both of these
rooms having bow windows, built with that broad sweep of curve which
makes for beauty instead of vulgarity. The house, Rendel had told his
wife with a smile when they came to it, he had furnished for her, with
the exception of one room in it; the study he had arranged for himself.
And it certainly was a room in which, to judge by appearances, a worker
need never be stopped in his work by the paltry need of any necessary
tool. Rendel was a man of almost exaggerated precision and order.
Everything lay ready to his hand in the place where he expected to find
it. A glance at his well-appointed writing-table gave evidence of it.
The back wall of the study, opposite the window, was lined with books.
On the wall over the fireplace hung a large map of Africa. Rendel looked
intently at it as he thought of the stirring pages of history that were
in the making on that huge, misshapen continent, of the field that it
was going to be for the statesmen and administrators of the future: he
thought of Lord Belmont, only two years older than himself, with whom he
had been at Eton and at Oxford, and wondered what it felt like to be in
his place and have the ball at one's feet. For Rendel in his heart was
burning with ambition of no ignoble kind. He was burning to do, to act,
and not to watch only; to take his part in shaping the destinies of his
fellow-men, to help the world into what he believed to be the right
path; and he would do it yet. In his mind that evening, as he stood
upright, intent, looking on into the future, there was not the shadow of
a doubt that he would carry out his purpose. He had come downstairs
smarting under the impression of Sir William's last words when they were
discussing the new Governor. Then he recovered, and reminded himself of
the obvious truism that the man occupied with politics must school
himself to have his opinions contradicted by his opponents, and must
make up his mind that there are as many people opposed to his way of
thinking in the world as agreeing with it. But it is one thing to engage
in a free fight in the open field, and another to keep parrying the
petty blows dealt by a persecuting antagonist. Day by day, hour by hour,
as the time went on, Rendel had to make a conscious effort to keep to
the line he had traced out for himself; he had to tighten his
resolution, to readjust his burden. The yoke of even a beloved
companionship may be willingly borne, but it is a yoke and a restr