long before the
doctor gave permission, and within a week of settling his account I
was once more living a life of which he would have strongly
disapproved; though it certainly was a very much less wearing and
unwholesome one than the life I had always lived in London. But, as
against that, I now had a good deal less in the way of staying power
and force of resistance. So far from having paid up in full, and wiped
off all old scores, in the matter of those first years in London, I
had barely discharged the first instalment of a penalty which was to
prove part and parcel of every subsequent year in my life. And yet, as
I have said, I sometimes think that doctor gave me my chance, if only
it had been in me to live by his instructions. But, apparently, it was
not.

II

Sidney Heron, the man who had introduced me to the country round about
Leith Hill, was the first visitor received in my Dorking lodging. He
came one Saturday morning when I had resumed work (though the doctor
knew it not), and returned to town on the Sunday night.

I think Heron enjoyed his visit, though, out of consideration for my
lack of condition, he walked less than he would have chosen. It was a
real pleasure to me to have him there; and, in the retrospect, I can
clearly see that I was powerfully stimulated by talk with him on
literary subjects. So much was this so, that on the Saturday night
when I lay down in bed I found my brain in a ferment of activity. I
read for half an hour; but even then, after blowing out my candle, the
plots of new books, ideas for future work, literary schemes of every
sort and kind, all promising quite remarkable success, were spinning
through my mind in most exhilarating fashion. The morning found me
somewhat weary, though not unpleasantly so; and consideration of all
this made me realise, as I had not realised before, the isolation and
retirement of my life there in Dorking; the very marked change it
represented from the busy routine of days spent in the _Advocate_
office. I prized my retirement more than ever after this.

'For,' I thought, 'of what use or purport was all that ceaseless
mental stress and fret in London? It was all quite barren and
fruitless, really. Whereas, here--one can develop thoughts here. This
life makes creative work possible.'

I am afraid I gave no credit to Heron, or to the stimulating effects
upon my own mind of contact with his bracing, if somewhat harsh,
intelligence. All was attr