, already half-forgotten, conventionalized, indistinct. Of course
death is a terrible thing. Yet death is merciful when it weeds out a
failure. If we look deep enough, it is all for the best. He stared at
the picture and nodded.

Stephen, who had met his visitor at the station, had intended to drive
him back there. But after their spurt of temper he sent him with the
boy. He remained in the doorway, glad that he was going to make money,
glad that he had been angry; while the glow of the clear sky deepened,
and the silence was perfected, and the scents of the night grew
stronger. Old vagrancies awoke, and he resolved that, dearly as he
loved his house, he would not enter it again till dawn. "Goodnight!" he
called, and then the child came running, and he whispered, "Quick, then!
Bring me a rug." "Good-night," he repeated, and a pleasant voice called
through an upper window, "Why good-night?" He did not answer until the
child was wrapped up in his arms.

"It is time that she learnt to sleep out," he cried. "If you want me,
we're out on the hillside, where I used to be."

The voice protested, saying this and that.

"Stewart's in the house," said the man, "and it cannot matter, and I am
going anyway."

"Stephen, I wish you wouldn't. I wish you wouldn't take her. Promise
you won't say foolish things to her. Don't--I wish you'd come up for a
minute--"

The child, whose face was laid against his, felt the muscles in it
harden.

"Don't tell her foolish things about yourself--things that aren't any
longer true. Don't worry her with old dead dreadfulness. To please
me--don't."

"Just tonight I won't, then."

"Stevie, dear, please me more--don't take her with you."

At this he laughed impertinently. "I suppose I'm being kept in line,"
she called, and, though he could not see her, she stretched her arms
towards him. For a time he stood motionless, under her window, musing on
his happy tangible life. Then his breath quickened, and he wondered why
he was here, and why he should hold a warm child in his arms. "It's time
we were starting," he whispered, and showed the sky, whose orange was
already fading into green. "Wish everything goodnight."

"Good-night, dear mummy," she said sleepily. "Goodnight, dear house.
Good-night, you pictures--long picture--stone lady. I see you through
the window--your faces are pink."

The twilight descended. He rested his lips on her hair, and carried her,
without speaking, until he reache