seeing
the still green waters of the lake, the tall and delicate green
mountains lifting their spires into the blue, he would return from his
journey along the ways of terror, and, dazed, like a tired traveller, he
would stare at the face of beauty. Or when he worked by night, after
hours during which the swift action of the brain had rendered him deaf
to the sounds without, suddenly he would become aware of the chime of
bells, of bells in the quiet waters and on the dreaming shores. And he
would lift his head and listen, till the strangeness of night, and of
the world with its frightful crimes and soft enchantments, stirred and
enthralled his soul. And he compared his two lives, this by the quiet
lake, alone, filled with research and dreams, and that in the roar of
London, with people streaming through his room. And he seemed to himself
two men, perhaps more than two.

Soon the four weeks by the lake were gone. Then followed two weeks of
travel--Milan, Munich, Berlin, Paris. And then he was home again.

He had heard nothing of Nigel, nothing of Mrs. Chepstow.

September died away in the brown arms of October, and at last a letter
came from Nigel. It was written from Stacke House, a shooting-lodge in
Scotland, and spoke of his speedy return to the South.

"I am shooting with Harwich," he wrote, "but must soon be thinking about
my return to Egypt. I didn't write to you before, though I wanted to
thank you for your visit to Mrs. Chepstow. You can't think how she
appreciated it. She was delighted by your brilliant talk and sense of
humour, but still more delighted by your cordiality and kindness. Of
late she hasn't had very much of the latter commodity, and she was quite
bowled over. By Jove, Isaacson, if men realized what a little true
kindness means to those who are down on their luck, they'd have to 'fork
out,' if only to get the return of warm affection. But they don't
realize.

"I sometimes think the truest thing said since the Creation is that
'They know not what they do.' Add, 'and what they leave undone,' and you
have an explanation of most of the world's miseries. Good-bye, old chap.
I shall come to Cleveland Square directly I get to London. Thank you for
that visit. Yours ever, Nigel Armine."

Nigel's enthusiasm seemed almost visibly to exhale from the paper as
Isaacson held the letter in his hands. "Your cordiality and kindness."
So that had struck Mrs. Chepstow--the cordiality and kindness of his,
Isaac