, trembling out at last on the cry: "Ah, I know
it's not because you care so much for Westmore--it's only because you
want to get away from me!"

Amherst stared as if her words had flashed a light into the darkest
windings of his misery. "Yes--I want to get away..." he said; and he
turned and walked out of the room.

He went down to the smoking-room, and ringing for a servant, ordered
his horse to be saddled. The foot-man who answered his summons brought
the afternoon's mail, and Amherst, throwing himself down on the sofa,
began to tear open his letters while he waited.

He ran through the first few without knowing what he read; but presently
his attention was arrested by the hand-writing of a man he had known well
in college, and who had lately come into possession of a large cotton-mill
in the South. He wrote now to ask if Amherst could recommend a good
manager--"not one of your old routine men, but a young fellow with the new
ideas. Things have been in pretty bad shape down here," the writer added,
"and now that I'm in possession I want to see what can be done to civilize
the place"; and he went on to urge that Amherst should come down himself
to inspect the mills, and propose such improvements as his experience
suggested. "We've all heard of the great things you're doing at Westmore,"
the letter ended; and Amherst cast it from him with a groan....

It was Duplain's chance, of course...that was his first thought. He took
up the letter and read it over. He knew the man who wrote--no
sentimentalist seeking emotional variety from vague philanthropic
experiments, but a serious student of social conditions, now
unexpectedly provided with the opportunity to apply his ideas. Yes, it
was Duplain's chance--if indeed it might not be his own!... Amherst sat
upright, dazzled by the thought. Why Duplain--why not himself? Bessy had
spoken the illuminating word--what he wanted was to get away--to get
away at any cost! Escape had become his one thought: escape from the
bondage of Lynbrook, from the bitter memory of his failure at Westmore;
and here was the chance to escape back into life--into independence,
activity and usefulness! Every atrophied faculty in him suddenly started
from its torpor, and his brain throbbed with the pain of the
awakening.... The servant came to tell him that his horse waited, and he
sprang up, took his riding-whip from the rack, stared a moment,
absently, after the man's retreating back, and then dropp