philip by himself. when the maid came in to clear away shetold philip that doctor south saw patients from six till seven.work for that night was over. philip fetched a book from his room, lithis pipe, and settled himself down to read. it was a great comfort, since he had readnothing but medical books for the last few months. at ten o'clock doctor south came in andlooked at him. philip hated not to have his feet up, andhe had dragged up a chair for them.

"you seem able to make yourself prettycomfortable," said doctor south, with a grimness which would have disturbed philipif he had not been in such high spirits. philip's eyes twinkled as he answered. "have you any objection?"doctor south gave him a look, but did not reply directly."what's that you're reading?" "peregrine pickle. smollett.""i happen to know that smollett wrote peregrine pickle.""i beg your pardon. medical men aren't much interested inliterature, are they?"

philip had put the book down on the table,and doctor south took it up. it was a volume of an edition which hadbelonged to the vicar of blackstable. it was a thin book bound in faded morocco,with a copperplate engraving as a frontispiece; the pages were musty with ageand stained with mould. philip, without meaning to, started forwarda little as doctor south took the volume in his hands, and a slight smile came into hiseyes. very little escaped the old doctor. "do i amuse you?" he asked icily."i see you're fond of books. you can always tell by the way peoplehandle them."

doctor south put down the novelimmediately. "breakfast at eight-thirty," he said andleft the room. "what a funny old fellow!" thought philip. he soon discovered why doctor south'sassistants found it difficult to get on with him. in the first place, he set his face firmlyagainst all the discoveries of the last thirty years: he had no patience with thedrugs which became modish, were thought to work marvellous cures, and in a few years were discarded; he had stock mixtures whichhe had brought from st. luke's where he had

been a student, and had used all his life;he found them just as efficacious as anything that had come into fashion since. philip was startled at doctor south'ssuspicion of asepsis; he had accepted it in deference to universal opinion; but he usedthe precautions which philip had known insisted upon so scrupulously at the hospital with the disdainful tolerance of aman playing at soldiers with children. "i've seen antiseptics come along and sweepeverything before them, and then i've seen asepsis take their place. bunkum!"

the young men who were sent down to himknew only hospital practice; and they came with the unconcealed scorn for the generalpractitioner which they had absorbed in the air at the hospital; but they had seen only the complicated cases which appeared in thewards; they knew how to treat an obscure disease of the suprarenal bodies, but werehelpless when consulted for a cold in the head. their knowledge was theoretical and theirself-assurance unbounded. doctor south watched them with tightenedlips; he took a savage pleasure in showing them how great was their ignorance and howunjustified their conceit.

it was a poor practice, of fishing folk,and the doctor made up his own prescriptions. doctor south asked his assistant how heexpected to make both ends meet if he gave a fisherman with a stomach-ache a mixtureconsisting of half a dozen expensive drugs. he complained too that the young medicalmen were uneducated: their reading consisted of the sporting times and thebritish medical journal; they could neither write a legible hand nor spell correctly. for two or three days doctor south watchedphilip closely, ready to fall on him with acid sarcasm if he gave him theopportunity; and philip, aware of this,

went about his work with a quiet sense ofamusement. he was pleased with the change ofoccupation. he liked the feeling of independence and ofresponsibility. all sorts of people came to the consulting-room. he was gratified because he seemed able toinspire his patients with confidence; and it was entertaining to watch the process ofcure which at a hospital necessarily could be watched only at distant intervals. his rounds took him into low-roofedcottages in which were fishing tackle and sails and here and there mementoes of deep-sea travelling, a lacquer box from japan,

spears and oars from melanesia, or daggers from the bazaars of stamboul; there was anair of romance in the stuffy little rooms, and the salt of the sea gave them a bitterfreshness. philip liked to talk to the sailor-men, andwhen they found that he was not supercilious they told him long yarns ofthe distant journeys of their youth. once or twice he made a mistake indiagnosis: (he had never seen a case of measles before, and when he was confrontedwith the rash took it for an obscure disease of the skin;) and once or twice his ideas of treatment differed from doctorsouth's.

the first time this happened doctor southattacked him with savage irony; but philip took it with good humour; he had some giftfor repartee, and he made one or two answers which caused doctor south to stopand look at him curiously. philip's face was grave, but his eyes weretwinkling. the old gentleman could not avoid theimpression that philip was chaffing him. he was used to being disliked and feared byhis assistants, and this was a new experience. he had half a mind to fly into a passionand pack philip off by the next train, he had done that before with his assistants;but he had an uneasy feeling that philip

then would simply laugh at him outright;and suddenly he felt amused. his mouth formed itself into a smileagainst his will, and he turned away. in a little while he grew conscious thatphilip was amusing himself systematically at his expense.he was taken aback at first and then diverted. "damn his impudence," he chuckled tohimself. "damn his impudence." chapter cxvii philip had written to athelny to tell himthat he was doing a locum in dorsetshire

and in due course received an answer fromhim. it was written in the formal manner heaffected, studded with pompous epithets as a persian diadem was studded with preciousstones; and in the beautiful hand, like black letter and as difficult to read, uponwhich he prided himself. he suggested that philip should join himand his family in the kentish hop-field to which he went every year; and to persuadehim said various beautiful and complicated things about philip's soul and the windingtendrils of the hops. philip replied at once that he would comeon the first day he was free. though not born there, he had a peculiaraffection for the isle of thanet, and he

was fired with enthusiasm at the thought ofspending a fortnight so close to the earth and amid conditions which needed only a blue sky to be as idyllic as the olivegroves of arcady. the four weeks of his engagement at farnleypassed quickly. on the cliff a new town was springing up,with red brick villas round golf links, and a large hotel had recently been opened tocater for the summer visitors; but philip went there seldom. down below, by the harbour, the littlestone houses of a past century were clustered in a delightful confusion, andthe narrow streets, climbing down steeply,

had an air of antiquity which appealed tothe imagination. by the water's edge were neat cottages withtrim, tiny gardens in front of them; they were inhabited by retired captains in themerchant service, and by mothers or widows of men who had gained their living by the sea; and they had an appearance which wasquaint and peaceful. in the little harbour came tramps fromspain and the levant, ships of small tonnage; and now and then a windjammer wasborne in by the winds of romance. it reminded philip of the dirty littleharbour with its colliers at blackstable, and he thought that there he had firstacquired the desire, which was now an

obsession, for eastern lands and sunlitislands in a tropic sea. but here you felt yourself closer to thewide, deep ocean than on the shore of that north sea which seemed alwayscircumscribed; here you could draw a long breath as you looked out upon the even vastness; and the west wind, the dear softsalt wind of england, uplifted the heart and at the same time melted it totenderness. one evening, when philip had reached hislast week with doctor south, a child came to the surgery door while the old doctorand philip were making up prescriptions. it was a little ragged girl with a dirtyface and bare feet.

