him　that　one　hour　of　his　astute　existence；　when　the　wind　had　swept
  him　out　to　sea！
  Yes！　　And　that　statuette　would　never　be　any　good；　try　as　he　might。
  Oliver　was　rightit　was　her　eyes！　　How　they　had　smokedin　their
  childish　angerif　eyes　could　be　said　to　smoke；　and　how　they　had
  drawn　and　pleaded　when　she　put　her　face　to　his　in　her　still　more
  childish　entreaty！　　If　they　were　like　this　now；　what　would　they　be
  when　the　woman　in　her　woke？　　Just　as　well　not　to　think　of　her　too
  much！　　Just　as　well　to　work；　and　take　heed　that　he　would　soon　be
  forty…seven！　　Just　as　well　that　next　week　she　would　be　gone　to
  Ireland！
  And　the　last　evening　before　she　went　they　took　her　to　see　〃Carmen〃
  at　the　Opera。　　He　remembered　that　she　wore　a　nearly　high　white
  frock；　and　a　dark　carnation　in　the　ribbon　tying　her　crinkly　hair；
  that　still　hung　loose。　　How　wonderfully　entranced　she　sat；　drunk　on
  that　opera　that　he　had　seen　a　score　of　times；　now　touching　his　arm；
  now　Sylvia's；　whispering　questions：　〃Who's　that？〃　　〃What's　coming
  now？〃　　The　Carmen　roused　her　to　adoration；　but　Don　Jose　was　'too
  fat　in　his　funny　little　coat；'　till；　in　the　maddened　jealousy　of
  the　last　act；　he　rose　superior。　　Then；　quite　lost　in　excitement；
  she　clutched　Lennan's　arm；　and　her　gasp；　when　Carmen　at　last　fell
  dead；　made　all　their　neighbours　jump。　　Her　emotion　was　far　more
  moving　than　that　on　the　stage；　he　wanted　badly　to　stroke；　and
  comfort　her　and　say：　〃There；　there；　my　dear；　it's　only　make…
  believe！〃　　And；　when　it　was　over；　and　the　excellent　murdered　lady
  and　her　poor　fat　little　lover　appeared　before　the　curtain；　finally
  forgetting　that　she　was　a　woman　of　the　world；　she　started　forward
  in　her　seat　and　clapped；　and　clapped。　　Fortunate　that　Johnny
  Dromore　was　not　there　to　see！　　But　all　things　coming　to　an　end；
  they　had　to　get　up　and　go。　　And；　as　they　made　their　way　out　to　the
  hall；　Lennan　felt　a　hot　little　finger　crooked　into　his　own；　as　if
  she　simply　must　have　something　to　squeeze。　　He　really　did　not　know
  what　to　do　with　it。　　She　seemed　to　feel　this　half…heartedness；　soon
  letting　it　go。　　All　the　way　home　in　the　cab　she　was　silent。　　With
  that　same　abstraction　she　ate　her　sandwiches　and　drank　her
  lemonade；　took　Sylvia's　kiss；　and；　quite　a　woman　of　the　world　once
  more；　begged　that　they　would　not　get　up　to　see　her　offfor　she　was
  to　go　at　seven　in　the　morning；　to　catch　the　Irish　mail。　　Then；
  holding　out　her　hand　to　Lennan；　she　very　gravely　said：
  〃Thanks　most　awfully　for　taking　me　to…night。　　Good…bye！〃
  He　stayed　full　half　an　hour　at　the　window；　smoking。　　No　street　lamp
  shone　just　there；　and　the　night　was　velvety　black　above　the　plane…
  trees。　　At　last；　with　a　sigh；　he　shut　up；　and　went　tiptoe…ing
  upstairs　in　darkness。　　Suddenly　in　the　corridor　the　white　wall
  seemed　to　move　at　him。　　A　warmth；　a　fragrance；　a　sound　like　a　tiny
  sigh；　and　something　soft　was　squeezed　into　his　hand。　　Then　the　wall
  moved　back；　and　he　stood　listeningno　sound；　no　anything！　　But　in
  his　dressing…room　he　looked　at　the　soft　thing　in　his　hand。　　It　was
  the　carnation　from　her　hair。　　What　had　possessed　the　child　to　give
