iend had brought him in. He too had become a little
painted figure and he was bearing a book in his hand. He wanted to show
that the laws of the new world could not be the same as those of the
old, and the book he was bringing as evidence was his own Psychology of
a New Age.

The clear thought of that book broke up his dream by releasing a train
of waking troubles.... You have been six months on Chapter Ten; will it
ever be ready for Osiris?... will it ever be ready for print?...

Dream and waking thoughts were mingled like sky and cloud upon a windy
day in April. Suddenly he saw again that lonely figure on the narrow way
with darknesses above and darknesses below and darknesses on every hand.
But this time it was not Sir Richmond.... Who was it? Surely it was
Everyman. Everyman had to travel at last along that selfsame road,
leaving love, leaving every task and every desire. But was it
Everyman?... A great fear and horror came upon the doctor. That little
figure was himself! And the book which was his particular task in life
was still undone. He himself stood in his turn upon that lonely path
with the engulfing darknesses about him....

He seemed to wrench himself awake.

He lay very still for some moments and then he sat up in bed. An
overwhelming conviction had arisen--in his mind that Sir Richmond was
dead. He felt he must know for certain. He switched on his electric
light, mutely interrogated his round face reflected in the looking
glass, got out of bed, shuffled on his slippers and went along the
passage to the telephone. He hesitated for some seconds and then lifted
the receiver. It was his call which aroused the nurse to the fact of Sir
Richmond's death.

Section 6

Lady Hardy arrived home in response to Dr. Martineau's telegram late
on the following evening. He was with her next morning, comforting
and sympathetic. Her big blue eyes, bright with tears, met his very
wistfully; her little body seemed very small and pathetic in its simple
black dress. And yet there was a sort of bravery about her. When he came
into the drawing-room she was in one of the window recesses talking to
a serious-looking woman of the dressmaker type. She left her business at
once to come to him. "Why did I not know in time?" she cried.

"No one, dear lady, had any idea until late last night," he said, taking
both her hands in his for a long friendly sympathetic pressure.

"I might have known that if it had been possible you wou