philip opened the door."please, sir, will you come to mrs. fletcher's in ivy lane at once?" "what's the matter with mrs. fletcher?"called out doctor south in his rasping voice.the child took no notice of him, but addressed herself again to philip. "please, sir, her little boy's had anaccident and will you come at once?" "tell mrs. fletcher i'm coming," called outdoctor south. the little girl hesitated for a moment, andputting a dirty finger in a dirty mouth stood still and looked at philip."what's the matter, kid?" said philip,

smiling. "please, sir, mrs. fletcher says, will thenew doctor come?" there was a sound in the dispensary anddoctor south came out into the passage. "isn't mrs. fletcher satisfied with me?" hebarked. "i've attended mrs. fletcher since she wasborn. why aren't i good enough to attend herfilthy brat?" the little girl looked for a moment asthough she were going to cry, then she thought better of it; she put out hertongue deliberately at doctor south, and, before he could recover from his

astonishment, bolted off as fast as shecould run. philip saw that the old gentleman wasannoyed. "you look rather fagged, and it's a goodishway to ivy lane," he said, by way of giving him an excuse not to go himself.doctor south gave a low snarl. "it's a damned sight nearer for a man who'sgot the use of both legs than for a man who's only got one and a half."philip reddened and stood silent for a while. "do you wish me to go or will you goyourself?" he said at last frigidly. "what's the good of my going?they want you."

philip took up his hat and went to see thepatient. it was hard upon eight o'clock when he cameback. doctor south was standing in the dining-room with his back to the fireplace. "you've been a long time," he said."i'm sorry. why didn't you start dinner?" "because i chose to wait.have you been all this while at mrs. fletcher's?""no, i'm afraid i haven't. i stopped to look at the sunset on my wayback, and i didn't think of the time." doctor south did not reply, and the servantbrought in some grilled sprats.

philip ate them with an excellent appetite. suddenly doctor south shot a question athim. "why did you look at the sunset?"philip answered with his mouth full. "because i was happy." doctor south gave him an odd look, and theshadow of a smile flickered across his old, tired face. they ate the rest of the dinner in silence;but when the maid had given them the port and left the room, the old man leaned backand fixed his sharp eyes on philip. "it stung you up a bit when i spoke of yourgame leg, young fellow?" he said.

"people always do, directly or indirectly,when they get angry with me." "i suppose they know it's your weak point." philip faced him and looked at himsteadily. "are you very glad to have discovered it?"the doctor did not answer, but he gave a chuckle of bitter mirth. they sat for a while staring at oneanother. then doctor south surprised philipextremely. "why don't you stay here and i'll get ridof that damned fool with his mumps?" "it's very kind of you, but i hope to getan appointment at the hospital in the

autumn. it'll help me so much in getting other worklater." "i'm offering you a partnership," saiddoctor south grumpily. "why?" asked philip, with surprise. "they seem to like you down here.""i didn't think that was a fact which altogether met with your approval," philipsaid drily. "d'you suppose that after forty years'practice i care a twopenny damn whether people prefer my assistant to me?no, my friend. there's no sentiment between my patientsand me.

i don't expect gratitude from them, iexpect them to pay my fees. well, what d'you say to it?" philip made no reply, not because he wasthinking over the proposal, but because he was astonished. it was evidently very unusual for someoneto offer a partnership to a newly qualified man; and he realised with wonder that,although nothing would induce him to say so, doctor south had taken a fancy to him. he thought how amused the secretary at st.luke's would be when he told him. "the practice brings in about seven hundreda year.

we can reckon out how much your share wouldbe worth, and you can pay me off by degrees.and when i die you can succeed me. i think that's better than knocking abouthospitals for two or three years, and then taking assistantships until you can affordto set up for yourself." philip knew it was a chance that mostpeople in his profession would jump at; the profession was over-crowded, and half themen he knew would be thankful to accept the certainty of even so modest a competence asthat. "i'm awfully sorry, but i can't," he said."it means giving up everything i've aimed at for years.

in one way and another i've had a roughishtime, but i always had that one hope before me, to get qualified so that i mighttravel; and now, when i wake in the morning, my bones simply ache to get off, i don't mind where particularly, but justaway, to places i've never been to." now the goal seemed very near. he would have finished his appointment atst. luke's by the middle of the following year, and then he would go to spain; hecould afford to spend several months there, rambling up and down the land which stood to him for romance; after that he would geta ship and go to the east.

life was before him and time of no account. he could wander, for years if he chose, inunfrequented places, amid strange peoples, where life was led in strange ways. he did not know what he sought or what hisjourneys would bring him; but he had a feeling that he would learn something newabout life and gain some clue to the mystery that he had solved only to findmore mysterious. and even if he found nothing he would allaythe unrest which gnawed at his heart. but doctor south was showing him a greatkindness, and it seemed ungrateful to refuse his offer for no adequate reason; soin his shy way, trying to appear as matter

of fact as possible, he made some attempt to explain why it was so important to himto carry out the plans he had cherished so passionately.doctor south listened quietly, and a gentle look came into his shrewd old eyes. it seemed to philip an added kindness thathe did not press him to accept his offer. benevolence is often very peremptory.he appeared to look upon philip's reasons as sound. dropping the subject, he began to talk ofhis own youth; he had been in the royal navy, and it was his long connection withthe sea that, when he retired, had made him

settle at farnley. he told philip of old days in the pacificand of wild adventures in china. he had taken part in an expedition againstthe head-hunters of borneo and had known samoa when it was still an independentstate. he had touched at coral islands. philip listened to him entranced.little by little he told philip about himself. doctor south was a widower, his wife haddied thirty years before, and his daughter had married a farmer in rhodesia; he hadquarrelled with him, and she had not come

to england for ten years. it was just as if he had never had wife orchild. he was very lonely. his gruffness was little more than aprotection which he wore to hide a complete disillusionment; and to philip it seemedtragic to see him just waiting for death, not impatiently, but rather with loathing for it, hating old age and unable to resignhimself to its limitations, and yet with the feeling that death was the onlysolution of the bitterness of his life. philip crossed his path, and the naturalaffection which long separation from his

daughter had killed--she had taken herhusband's part in the quarrel and her children he had never seen--settled itselfupon philip. at first it made him angry, he told himselfit was a sign of dotage; but there was something in philip that attracted him, andhe found himself smiling at him he knew not why. philip did not bore him.once or twice he put his hand on his shoulder: it was as near a caress as he hadgot since his daughter left england so many years before. when the time came for philip to go doctorsouth accompanied him to the station: he

found himself unaccountably depressed."i've had a ripping time here," said philip. "you've been awfully kind to me.""i suppose you're very glad to go?" "i've enjoyed myself here.""but you want to get out into the world? ah, you have youth." he hesitated a moment."i want you to remember that if you change your mind my offer still stands.""that's awfully kind of you." philip shook hands with him out of thecarriage window, and the train steamed out of the station.

philip thought of the fortnight he wasgoing to spend in the hop-field: he was happy at the idea of seeing his friendsagain, and he rejoiced because the day was fine. but doctor south walked slowly back to hisempty house. he felt very old and very lonely. > chapter cxviii it was late in the evening when philiparrived at ferne. it was mrs. athelny's native village, andshe had been accustomed from her childhood

to pick in the hop-field to which with herhusband and her children she still went every year. like many kentish folk her family had goneout regularly, glad to earn a little money, but especially regarding the annual outing,looked forward to for months, as the best of holidays. the work was not hard, it was done incommon, in the open air, and for the children it was a long, delightful picnic;here the young men met the maidens; in the long evenings when work was over they wandered about the lanes, making love; andthe hopping season was generally followed

by weddings. they went out in carts with bedding, potsand pans, chairs and tables; and ferne while the hopping lasted was deserted. they were very exclusive and would haveresented the intrusion of foreigners, as they called the people who came fromlondon; they looked down upon them and feared them too; they were a rough lot, and the respectable country folk did not wantto mix with them. in the old days the hoppers slept in barns,but ten years ago a row of huts had been erected at the side of a meadow; and theathelnys, like many others, had the same

hut every year. athelny met philip at the station in a carthe had borrowed from the public-house at which he had got a room for philip.it was a quarter of a mile from the hop- field. they left his bag there and walked over tothe meadow in which were the huts. they were nothing more than a long, lowshed, divided into little rooms about twelve feet square. in front of each was a fire of sticks,round which a family was grouped, eagerly watching the cooking of supper.the sea-air and the sun had browned already

the faces of athelny's children. mrs. athelny seemed a different woman inher sun-bonnet: you felt that the long years in the city had made no realdifference to her; she was the country woman born and bred, and you could see how much at home she found herself in thecountry. she was frying bacon and at the same timekeeping an eye on the younger children, but she had a hearty handshake and a jollysmile for philip. athelny was enthusiastic over the delightsof a rural existence. "we're starved for sun and light in thecities we live in.

