to England. From this point
on I made no secret of my intentions, and a very kindly reply came
from Mrs. Perkins in Dursley to the letter in which I told her of my
plan. At a venture I addressed a letter to Ted, my old friend of
_Livorno_ days; but it brought no answer. Neither had the letter of
nearly four years earlier, in which his loan of one pound had been
returned with warm thanks.

The months slipped by, and the fourth anniversary of my start in
Sydney arrived; and still I postponed from day to day the final step
of resigning my appointment, and booking my passage. I cannot explain
this at all, for I had become more and more eager for the adventure
with every passing month. I do not think timidity restrained me. No, I
fancy a kind of epicurean pleasure in the hourly consciousness that I
was able now to take the step so soon as I chose induced me to prolong
the savouring of it; just as I have sometimes found myself
deliberately refraining for hours, and even for a day or so, from
opening a parcel of books which I have desired and looked forward to
enjoying for some time previously.

The awakening from this sort of epicurean dalliance was, as the event
proved, somewhat sharp and abrupt.

I did presently resign my post and engage my second-class berth in the
mail steamer _Orion_. Upon this reservation I paid a deposit of twenty
pounds; and it seemed that when my passage had been fully paid, and
one or two other necessary expenses met, I might still have my two
hundred pounds intact to carry with me to England.

Thus I felt that I was handsomely provided for; and, upon the whole, I
think the average person who has reached middle life, at all events,
would find it easy to regard with understanding tolerance the fact
that I was rather proud of what I had accomplished. It really was
something, all the attendant circumstances being taken into account.
But, perhaps, it is not always safe to trust too implicitly in the
genial old faith that Providence helps those who help themselves;
though the complementary theory, that Providence does not help those
who do not help themselves, may be pretty generally correct. Maybe I
was too complaisant. (If I have a superstition to-day, it is that a
jealous Nemesis keeps vengeful watch upon human complaisance.)

On a certain Thursday morning, and in a mood of some elation, I walked
into the bank to close my account. The amount was two hundred and
forty-seven pounds ten shillings.