  him　that？　　Carmen！　　Ah！　　Carmen！　　And　gazing　at　the　flower；　he　held
  it　away　from　him　with　a　sort　of　terror；　but　its　scent　arose。　　And
  suddenly　he　thrust　it；　all　fresh　as　it　was；　into　a　candle…flame；
  and　held　it；　burning；　writhing；　till　it　blackened　to　velvet。　　Then
  his　heart　smote　him　for　so　cruel　a　deed。　　It　was　still　beautiful；
  but　its　scent　was　gone。　　And　turning　to　the　window　he　flung　it　far
  out　into　the　darkness。
  VIII
  Now　that　she　was　gone；　it　was　curious　how　little　they　spoke　of　her；
  considering　how　long　she　had　been　with　them。　　And　they　had　from　her
  but　one　letter　written　to　Sylvia；　very　soon　after　she　left；　ending：
  〃Dad　sends　his　best　respects；　please；　and　with　my　love　to　you　and
  Mr。　Lennan；　and　all　the　beasts。NELL。
  〃Oliver　is　coming　here　next　week。　　We　are　going　to　some　races。〃
  It　was　difficult；　of　course；　to　speak　of　her；　with　that　episode　of
  the　flower；　too　bizarre　to　be　toldthe　sort　of　thing　Sylvia　would
  see　out　of　all　proportionas；　indeed；　any　woman　might。　　Yetwhat
  had　it　really　been；　but　the　uncontrolled　impulse　of　an　emotional
  child　longing　to　express　feelings　kindled　by　the　excitement　of　that
  opera？　　What　but　a　child's　feathery　warmth；　one　of　those　flying
  peeps　at　the　mystery　of　passion　that　young　things　take？　　He　could
  not　give　away　that　pretty　foolishness。　　And　because　he　would　not
  give　it　away；　he　was　more　than　usually　affectionate　to　Sylvia。
  They　had　made　no　holiday　plans；　and　he　eagerly　fell　in　with　her
  suggestion　that　they　should　go　down　to　Hayle。　　There；　if　anywhere；
  this　curious　restlessness　would　leave　him。　　They　had　not　been　down
  to　the　old　place　for　many　years；　indeed；　since　Gordy's　death　it　was
  generally　let。
  They　left　London　late　in　August。　　The　day　was　closing　in　when　they
  arrived。　　Honeysuckle　had　long　been　improved　away　from　that　station
  paling；　against　which　he　had　stood　twenty…nine　years　ago；　watching
  the　train　carrying　Anna　Stormer　away。　　In　the　hired　fly　Sylvia
  pressed　close　to　him；　and　held　his　hand　beneath　the　ancient　dust…
  rug。　　Both　felt　the　same　excitement　at　seeing　again　this　old　home。
  Not　a　single　soul　of　the　past　days　would　be　there　nowonly　the
  house　and　the　trees；　the　owls　and　the　stars；　the　river；　park；　and
  logan　stone！　　It　was　dark　when　they　arrived；　just　their　bedroom　and
  two　sitting…rooms　had　been　made　ready；　with　fires　burning；　though
  it　was　still　high　summer。　　The　same　old　execrable　Heatherleys
  looked　down　from　the　black　oak　panellings。　　The　same　scent　of
  apples　and　old　mice　clung　here　and　there　about　the　dark　corridors
  with　their　unexpected　stairways。　　It　was　all　curiously　unchanged；
  as　old　houses　are　when　they　are　let　furnished。
  Once　in　the　night　he　woke。　　Through　the　wide…open；　uncurtained
  windows　the　night　was　simply　alive　with　stars；　such　swarms　of　them
  swinging　and　trembling　up　there；　and；　far　away；　rose　the
  melancholy；　velvet…soft　hooting　of　an　owl。
  Sylvia's　voice；　close　to　him；　said：
  〃Mark；　that　night　when　your　star　caught　in　my　hair？　　Do　you
  remember？〃
  Yes；　he　remembered。　　And　in　his　drowsy　mind　just　roused　from