it isn't life, it's a long imprisonment. let us sell all we have, betty, and take afarm in the country." "i can see you in the country," sheanswered with good-humoured scorn. "why, the first rainy day we had in thewinter you'd be crying for london." she turned to philip."athelny's always like this when we come down here. country, i like that!why, he don't know a swede from a mangel- wurzel." "daddy was lazy today," remarked jane, withthe frankness which characterized her, "he

didn't fill one bin." "i'm getting into practice, child, andtomorrow i shall fill more bins than all of you put together.""come and eat your supper, children," said mrs. athelny. "where's sally?""here i am, mother." she stepped out of their little hut, andthe flames of the wood fire leaped up and cast sharp colour upon her face. of late philip had only seen her in thetrim frocks she had taken to since she was at the dressmaker's, and there wassomething very charming in the print dress

she wore now, loose and easy to work in; the sleeves were tucked up and showed herstrong, round arms. she too had a sun-bonnet. "you look like a milkmaid in a fairystory," said philip, as he shook hands with her."she's the belle of the hop-fields," said athelny. "my word, if the squire's son sees youhe'll make you an offer of marriage before you can say jack robinson.""the squire hasn't got a son, father," said sally.

she looked about for a place to sit downin, and philip made room for her beside him.she looked wonderful in the night lit by wood fires. she was like some rural goddess, and youthought of those fresh, strong girls whom old herrick had praised in exquisitenumbers. the supper was simple, bread and butter,crisp bacon, tea for the children, and beer for mr. and mrs. athelny and philip.athelny, eating hungrily, praised loudly all he ate. he flung words of scorn at lucullus andpiled invectives upon brillat-savarin.

"there's one thing one can say for you,athelny," said his wife, "you do enjoy your food and no mistake!" "cooked by your hand, my betty," he said,stretching out an eloquent forefinger. philip felt himself very comfortable. he looked happily at the line of fires,with people grouped about them, and the colour of the flames against the night; atthe end of the meadow was a line of great elms, and above the starry sky. the children talked and laughed, andathelny, a child among them, made them roar by his tricks and fancies."they think a rare lot of athelny down

here," said his wife. "why, mrs. bridges said to me, i don't knowwhat we should do without mr. athelny now, she said.he's always up to something, he's more like a schoolboy than the father of a family." sally sat in silence, but she attended tophilip's wants in a thoughtful fashion that charmed him. it was pleasant to have her beside him, andnow and then he glanced at her sunburned, healthy face.once he caught her eyes, and she smiled quietly.

when supper was over jane and a smallbrother were sent down to a brook that ran at the bottom of the meadow to fetch a pailof water for washing up. "you children, show your uncle philip wherewe sleep, and then you must be thinking of going to bed."small hands seized philip, and he was dragged towards the hut. he went in and struck a match.there was no furniture in it; and beside a tin box, in which clothes were kept, therewas nothing but the beds; there were three of them, one against each wall. athelny followed philip in and showed themproudly.

"that's the stuff to sleep on," he cried."none of your spring-mattresses and swansdown. i never sleep so soundly anywhere as here.you will sleep between sheets. my dear fellow, i pity you from the bottomof my soul." the beds consisted of a thick layer ofhopvine, on the top of which was a coating of straw, and this was covered with ablanket. after a day in the open air, with thearomatic scent of the hops all round them, the happy pickers slept like tops. by nine o'clock all was quiet in the meadowand everyone in bed but one or two men who

still lingered in the public-house andwould not come back till it was closed at ten. athelny walked there with philip.but before he went mrs. athelny said to him: "we breakfast about a quarter to six, but idaresay you won't want to get up as early as that.you see, we have to set to work at six." "of course he must get up early," criedathelny, "and he must work like the rest of us.he's got to earn his board. no work, no dinner, my lad."

"the children go down to bathe beforebreakfast, and they can give you a call on their way back.they pass the jolly sailor." "if they'll wake me i'll come and bathewith them," said philip. jane and harold and edward shouted withdelight at the prospect, and next morning philip was awakened out of a sound sleep bytheir bursting into his room. the boys jumped on his bed, and he had tochase them out with his slippers. he put on a coat and a pair of trousers andwent down. the day had only just broken, and there wasa nip in the air; but the sky was cloudless, and the sun was shining yellow.

sally, holding connie's hand, was standingin the middle of the road, with a towel and a bathing-dress over her arm. he saw now that her sun-bonnet was of thecolour of lavender, and against it her face, red and brown, was like an apple. she greeted him with her slow, sweet smile,and he noticed suddenly that her teeth were small and regular and very white.he wondered why they had never caught his attention before. "i was for letting you sleep on," she said,"but they would go up and wake you. i said you didn't really want to come.""oh, yes, i did."

they walked down the road and then cutacross the marshes. that way it was under a mile to the sea. the water looked cold and gray, and philipshivered at the sight of it; but the others tore off their clothes and ran in shouting. sally did everything a little slowly, andshe did not come into the water till all the rest were splashing round philip. swimming was his only accomplishment; hefelt at home in the water; and soon he had them all imitating him as he played atbeing a porpoise, and a drowning man, and a fat lady afraid of wetting her hair.

the bathe was uproarious, and it wasnecessary for sally to be very severe to induce them all to come out. "you're as bad as any of them," she said tophilip, in her grave, maternal way, which was at once comic and touching."they're not anything like so naughty when you're not here." they walked back, sally with her brighthair streaming over one shoulder and her sun-bonnet in her hand, but when they gotto the huts mrs. athelny had already started for the hop-garden. athleny, in a pair of the oldest trousersanyone had ever worn, his jacket buttoned

up to show he had no shirt on, and in awide-brimmed soft hat, was frying kippers over a fire of sticks. he was delighted with himself: he lookedevery inch a brigand. as soon as he saw the party he began toshout the witches' chorus from macbeth over the odorous kippers. "you mustn't dawdle over your breakfast ormother will be angry," he said, when they came up. and in a few minutes, harold and jane withpieces of bread and butter in their hands, they sauntered through the meadow into thehop-field.

