to solace the gods.

In Cadover, the perilous house, Agnes had already parted from Mrs.
Failing. His thoughts returned to her. Was she, the soul of truth, in
safety? Was her purity vexed by the lies and selfishness? Would she
elude the caprice which had, he vaguely knew, caused suffering before?
Ah, the frailty of joy! Ah, the myriads of longings that pass without
fruition, and the turf grows over them! Better men, women as noble--they
had died up here and their dust had been mingled, but only their dust.
These are morbid thoughts, but who dare contradict them? There is much
good luck in the world, but it is luck. We are none of us safe. We
are children, playing or quarreling on the line, and some of us have
Rickie's temperament, or his experiences, and admit it.

So he mused, that anxious little speck, and all the land seemed to
comment on his fears and on his love.

Their path lay upward, over a great bald skull, half grass, half
stubble. It seemed each moment there would be a splendid view. The view
never came, for none of the inclines were sharp enough, and they
moved over the skull for many minutes, scarcely shifting a landmark or
altering the blue fringe of the distance. The spire of Salisbury did
alter, but very slightly, rising and falling like the mercury in a
thermometer. At the most it would be half hidden; at the least the
tip would show behind the swelling barrier of earth. They passed two
elder-trees--a great event. The bare patch, said Stephen, was owing to
the gallows. Rickie nodded. He had lost all sense of incident. In this
great solitude--more solitary than any Alpine range--he and Agnes
were floating alone and for ever, between the shapeless earth and the
shapeless clouds. An immense silence seemed to move towards them. A lark
stopped singing, and they were glad of it. They were approaching the
Throne of God. The silence touched them; the earth and all danger
dissolved, but ere they quite vanished Rickie heard himself saying, "Is
it exactly what we intended?"

"Yes," said a man's voice; "it's the old plan." They were in another
valley. Its sides were thick with trees. Down it ran another stream
and another road: it, too, sheltered a string of villages. But all
was richer, larger, and more beautiful--the valley of the Avon below
Amesbury.

"I've been asleep!" said Rickie, in awestruck tones.

"Never!" said the other facetiously. "Pleasant dreams?"

"Perhaps--I'm really tired of apologizing to