ght be prolonged through years of labor and sordid care. Why
were they bound to endure this? Why could they not give up all for just
a few days of happiness? Percival longed intensely for a glimpse of
beauty, for a little space of warmth and love, of wealth and liberty.
Let their life thus blossom together into joy, and he would be content
that it should be, like the flowering of the aloe, followed by swift and
inevitable death. Only let the death be shared like the life! It would
be bitter and terrible to be struck down in their gladness, but if they
had truly lived they might be satisfied to die. Percival used to fancy
what they might do in one glorious, golden, sunlit week, brilliant
against a black background of death. How free they would be to spend all
they possessed without a thought for the future! Nothing could pall upon
them, and he pictured to himself how every sense would be quickened, how
passion would gather strength and tenderness, during those brief days,
and rise to its noblest height to meet the end. His imagination revelled
in the minute details of the picture, adding one by one a thousand
touches of beauty and joy till the dream was lifelike in its loveliness.
He could pass in a moment from his commonplace world to this enchanted
life with Judith. Living alone, and half starving himself in the attempt
to pay his debts, he was in a fit state to see visions and dream dreams.
But they only made his present life more distasteful to him, and the
more he dreamed of Judith the more he felt that he had nothing to offer
her.

He was summoned abruptly from his fairyland one night by the arrival of
Mrs. Bryant. She made her appearance rather suddenly, and sat down on a
chair by the door to have a little chat with her lodger. "I came back
this afternoon," she said. "I didn't tell Lydia: where was the use of
bothering about writing to her? Besides, I could just have a look round,
and see how Emma'd done the work while I was away, and how things had
gone on altogether." She nodded her rusty black cap confidentially at
Percival. It was sprinkled with bugles, which caught the light of his
solitary candle.

"I hope you found all right," he said.

"Pretty well," Mrs. Bryant allowed. "It's a mercy when there's no
illness nor anything of that kind, though, if you'll excuse my saying
it, Mr. Thorne, you ain't looking as well yourself as I should have
liked to see you."

"Oh, I am all right, thank you," said Percival.