  dreams；　there　turned　and　turned　the　queer　nonsensical　refrain：　〃I
  neverneverwill　desert　Mr。　Micawber。　。　。　。〃
  A　pleasant　month　thatof　reading；　and　walking　with　the　dogs　the
  country　round；　of　lying　out　long　hours　amongst　the　boulders　or
  along　the　river　banks；　watching　beasts　and　birds。
  The　little　old　green…house　temple　of　his　early　masterpieces　was
  still　extant；　used　now　to　protect　watering　pots。　　But　no　vestige　of
  impulse　towards　work　came　to　him　down　there。　　He　was　marking　time；
  not　restless；　not　bored；　just　waitingbut　for　what；　he　had　no
  notion。　　And　Sylvia；　at　any　rate；　was　happy；　blooming　in　these　old
  haunts；　losing　her　fairness　in　the　sun；　even　taking　again　to　a
  sunbonnet；　which　made　her　look　extraordinarily　young。　　The　trout
  that　poor　old　Gordy　had　so　harried　were　left　undisturbed。　　No　gun
  was　fired；　rabbits；　pigeons；　even　the　few　partridges　enjoyed　those
  first　days　of　autumn　unmolested。　　The　bracken　and　leaves　turned
  very　early；　so　that　the　park　in　the　hazy　September　sunlight　had　an
  almost　golden　hue。　　A　gentle　mellowness　reigned　over　all　that
  holiday。　　And　from　Ireland　came　no　further　news；　save　one　picture
  postcard　with　the　words：　〃This　is　our　house。NELL。〃
  In　the　last　week　of　September　they　went　back　to　London。　　And　at
  once　there　began　in　him　again　that　restless；　unreasonable　aching
  that　sense　of　being　drawn　away　out　of　himself；　so　that　he　once　more
  took　to　walking　the　Park　for　hours；　over　grass　already　strewn　with
  leaves；　always　lookingcravingand　for　what？
  At　Dromore's　the　confidential　man　did　not　know　when　his　master
  would　be　back；　he　had　gone　to　Scotland　with　Miss　Nell　after　the　St。
  Leger。　　Was　Lennan　disappointed？　　Not　sorelieved；　rather。　　But
  his　ache　was　there　all　the　time；　feeding　on　its　secrecy　and
  loneliness；　unmentionable　feeling　that　it　was。　　Why　had　he　not
  realized　long　ago　that　youth　was　over；　passion　done　with；　autumn
  upon　him？　　How　never　grasped　the　fact　that　'Time　steals　away'？
  And；　as　before；　the　only　refuge　was　in　work。　　The　sheepdogs　and
  'The　Girl　on　the　Magpie　Horse'　were　finished。　　He　began　a　fantastic
  'relief'a　nymph　peering　from　behind　a　rock；　and　a　wild…eyed　man
  creeping；　through　reeds；　towards　her。　　If　he　could　put　into　the
  nymph's　face　something　of　this　lure　of　Youth　and　Life　and　Love　that
  was　dragging　at　him；　into　the　man's　face　the　state　of　his　own
  heart；　it　might　lay　that　feeling　to　rest。　　Anything　to　get　it　out
  of　himself！　　And　he　worked　furiously；　laboriously；　all　October；
  making　no　great　progress。　。　。　。　　What　could　he　expect　when　Life　was
  all　the　time　knocking　with　that　muffled　tapping　at　his　door？
  It　was　on　the　Tuesday；　after　the　close　of　the　last　Newmarket
  meeting；　and　just　getting　dusk；　when　Life　opened　the　door　and
  walked　in。　　She　wore　a　dark…red　dress；　a　new　one；　and　surely　her
  faceher　figurewere　very　different　from　what　he　had　remembered！
  They　had　quickened　and　become　poignant。　　She　was　no　longer　a　child
  that　was　at　once　plain。　　Cheeks；　mouth；　neck；　waistall　seemed
  fined；　shaped；　the　crinkly；　light…brown　hair　was　coiled　up　now