they were the last to leave. a hop-garden was one of the sightsconnected with philip's boyhood and the oast-houses to him the most typical featureof the kentish scene. it was with no sense of strangeness, but asthough he were at home, that philip followed sally through the long lines ofthe hops. the sun was bright now and cast a sharpshadow. philip feasted his eyes on the richness ofthe green leaves. the hops were yellowing, and to him theyhad the beauty and the passion which poets in sicily have found in the purple grape.as they walked along philip felt himself

overwhelmed by the rich luxuriance. a sweet scent arose from the fat kentishsoil, and the fitful september breeze was heavy with the goodly perfume of the hops. athelstan felt the exhilarationinstinctively, for he lifted up his voice and sang; it was the cracked voice of theboy of fifteen, and sally turned round. "you be quiet, athelstan, or we shall havea thunderstorm." in a moment they heard the hum of voices,and in a moment more came upon the pickers. they were all hard at work, talking andlaughing as they picked. they sat on chairs, on stools, on boxes,with their baskets by their sides, and some

stood by the bin throwing the hops theypicked straight into it. there were a lot of children about and agood many babies, some in makeshift cradles, some tucked up in a rug on thesoft brown dry earth. the children picked a little and played agreat deal. the women worked busily, they had beenpickers from childhood, and they could pick twice as fast as foreigners from london. they boasted about the number of bushelsthey had picked in a day, but they complained you could not make money now asin former times: then they paid you a shilling for five bushels, but now the rate

was eight and even nine bushels to theshilling. in the old days a good picker could earnenough in the season to keep her for the rest of the year, but now there was nothingin it; you got a holiday for nothing, and that was about all. mrs. hill had bought herself a pianner outof what she made picking, so she said, but she was very near, one wouldn't like to benear like that, and most people thought it was only what she said, if the truth was known perhaps it would be found that shehad put a bit of money from the savings bank towards it.

the hoppers were divided into bin companiesof ten pickers, not counting children, and athelny loudly boasted of the day when hewould have a company consisting entirely of his own family. each company had a bin-man, whose duty itwas to supply it with strings of hops at their bins (the bin was a large sack on awooden frame, about seven feet high, and long rows of them were placed between the rows of hops;) and it was to this positionthat athelny aspired when his family was old enough to form a company.meanwhile he worked rather by encouraging others than by exertions of his own.

he sauntered up to mrs. athelny, who hadbeen busy for half an hour and had already emptied a basket into the bin, and with hiscigarette between his lips began to pick. he asserted that he was going to pick morethan anyone that day, but mother; of course no one could pick so much as mother; thatreminded him of the trials which aphrodite put upon the curious psyche, and he began to tell his children the story of her lovefor the unseen bridegroom. he told it very well. it seemed to philip, listening with a smileon his lips, that the old tale fitted in with the scene.the sky was very blue now, and he thought

it could not be more lovely even in greece. the children with their fair hair and rosycheeks, strong, healthy, and vivacious; the delicate form of the hops; the challengingemerald of the leaves, like a blare of trumpets; the magic of the green alley, narrowing to a point as you looked down therow, with the pickers in their sun-bonnets: perhaps there was more of the greek spiritthere than you could find in the books of professors or in museums. he was thankful for the beauty of england. he thought of the winding white roads andthe hedgerows, the green meadows with their

elm-trees, the delicate line of the hillsand the copses that crowned them, the flatness of the marshes, and the melancholyof the north sea. he was very glad that he felt itsloveliness. but presently athelny grew restless andannounced that he would go and ask how robert kemp's mother was. he knew everyone in the garden and calledthem all by their christian names; he knew their family histories and all that hadhappened to them from birth. with harmless vanity he played the finegentleman among them, and there was a touch of condescension in his familiarity.philip would not go with him.

"i'm going to earn my dinner," he said. "quite right, my boy," answered athelny,with a wave of the hand, as he strolled away."no work, no dinner." chapter cxix philip had not a basket of his own, but satwith sally. jane thought it monstrous that he shouldhelp her elder sister rather than herself, and he had to promise to pick for her whensally's basket was full. sally was almost as quick as her mother. "won't it hurt your hands for sewing?"asked philip.

"oh, no, it wants soft hands.that's why women pick better than men. if your hands are hard and your fingers allstiff with a lot of rough work you can't pick near so well." he liked to see her deft movements, and shewatched him too now and then with that maternal spirit of hers which was soamusing and yet so charming. he was clumsy at first, and she laughed athim. when she bent over and showed him how bestto deal with a whole line their hands met. he was surprised to see her blush. he could not persuade himself that she wasa woman; because he had known her as a

flapper, he could not help looking upon heras a child still; yet the number of her admirers showed that she was a child no longer; and though they had only been downa few days one of sally's cousins was already so attentive that she had to endurea lot of chaffing. his name was peter gann, and he was the sonof mrs. athelny's sister, who had married a farmer near ferne.everyone knew why he found it necessary to walk through the hop-field every day. a call-off by the sounding of a horn wasmade for breakfast at eight, and though mrs. athelny told them they had notdeserved it, they ate it very heartily.

they set to work again and worked tilltwelve, when the horn sounded once more for dinner. at intervals the measurer went his roundfrom bin to bin, accompanied by the booker, who entered first in his own book and thenin the hopper's the number of bushels picked. as each bin was filled it was measured outin bushel baskets into a huge bag called a poke; and this the measurer and the pole-puller carried off between them and put on the waggon. athelny came back now and then with storiesof how much mrs. heath or mrs. jones had

picked, and he conjured his family to beather: he was always wanting to make records, and sometimes in his enthusiasm pickedsteadily for an hour. his chief amusement in it, however, wasthat it showed the beauty of his graceful hands, of which he was excessively proud. he spent much time manicuring them.he told philip, as he stretched out his tapering fingers, that the spanish grandeeshad always slept in oiled gloves to preserve their whiteness. the hand that wrung the throat of europe,he remarked dramatically, was as shapely and exquisite as a woman's; and he lookedat his own, as he delicately picked the

hops, and sighed with self-satisfaction. when he grew tired of this he rolledhimself a cigarette and discoursed to philip of art and literature.in the afternoon it grew very hot. work did not proceed so actively andconversation halted. the incessant chatter of the morningdwindled now to desultory remarks. tiny beads of sweat stood on sally's upperlip, and as she worked her lips were slightly parted.she was like a rosebud bursting into flower. calling-off time depended on the state ofthe oast-house.

sometimes it was filled early, and as manyhops had been picked by three or four as could be dried during the night. then work was stopped.but generally the last measuring of the day began at five. as each company had its bin measured itgathered up its things and, chatting again now that work was over, sauntered out ofthe garden. the women went back to the huts to clean upand prepare the supper, while a good many of the men strolled down the road to thepublic-house. a glass of beer was very pleasant after theday's work.

the athelnys' bin was the last to be dealtwith. when the measurer came mrs. athelny, with asigh of relief, stood up and stretched her arms: she had been sitting in the sameposition for many hours and was stiff. "now, let's go to the jolly sailor," saidathelny. "the rites of the day must be dulyperformed, and there is none more sacred than that." "take a jug with you, athelny," said hiswife, "and bring back a pint and a half for supper."she gave him the money, copper by copper. the bar-parlour was already well filled.

it had a sanded floor, benches round it,and yellow pictures of victorian prize- fighters on the walls. the licencee knew all his customers byname, and he leaned over his bar smiling benignly at two young men who were throwingrings on a stick that stood up from the floor: their failure was greeted with a good deal of hearty chaff from the rest ofthe company. room was made for the new arrivals. philip found himself sitting between an oldlabourer in corduroys, with string tied under his knees, and a shiny-faced lad ofseventeen with a love-lock neatly plastered

on his red forehead. athelny insisted on trying his hand at thethrowing of rings. he backed himself for half a pint and wonit. as he drank the loser's health he said: "i would sooner have won this than won thederby, my boy." he was an outlandish figure, with his wide-brimmed hat and pointed beard, among those country folk, and it was easy to see thatthey thought him very queer; but his spirits were so high, his enthusiasm so contagious, that it was impossible not tolike him.

