Maurice Hilliard
had spent most of his life in the Midland capital; to its grammar
school he owed an education just sufficiently prolonged to unfit him
for the tasks of an underling, yet not thorough enough to qualify him
for professional life. In boyhood he aspired to the career of an
artist, but his father, himself the wreck of a would-be painter, rudely
discouraged this ambition; by way of compromise between the
money-earning craft and the beggarly art, he became a
mechanical-draughtsman. Of late years he had developed a strong taste
for the study of architecture; much of his leisure was given to this
subject, and what money he could spare went in the purchase of books
and prints which helped him to extend his architectural knowledge. In
moods of hope, he had asked himself whether it might not be possible to
escape from bondage to the gods of iron, and earn a living in an
architect's office. That desire was now forgotten in his passionate
resolve to enjoy liberty without regard for the future.

All his possessions, save the articles of clothing which he would carry
with him, were packed in a couple of trunks, to be sent on the morrow
to Birmingham, where they would lie in the care of his friend
Narramore. Kinsfolk he had none whom he cared to remember, except his
sister; she lived at Wolverhampton, a wife and mother, in narrow but
not oppressive circumstances, and Hilliard had taken leave of her in a
short visit some days ago. He would not wait for the wedding of his
sister-in-law enough that she was provided for, and that his conscience
would always be at ease on her account.

For he was troubled with a conscience--even with one unusually
poignant. An anecdote from his twentieth year depicts this feature of
the man. He and Narramore were walking one night in a very poor part of
Birmingham, and for some reason they chanced to pause by a
shop-window--a small window, lighted with one gas-jet, and laid out
with a miserable handful of paltry wares; the shop, however, was newly
opened, and showed a pathetic attempt at cleanliness and neatness. The
friends asked each other how it could possibly benefit anyone to embark
in such a business as that, and laughed over the display. While he was
laughing, Hilliard became aware of a woman in the doorway, evidently
the shopkeeper; she had heard their remarks and looked distressed.
Infinitely keener was the pang which Maurice experienced; he could not
forgive himself, kept exclaim