aziness. He
would not lift his hand to reach for the things she took care to leave
at his very elbow. He would not move a limb; he would not rise from his
chair, he would not put one foot before another, in that parlour (where
he knew his way as well as if he had his sight), without calling her to
his side and hanging all his atrocious weight on her shoulder. He would
not eat one single mouthful of food without her close attendance. He had
made himself helpless beyond his affliction, to enslave her better. She
stood still for a moment, setting her teeth in the dusk, then turned and
walked slowly indoors.

Captain Hagberd went back to his spade. The shouting in Carvil's cottage
stopped, and after a while the window of the parlour downstairs was lit
up. A man coming from the end of the street with a firm leisurely step
passed on, but seemed to have caught sight of Captain Hagberd, because
he turned back a pace or two. A cold white light lingered in the western
sky. The man leaned over the gate in an interested manner.

"You must be Captain Hagberd," he said, with easy assurance.

The old man spun round, pulling out his spade, startled by the strange
voice.

"Yes, I am," he answered nervously.

The other, smiling straight at him, uttered very slowly: "You've been
advertising for your son, I believe?"

"My son Harry," mumbled Captain Hagberd, off his guard for once. "He's
coming home tomorrow."

"The devil he is!" The stranger marvelled greatly, and then went on,
with only a slight change of tone: "You've grown a beard like Father
Christmas himself."

Captain Hagberd drew a little nearer, and leaned forward over his
spade. "Go your way," he said, resentfully and timidly at the same time,
because he was always afraid of being laughed at. Every mental
state, even madness, has its equilibrium based upon self-esteem. Its
disturbance causes unhappiness; and Captain Hagberd lived amongst a
scheme of settled notions which it pained him to feel disturbed by
people's grins. Yes, people's grins were awful. They hinted at something
wrong: but what? He could not tell; and that stranger was obviously
grinning--had come on purpose to grin. It was bad enough on the streets,
but he had never before been outraged like this.

The stranger, unaware how near he was of having his head laid open with
a spade, said seriously: "I am not trespassing where I stand, am I? I
fancy there's something wrong about your news. Suppose you let me