conversation went easily. a certain number of pleasantries wereexchanged in the broad, slow accent of the isle of thanet, and there was uproariouslaughter at the sallies of the local wag. a pleasant gathering! it would have been a hard-hearted personwho did not feel a glow of satisfaction in his fellows. philip's eyes wandered out of the windowwhere it was bright and sunny still; there were little white curtains in it tied upwith red ribbon like those of a cottage window, and on the sill were pots ofgeraniums.

in due course one by one the idlers got upand sauntered back to the meadow where supper was cooking. "i expect you'll be ready for your bed,"said mrs. athelny to philip. "you're not used to getting up at five andstaying in the open air all day." "you're coming to bathe with us, unclephil, aren't you?" the boys cried. "rather."he was tired and happy. after supper, balancing himself against thewall of the hut on a chair without a back, he smoked his pipe and looked at the night.sally was busy. she passed in and out of the hut, and helazily watched her methodical actions.

her walk attracted his notice; it was notparticularly graceful, but it was easy and assured; she swung her legs from the hips,and her feet seemed to tread the earth with decision. athelny had gone off to gossip with one ofthe neighbours, and presently philip heard his wife address the world in general. "there now, i'm out of tea and i wantedathelny to go down to mrs. black's and get some." a pause, and then her voice was raised:"sally, just run down to mrs. black's and get me half a pound of tea, will you?i've run quite out of it."

"all right, mother." mrs. black had a cottage about half a milealong the road, and she combined the office of postmistress with that of universalprovider. sally came out of the hut, turning down hersleeves. "shall i come with you, sally?" askedphilip. "don't you trouble. i'm not afraid to go alone.""i didn't think you were; but it's getting near my bedtime, and i was just thinkingi'd like to stretch my legs." sally did not answer, and they set outtogether.

the road was white and silent.there was not a sound in the summer night. they did not speak much. "it's quite hot even now, isn't it?" saidphilip. "i think it's wonderful for the time ofyear." but their silence did not seem awkward. they found it was pleasant to walk side byside and felt no need of words. suddenly at a stile in the hedgerow theyheard a low murmur of voices, and in the darkness they saw the outline of twopeople. they were sitting very close to one anotherand did not move as philip and sally

passed."i wonder who that was," said sally. "they looked happy enough, didn't they?" "i expect they took us for lovers too."they saw the light of the cottage in front of them, and in a minute went into thelittle shop. the glare dazzled them for a moment. "you are late," said mrs. black."i was just going to shut up." she looked at the clock."getting on for nine." sally asked for her half pound of tea (mrs.athelny could never bring herself to buy more than half a pound at a time), and theyset off up the road again.

now and then some beast of the night made ashort, sharp sound, but it seemed only to make the silence more marked."i believe if you stood still you could hear the sea," said sally. they strained their ears, and their fancypresented them with a faint sound of little waves lapping up against the shingle. when they passed the stile again the loverswere still there, but now they were not speaking; they were in one another's arms,and the man's lips were pressed against the girl's. "they seem busy," said sally.they turned a corner, and a breath of warm

wind beat for a moment against their faces.the earth gave forth its freshness. there was something strange in thetremulous night, and something, you knew not what, seemed to be waiting; the silencewas on a sudden pregnant with meaning. philip had a queer feeling in his heart, itseemed very full, it seemed to melt (the hackneyed phrases expressed precisely thecurious sensation), he felt happy and anxious and expectant. to his memory came back those lines inwhich jessica and lorenzo murmur melodious words to one another, capping each other'sutterance; but passion shines bright and clear through the conceits that amuse them.

he did not know what there was in the airthat made his senses so strangely alert; it seemed to him that he was pure soul toenjoy the scents and the sounds and the savours of the earth. he had never felt such an exquisitecapacity for beauty. he was afraid that sally by speaking wouldbreak the spell, but she said never a word, and he wanted to hear the sound of hervoice. its low richness was the voice of thecountry night itself. they arrived at the field through which shehad to walk to get back to the huts. philip went in to hold the gate open forher.

"well, here i think i'll say good-night.""thank you for coming all that way with me." she gave him her hand, and as he took it,he said: "if you were very nice you'd kiss me good-night like the rest of the family." "i don't mind," she said. philip had spoken in jest.he merely wanted to kiss her, because he was happy and he liked her and the nightwas so lovely. "good-night then," he said, with a littlelaugh, drawing her towards him. she gave him her lips; they were warm andfull and soft; he lingered a little, they

were like a flower; then, he knew not how,without meaning it, he flung his arms round her. she yielded quite silently.her body was firm and strong. he felt her heart beat against his.then he lost his head. his senses overwhelmed him like a flood ofrushing waters. he drew her into the darker shadow of thehedge. chapter cxx philip slept like a log and awoke with astart to find harold tickling his face with a feather.there was a shout of delight when he opened

his eyes. he was drunken with sleep."come on, lazybones," said jane. "sally says she won't wait for you unlessyou hurry up." then he remembered what had happened. his heart sank, and, half out of bedalready, he stopped; he did not know how he was going to face her; he was overwhelmedwith a sudden rush of self-reproach, and bitterly, bitterly, he regretted what hehad done. what would she say to him that morning?he dreaded meeting her, and he asked himself how he could have been such a fool.

but the children gave him no time; edwardtook his bathing-drawers and his towel, athelstan tore the bed-clothes away; and inthree minutes they all clattered down into the road. sally gave him a smile.it was as sweet and innocent as it had ever been."you do take a time to dress yourself," she said. "i thought you was never coming."there was not a particle of difference in her manner. he had expected some change, subtle orabrupt; he fancied that there would be

shame in the way she treated him, or anger,or perhaps some increase of familiarity; but there was nothing. she was exactly the same as before.they walked towards the sea all together, talking and laughing; and sally was quiet,but she was always that, reserved, but he had never seen her otherwise, and gentle. she neither sought conversation with himnor avoided it. philip was astounded. he had expected the incident of the nightbefore to have caused some revolution in her, but it was just as though nothing hadhappened; it might have been a dream; and

as he walked along, a little girl holding on to one hand and a little boy to theother, while he chatted as unconcernedly as he could, he sought for an explanation.he wondered whether sally meant the affair to be forgotten. perhaps her senses had run away with herjust as his had, and, treating what had occurred as an accident due to unusualcircumstances, it might be that she had decided to put the matter out of her mind. it was ascribing to her a power of thoughtand a mature wisdom which fitted neither with her age nor with her character.but he realised that he knew nothing of

there had been in her always somethingenigmatic. they played leap-frog in the water, and thebathe was as uproarious as on the previous day. sally mothered them all, keeping a watchfuleye on them, and calling to them when they went out too far. she swam staidly backwards and forwardswhile the others got up to their larks, and now and then turned on her back to float. presently she went out and began dryingherself; she called to the others more or less peremptorily, and at last only philipwas left in the water.

he took the opportunity to have a good hardswim. he was more used to the cold water thissecond morning, and he revelled in its salt freshness; it rejoiced him to use his limbsfreely, and he covered the water with long, firm strokes. but sally, with a towel round her, wentdown to the water's edge. "you're to come out this minute, philip,"she called, as though he were a small boy under her charge. and when, smiling with amusement at herauthoritative way, he came towards her, she upbraided him."it is naughty of you to stay in so long.

your lips are quite blue, and just look atyour teeth, they're chattering." "all right.i'll come out." she had never talked to him in that mannerbefore. it was as though what had happened gave hera sort of right over him, and she looked upon him as a child to be cared for. in a few minutes they were dressed, andthey started to walk back. sally noticed his hands."just look, they're quite blue." "oh, that's all right. it's only the circulation.i shall get the blood back in a minute."

