they were far from the
house Gilmore had changed the conversation and fallen back upon his
own sorrows. He had not answered Mary's letter, and now declared
that he did not intend to do so. What could he say to her? He
could not write and profess friendship; he could not offer her
his congratulations; he could not belie his heart by affecting
indifference. She had thrown him over, and now he knew it. Of what
use would it be to write to her and tell her that she had made him
miserable for ever? "I shall break up the house and get away," said
he.

"Don't do that rashly, Harry. There can be no spot in the world in
which you can be so useful as you are here."

"All my usefulness has been dragged out of me. I don't care about the
place or about the people. I am ill already, and shall become worse.
I think I will go abroad for four or five years. I've an idea I shall
go to the States."

"You'll become tired of that, I should think."

"Of course I shall. Everything is tiresome to me. I don't think
anything else can be so tiresome as my uncle, and yet I dread his
leaving me,--when I shall be alone. I suppose if one was out among
the Rocky Mountains, one wouldn't think so much about it."

"Atra Cura sits behind the horseman," said the Vicar. "I don't know
that travelling will do it. One thing certainly will do it."

"And what is that?"

"Hard work. Some doctor told his patient that if he'd live on
half-a-crown a day and earn it, he'd soon be well. I'm sure that the
same prescription holds good for all maladies of the mind. You can't
earn the half-crown a day, but you may work as hard as though you
did."

"What shall I do?"

"Read, dig, shoot, look after the farm, and say your prayers. Don't
allow yourself time for thinking."

"It's a fine philosophy," said Gilmore, "but I don't think any man
ever made himself happy by it. I'll leave you now."

"I'd go and dig, if I were you," said the Vicar.

"Perhaps I will. Do you know, I've half an idea that I'll go to
Loring."

"What good will that do?"

"I'll find out whether this man is a blackguard. I believe he is. My
uncle knows something about his father, and says that a bigger scamp
never lived."

"I don't see what good you can do, Harry," said the Vicar. And so
they parted.

Fenwick was about half a mile from the mill when Gilmore left him,
and he wished that it were a mile and a half. He knew well that an
edict had gone forth at the mill that no one should sp