zzically, "do you believe the
devil can be killed?"

"Not killed, my dear, at laist not by we, but we c'n drive en away."

"How, Mrs. Pethick?"

"Prayer, zur; prayer."

Leicester laughed.

"'Tes true, zur. Ther's 'ope fer the wust. As I zed to Franky Flew at
the last revival, I zed, 'Franky,

'While the lamp holds out to burn,
The vilest sinner may return!'"

"And what then, Mrs. Pethick?"

"Why, then you become a new man, zur."

A little while later he left the house. Of course it was all nonsense,
nevertheless the simple woman's talk made him better. The storm had now
gone, and the moors were bathed in evening sunlight. It was a wonderful
panorama which stretched out before him. The moors, which two hours
before were dark and forbidding, were now wondrous in their beauty. And
sunlight had done it all! Sunlight!

All through the evening he sat and thought. It seemed, from the look in
his eyes, that a new purpose had come into his life. The next day he
left his lonely lodgings, and found his way back to London. He went to a
part of the city which was far away from his old haunts, and to which he
was an utter stranger. No one recognised him, no one knew him in the
little hotel to which he went. He gave his name as Robert Baxter, as he
had given it to the old woman on the moors. Why he had come to London he
knew not, except that a great longing had come into his heart to be
again in the midst of the great surging life of the city. Nevertheless
he stayed in his room at the hotel. After a pretence at eating, he
picked up a newspaper. He glanced through it carelessly. He had lost
interest in life. The reports concerning the General Election did not
interest him. What mattered which set of puppets were at Westminster?
The whole business was an empty mockery. Presently, however, a paragraph
chained his attention:

"No news is yet to hand concerning the whereabouts of Mr. Radford
Leicester. Many suppose that he has left the country, while some are
afraid that the hints he dropped to the hotel proprietor at Taviton were
serious."

He had no idea that the London newspapers would comment on his
disappearance. He thought that he had dropped out of the life of the
world, and that no one cared. Presently he read the remainder of the
paragraph. Up to this time he had never thought of taking any particular
trouble about hiding his identity. The matter of giving another name was
mere acting on impulse.

He ran