"give them to me." she took his hands in hers and rubbed them,first one and then the other, till the colour returned.philip, touched and puzzled, watched her. he could not say anything to her on accountof the children, and he did not meet her eyes; but he was sure they did not avoidhis purposely, it just happened that they did not meet. and during the day there was nothing in herbehaviour to suggest a consciousness in her that anything had passed between them.perhaps she was a little more talkative than usual.

when they were all sitting again in thehop-field she told her mother how naughty philip had been in not coming out of thewater till he was blue with cold. it was incredible, and yet it seemed thatthe only effect of the incident of the night before was to arouse in her a feelingof protection towards him: she had the same instinctive desire to mother him as she hadwith regard to her brothers and sisters. it was not till the evening that he foundhimself alone with her. she was cooking the supper, and philip wassitting on the grass by the side of the fire. mrs. athelny had gone down to the villageto do some shopping, and the children were

scattered in various pursuits of their own.philip hesitated to speak. he was very nervous. sally attended to her business with serenecompetence and she accepted placidly the silence which to him was so embarrassing.he did not know how to begin. sally seldom spoke unless she was spoken toor had something particular to say. at last he could not bear it any longer."you're not angry with me, sally?" he blurted out suddenly. she raised her eyes quietly and looked athim without emotion. "me? no. why should i be?"he was taken aback and did not reply.

she took the lid off the pot, stirred thecontents, and put it on again. a savoury smell spread over the air. she looked at him once more, with a quietsmile which barely separated her lips; it was more a smile of the eyes."i always liked you," she said. his heart gave a great thump against hisribs, and he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks.he forced a faint laugh. "i didn't know that." "that's because you're a silly.""i don't know why you liked me." "i don't either."she put a little more wood on the fire.

"i knew i liked you that day you came whenyou'd been sleeping out and hadn't had anything to eat, d'you remember?and me and mother, we got thorpy's bed ready for you." he flushed again, for he did not know thatshe was aware of that incident. he remembered it himself with horror andshame. "that's why i wouldn't have anything to dowith the others. you remember that young fellow motherwanted me to have? i let him come to tea because he botheredso, but i knew i'd say no." philip was so surprised that he foundnothing to say.

there was a queer feeling in his heart; hedid not know what it was, unless it was happiness.sally stirred the pot once more. "i wish those children would make haste andcome. i don't know where they've got to.supper's ready now." "shall i go and see if i can find them?"said philip. it was a relief to talk about practicalthings. "well, it wouldn't be a bad idea, i mustsay.... there's mother coming."then, as he got up, she looked at him without embarrassment.

"shall i come for a walk with you tonightwhen i've put the children to bed?" "yes.""well, you wait for me down by the stile, and i'll come when i'm ready." he waited under the stars, sitting on thestile, and the hedges with their ripening blackberries were high on each side of him.from the earth rose rich scents of the night, and the air was soft and still. his heart was beating madly.he could not understand anything of what happened to him. he associated passion with cries and tearsand vehemence, and there was nothing of

this in sally; but he did not know whatelse but passion could have caused her to give herself. but passion for him?he would not have been surprised if she had fallen to her cousin, peter gann, tall,spare, and straight, with his sunburned face and long, easy stride. philip wondered what she saw in him.he did not know if she loved him as he reckoned love.and yet? he was convinced of her purity. he had a vague inkling that many things hadcombined, things that she felt though was

unconscious of, the intoxication of the airand the hops and the night, the healthy instincts of the natural woman, a tenderness that overflowed, and anaffection that had in it something maternal and something sisterly; and she gave allshe had to give because her heart was full of charity. he heard a step on the road, and a figurecame out of the darkness. "sally," he murmured. she stopped and came to the stile, and withher came sweet, clean odours of the country-side.

she seemed to carry with her scents of thenew-mown hay, and the savour of ripe hops, and the freshness of young grass. her lips were soft and full against his,and her lovely, strong body was firm within his arms."milk and honey," he said. "you're like milk and honey." he made her close her eyes and kissed hereyelids, first one and then the other. her arm, strong and muscular, was bare tothe elbow; he passed his hand over it and wondered at its beauty; it gleamed in thedarkness; she had the skin that rubens painted, astonishingly fair and

transparent, and on one side were littlegolden hairs. it was the arm of a saxon goddess; but noimmortal had that exquisite, homely naturalness; and philip thought of acottage garden with the dear flowers which bloom in all men's hearts, of the hollyhock and the red and white rose which is calledyork and lancaster, and of love--in-a-mist and sweet william, and honeysuckle,larkspur, and london pride. "how can you care for me?" he said. "i'm insignificant and crippled andordinary and ugly." she took his face in both her hands andkissed his lips.

"you're an old silly, that's what you are,"she said. chapter cxxi when the hops were picked, philip with thenews in his pocket that he had got the appointment as assistant house-physician atst. luke's, accompanied the athelnys back to london. he took modest rooms in westminster and atthe beginning of october entered upon his duties. the work was interesting and varied; everyday he learned something new; he felt himself of some consequence; and he saw agood deal of sally.

he found life uncommonly pleasant. he was free about six, except on the dayson which he had out-patients, and then he went to the shop at which sally worked tomeet her when she came out. there were several young men, who hungabout opposite the 'trade entrance' or a little further along, at the first corner;and the girls, coming out two and two or in little groups, nudged one another andgiggled as they recognised them. sally in her plain black dress looked verydifferent from the country lass who had picked hops side by side with him. she walked away from the shop quickly, butshe slackened her pace when they met, and

greeted him with her quiet smile.they walked together through the busy street. he talked to her of his work at thehospital, and she told him what she had been doing in the shop that day.he came to know the names of the girls she worked with. he found that sally had a restrained, butkeen, sense of the ridiculous, and she made remarks about the girls or the men who wereset over them which amused him by their unexpected drollery. she had a way of saying a thing which wasvery characteristic, quite gravely, as

though there were nothing funny in it atall, and yet it was so sharp-sighted that philip broke into delighted laughter. then she would give him a little glance inwhich the smiling eyes showed she was not unaware of her own humour.they met with a handshake and parted as formally. once philip asked her to come and have teawith him in his rooms, but she refused. "no, i won't do that.it would look funny." never a word of love passed between them. she seemed not to desire anything more thanthe companionship of those walks.

