rom him. He sacrificed an undergarment as a towel, then dressed
himself quickly; and, suffused by the new, living spirit, he turned
his steps townward again.

But he could not go home to his lodgings and sleep. It was a small
confined bed-room he had taken, whereas he felt the need of breathing
deep of the full wind that had by now sprung up. He felt that the open
night brought inspiration, and he wished, too, to yield to all the
activity that urged within him. He passed again by the harbour,
plunged into the town and through the streets that ran up the
hill-side to the castle.

Action, action, action! He had come through the crisis with miraculous
strength, with inexhaustible energy. On, on, through the grey night,
exulting in the wind even as he had exulted in the sea!

Meanwhile his plans were coming to him.

He had often, in his bitter moments, envied the bricklayer and the
cobbler. Why should _he_ not begin to learn a trade even now?

He was conscious of intelligence, of patience, of the desire to
labour. Why should not Kettering give him a chance in his workshop?
The old man had shown him real kindness and was evidently
well-disposed towards him. He felt sure he could enlist his sympathy,
for, despite the apparent limitation of his interests, Simon Kettering
had impressed him as having, in a general way, a keen understanding of
things. The vulgarity of life in that household was but a small
consideration to him now. His vow never to return to it had been made
when he had taken the old vision of things. His new and saner vision
made him see that vow was a mistake. Was he not strong enough to defy
the corrosiveness of a mean, vulgar atmosphere? Nay, his life, by its
own inner force, would flow impervious to such influence.

To labour, and by the work of his own hands to pay those whom Cleo had
wronged!

Not till he had done this would he feel true to himself; not till then
would he deem himself worthy of the love of those who were dear to
him.

It were easy to fall back on his father's generosity, to live an empty
life of indolence; but that would not give him that respect of self
which alone could keep him attuned to the harmonies of being, and thus
bring him the longed-for peace of spirit. For his sense of life was
the sum of his inner moods, and no mere superficial remedy could
inform them with that pure flowingness that constitutes happiness.

To go though the discipline he had set himself, to labour