the fierce combat which he had waged day by
day. He had fought his battle and he had won--where were the fruits
of his victory? A puny, miserable little creature like Dickenson could
prate of happiness and turn a shining face to the future--Dickenson who
lived upon a pittance, who depended upon the whim of his employer, and
who confessed to ambitions which were surely pitiable. Trent lit a fresh
cigar and smiled; things would surely come right with him--they must.
What Dickenson could gain was surely his by right a thousand times over.

He took the train for Walton, travelling first class, and treated with
much deference by the officials on the line. As he alighted and passed
through the booking-hall into the station-yard a voice hailed him. He
looked up sharply. A carriage and pair of horses was waiting, and inside
a young woman with a very smart hat and a profusion of yellow hair.

"Come on, General," she cried. "I've done a skip and driven down to meet
you. Such jokes when they miss me. The old lady will be as sick as they
make 'em. Can't we have a drive round for an hour, eh?"

Her voice was high-pitched and penetrating. Listening to it Trent
unconsciously compared it with the voices of the women of that other
world into which he had wandered earlier in the afternoon. He turned a
frowning face towards her.

"You might have spared yourself the trouble," he said shortly. "I didn't
order a carriage to meet me and I don't want one. I am going to walk
home."

She tossed her head.

"What a beastly temper you're in!" she remarked. "I'm not particular
about driving. Do you want to walk alone?"

"Exactly!" he answered. "I do!"

She leaned back in the carriage with heightened colour.

"Well, there's one thing about me," she said acidly. "I never go where I
ain't wanted."

Trent shrugged his shoulders and turned to the coachman.

"Drive home, Gregg," he said. "I'm walking."

The man touched his hat, the carriage drove off, and Trent, with a grim
smile upon his lips, walked along the dusty road. Soon he paused before
a little white gate marked private, and, unlocking it with a key which
he took from his pocket, passed through a little plantation into a large
park-like field. He took off his hat and fanned himself thoughtfully as
he walked. The one taste which his long and absorbing struggle with the
giants of Capel Court had never weakened was his love for the country.
He lifted his head to taste the breeze which