yet philip was positive that she was gladto be with him. she puzzled him as much as she had done atthe beginning. he did not begin to understand her conduct;but the more he knew her the fonder he grew of her; she was competent and selfcontrolled, and there was a charming honesty in her: you felt that you couldrely upon her in every circumstance. "you are an awfully good sort," he said toher once a propos of nothing at all. "i expect i'm just the same as everyoneelse," she answered. he knew that he did not love her. it was a great affection that he felt forher, and he liked her company; it was

curiously soothing; and he had a feelingfor her which seemed to him ridiculous to entertain towards a shop-girl of nineteen:he respected her. and he admired her magnificent healthiness. she was a splendid animal, without defect;and physical perfection filled him always with admiring awe.she made him feel unworthy. then, one day, about three weeks after theyhad come back to london as they walked together, he noticed that she was unusuallysilent. the serenity of her expression was alteredby a slight line between the eyebrows: it was the beginning of a frown."what's the matter, sally?" he asked.

she did not look at him, but straight infront of her, and her colour darkened. "i don't know."he understood at once what she meant. his heart gave a sudden, quick beat, and hefelt the colour leave his cheeks. "what d'you mean?are you afraid that... ?" he stopped.he could not go on. the possibility that anything of the sortcould happen had never crossed his mind. then he saw that her lips were trembling,and she was trying not to cry. "i'm not certain yet.perhaps it'll be all right."

they walked on in silence till they came tothe corner of chancery lane, where he always left her.she held out her hand and smiled. "don't worry about it yet. let's hope for the best."he walked away with a tumult of thoughts in his head.what a fool he had been! that was the first thing that struck him,an abject, miserable fool, and he repeated it to himself a dozen times in a rush ofangry feeling. he despised himself. how could he have got into such a mess?

but at the same time, for his thoughtschased one another through his brain and yet seemed to stand together, in a hopelessconfusion, like the pieces of a jig-saw puzzle seen in a nightmare, he askedhimself what he was going to do. everything was so clear before him, all hehad aimed at so long within reach at last, and now his inconceivable stupidity haderected this new obstacle. philip had never been able to surmount whathe acknowledged was a defect in his resolute desire for a well ordered life,and that was his passion for living in the future; and no sooner was he settled in his work at the hospital than he had busiedhimself with arrangements for his travels.

in the past he had often tried not to thinktoo circumstantially of his plans for the future, it was only discouraging; but nowthat his goal was so near he saw no harm in giving away to a longing that was sodifficult to resist. first of all he meant to go to spain. that was the land of his heart; and by nowhe was imbued with its spirit, its romance and colour and history and grandeur; hefelt that it had a message for him in particular which no other country couldgive. he knew the fine old cities already asthough he had trodden their tortuous streets from childhood.

cordova, seville, toledo, leon, tarragona,burgos. the great painters of spain were thepainters of his soul, and his pulse beat quickly as he pictured his ecstasy onstanding face to face with those works which were more significant than any othersto his own tortured, restless heart. he had read the great poets, morecharacteristic of their race than the poets of other lands; for they seemed to havedrawn their inspiration not at all from the general currents of the world's literature but directly from the torrid, scentedplains and the bleak mountains of their country.

a few short months now, and he would hearwith his own ears all around him the language which seemed most apt for grandeurof soul and passion. his fine taste had given him an inklingthat andalusia was too soft and sensuous, a little vulgar even, to satisfy his ardour;and his imagination dwelt more willingly among the wind-swept distances of castile and the rugged magnificence of aragon andleon. he did not know quite what those unknowncontacts would give him, but he felt that he would gather from them a strength and apurpose which would make him more capable of affronting and comprehending the

manifold wonders of places more distant andmore strange. for this was only a beginning. he had got into communication with thevarious companies which took surgeons out on their ships, and knew exactly what weretheir routes, and from men who had been on them what were the advantages anddisadvantages of each line. he put aside the orient and the p. & o. it was difficult to get a berth with them;and besides their passenger traffic allowed the medical officer little freedom; butthere were other services which sent large tramps on leisurely expeditions to the

east, stopping at all sorts of ports forvarious periods, from a day or two to a fortnight, so that you had plenty of time,and it was often possible to make a trip inland. the pay was poor and the food no more thanadequate, so that there was not much demand for the posts, and a man with a londondegree was pretty sure to get one if he applied. since there were no passengers other than acasual man or so, shipping on business from some out-of-the-way port to another, thelife on board was friendly and pleasant. philip knew by heart the list of places atwhich they touched; and each one called up

in him visions of tropical sunshine, andmagic colour, and of a teeming, mysterious, intense life. life!that was what he wanted. at last he would come to close quarterswith life. and perhaps, from tokyo or shanghai itwould be possible to tranship into some other line and drip down to the islands ofthe south pacific. a doctor was useful anywhere. there might be an opportunity to go upcountry in burmah, and what rich jungles in sumatra or borneo might he not visit?he was young still and time was no object

he had no ties in england, no friends; hecould go up and down the world for years, learning the beauty and the wonder and thevariedness of life. now this thing had come. he put aside the possibility that sally wasmistaken; he felt strangely certain that she was right; after all, it was so likely;anyone could see that nature had built her to be the mother of children. he knew what he ought to do.he ought not to let the incident divert him a hair's breadth from his path. he thought of griffiths; he could easilyimagine with what indifference that young

man would have received such a piece ofnews; he would have thought it an awful nuisance and would at once have taken to his heels, like a wise fellow; he wouldhave left the girl to deal with her troubles as best she could.philip told himself that if this had happened it was because it was inevitable. he was no more to blame than sally; she wasa girl who knew the world and the facts of life, and she had taken the risk with hereyes open. it would be madness to allow such anaccident to disturb the whole pattern of his life.

he was one of the few people who wasacutely conscious of the transitoriness of life, and how necessary it was to make themost of it. he would do what he could for sally; hecould afford to give her a sufficient sum of money.a strong man would never allow himself to be turned from his purpose. philip said all this to himself, but heknew he could not do it. he simply could not.he knew himself. "i'm so damned weak," he muttereddespairingly. she had trusted him and been kind to him.

he simply could not do a thing which,notwithstanding all his reason, he felt was horrible. he knew he would have no peace on histravels if he had the thought constantly with him that she was wretched. besides, there were her father and mother:they had always treated him well; it was not possible to repay them withingratitude. the only thing was to marry sally asquickly as possible. he would write to doctor south, tell him hewas going to be married at once, and say that if his offer still held he was willingto accept it.

that sort of practice, among poor people,was the only one possible for him; there his deformity did not matter, and theywould not sneer at the simple manners of his wife. it was curious to think of her as his wife,it gave him a queer, soft feeling; and a wave of emotion spread over him as hethought of the child which was his. he had little doubt that doctor south wouldbe glad to have him, and he pictured to himself the life he would lead with sallyin the fishing village. they would have a little house within sightof the sea, and he would watch the mighty ships passing to the lands he would neverknow.

perhaps that was the wisest thing. cronshaw had told him that the facts oflife mattered nothing to him who by the power of fancy held in fee the twin realmsof space and time. it was true. forever wilt thou love and she be fair!his wedding present to his wife would be all his high hopes.self-sacrifice! philip was uplifted by its beauty, and allthrough the evening he thought of it. he was so excited that he could not read. he seemed to be driven out of his roomsinto the streets, and he walked up and down

birdcage walk, his heart throbbing withjoy. he could hardly bear his impatience. he wanted to see sally's happiness when hemade her his offer, and if it had not been so late he would have gone to her there andthen. he pictured to himself the long evenings hewould spend with sally in the cosy sitting- room, the blinds undrawn so that they couldwatch the sea; he with his books, while she bent over her work, and the shaded lampmade her sweet face more fair. they would talk over the growing child, andwhen she turned her eyes to his there was in them the light of love.

and the fishermen and their wives who werehis patients would come to feel a great affection for them, and they in their turnwould enter into the pleasures and pains of those simple lives. but his thoughts returned to the son whowould be his and hers. already he felt in himself a passionatedevotion to it. he thought of passing his hands over hislittle perfect limbs, he knew he would be beautiful; and he would make over to himall his dreams of a rich and varied life. and thinking over the long pilgrimage ofhis past he accepted it joyfully. he accepted the deformity which had madelife so hard for him; he knew that it had

warped his character, but now he saw alsothat by reason of it he had acquired that power of introspection which had given himso much delight. without it he would never have had his keenappreciation of beauty, his passion for art and literature, and his interest in thevaried spectacle of life. the ridicule and the contempt which had sooften been heaped upon him had turned his mind inward and called forth those flowerswhich he felt would never lose their fragrance. then he saw that the normal was the rarestthing in the world. everyone had some defect, of body or ofmind: he thought of all the people he had

known (the whole world was like a sick-house, and there was no rhyme or reason in it), he saw a long procession, deformed in body and warped in mind, some with illnessof the flesh, weak hearts or weak lungs, and some with illness of the spirit,languor of will, or a craving for liquor. at this moment he could feel a holycompassion for them all. they were the helpless instruments of blindchance. he could pardon griffiths for his treacheryand mildred for the pain she had caused him.they could not help themselves. the only reasonable thing was to accept thegood of men and be patient with their

faults.the words of the dying god crossed his memory: forgive them, for they know not what theydo. chapter cxxii he had arranged to meet sally on saturdayin the national gallery. she was to come there as soon as she wasreleased from the shop and had agreed to lunch with him. two days had passed since he had seen her,and his exultation had not left him for a moment.it was because he rejoiced in the feeling

that he had not attempted to see her. he had repeated to himself exactly what hewould say to her and how he should say it. now his impatience was unbearable. he had written to doctor south and had inhis pocket a telegram from him received that morning: "sacking the mumpish fool.when will you come?" philip walked along parliament street. it was a fine day, and there was a bright,frosty sun which made the light dance in the street.it was crowded. there was a tenuous mist in the distance,and it softened exquisitely the noble lines

of the buildings.he crossed trafalgar square. suddenly his heart gave a sort of twist inhis body; he saw a woman in front of him who he thought was mildred. she had the same figure, and she walkedwith that slight dragging of the feet which was so characteristic of her. without thinking, but with a beating heart,he hurried till he came alongside, and then, when the woman turned, he saw it wassomeone unknown to him. it was the face of a much older person,with a lined, yellow skin. he slackened his pace.

he was infinitely relieved, but it was notonly relief that he felt; it was disappointment too; he was seized withhorror of himself. would he never be free from that passion? at the bottom of his heart, notwithstandingeverything, he felt that a strange, desperate thirst for that vile woman wouldalways linger. that love had caused him so much sufferingthat he knew he would never, never quite be free of it.only death could finally assuage his desire. but he wrenched the pang from his heart.he thought of sally, with her kind blue

eyes; and his lips unconsciously formedthemselves into a smile. he walked up the steps of the nationalgallery and sat down in the first room, so that he should see her the moment she camein. it always comforted him to get amongpictures. he looked at none in particular, butallowed the magnificence of their colour, the beauty of their lines, to work upon hissoul. his imagination was busy with sally. it would be pleasant to take her away fromthat london in which she seemed an unusual figure, like a cornflower in a shop amongorchids and azaleas; he had learned in the

kentish hop-field that she did not belong to the town; and he was sure that she wouldblossom under the soft skies of dorset to a rarer beauty.she came in, and he got up to meet her. she was in black, with white cuffs at herwrists and a lawn collar round her neck. they shook hands."have you been waiting long?" "no. ten minutes. are you hungry?""not very." "let's sit here for a bit, shall we?""if you like." they sat quietly, side by side, withoutspeaking.

philip enjoyed having her near him.he was warmed by her radiant health. a glow of life seemed like an aureole toshine about her. "well, how have you been?" he said at last,with a little smile. "oh, it's all right. it was a false alarm.""was it?" "aren't you glad?"an extraordinary sensation filled him. he had felt certain that sally's suspicionwas well-founded; it had never occurred to him for an instant that there was apossibility of error. all his plans were suddenly overthrown, andthe existence, so elaborately pictured, was

no more than a dream which would never berealised. he was free once more. free!he need give up none of his projects, and life still was in his hands for him to dowhat he liked with. he felt no exhilaration, but only dismay. his heart sank.the future stretched out before him in desolate emptiness. it was as though he had sailed for manyyears over a great waste of waters, with peril and privation, and at last had comeupon a fair haven, but as he was about to

enter, some contrary wind had arisen and drove him out again into the open sea; andbecause he had let his mind dwell on these soft meads and pleasant woods of the land,the vast deserts of the ocean filled him with anguish. he could not confront again the lonelinessand the tempest. sally looked at him with her clear eyes."aren't you glad?" she asked again. "i thought you'd be as pleased as punch." he met her gaze haggardly."i'm not sure," he muttered. "you are funny.most men would."

he realised that he had deceived himself;it was no self-sacrifice that had driven him to think of marrying, but the desirefor a wife and a home and love; and now that it all seemed to slip through hisfingers he was seized with despair. he wanted all that more than anything inthe world. what did he care for spain and its cities,cordova, toledo, leon; what to him were the pagodas of burmah and the lagoons of southsea islands? america was here and now. it seemed to him that all his life he hadfollowed the ideals that other people, by their words or their writings, hadinstilled into him, and never the desires

of his own heart. always his course had been swayed by whathe thought he should do and never by what he wanted with his whole soul to do.he put all that aside now with a gesture of impatience. he had lived always in the future, and thepresent always, always had slipped through his fingers.his ideals? he thought of his desire to make a design,intricate and beautiful, out of the myriad, meaningless facts of life: had he not seenalso that the simplest pattern, that in which a man was born, worked, married, had

children, and died, was likewise the mostperfect? it might be that to surrender to happinesswas to accept defeat, but it was a defeat better than many victories. he glanced quickly at sally, he wonderedwhat she was thinking, and then looked away again."i was going to ask you to marry me," he "i thought p'raps you might, but ishouldn't have liked to stand in your way." "you wouldn't have done that.""how about your travels, spain and all that?" "how d'you know i want to travel?""i ought to know something about it.

i've heard you and dad talk about it tillyou were blue in the face." "i don't care a damn about all that." he paused for an instant and then spoke ina low, hoarse whisper. "i don't want to leave you!i can't leave you." he could not tell what she thought."i wonder if you'll marry me, sally." she did not move and there was no flickerof emotion on her face, but she did not look at him when she answered. "if you like.""don't you want to?" "oh, of course i'd like to have a house ofmy own, and it's about time i was settling

down." he smiled a little.he knew her pretty well by now, and her manner did not surprise him."but don't you want to marry me?" "there's no one else i would marry." "then that settles it.""mother and dad will be surprised, won't they?""i'm so happy." "i want my lunch," she said. "dear!"he smiled and took her hand and pressed it. they got up and walked out of the gallery.they stood for a moment at the balustrade

and looked at trafalgar square. cabs and omnibuses hurried to and fro, andcrowds passed, hastening in every direction, and the sun was shining.