Mightier than the Sword

painful uncertainty, when his mind was troubled with unsatisfied yearnings and half-understood desires. He was able one day to look back upon it all, with

sed his palate, hungry for adventure, and this was a part of life that

Rivers, and the long toil of the day were forgotten in a moment, such was the miracle of her being. It seemed impossible to him, on that day, that unhappiness and failure could darken his world. Ther

t alone in some solitary forest, when all the colours of the world were rushing to the clouds, in the hours of the sunset. H

re was nothing to say but "Good-morning," and halting, nervous things about the weather, and t

it necessary for him to mask and screen his emotions with absurd talk that only seemed to waste precious opportunities? She rose before him in his imagination, amazingly distinct and real, no longer a shadow, but a real person. He conjured her presence at will be

now, would be sacrilege. There was but one man who, he thought, would understand

own. And yet, she gave no sign. There was always an air of chastened constraint about them both. He helped her adjust her fluffy feather

1

e was given an assignment just at the very hour they had set apart for themselves—it was done by a hurried scrawl on office paper—"Dear Miss Filmer, I'm so sorry," and so forth. O

k, and said, "Oh—please, please don't, Mr Quain." She had even laid her hand upon his, with a persuasiv

very per

she would be strangely distant, as though she regretted the progress they had made. Or else, she would be provokingly casual, and wound him deliberately in his weakest spot. She would call him a boy, with a little smile and play of the eyebro

became so magnified in importance to him. When by virtue of The Day he got behind the scenes of any phase of

ice thirty men who are doing the same thing,

e thought him vain. They very

ehead, who exuded cheeriness. He was a professional optimist. He used to depress the reporters' room with his boisterous happiness: he

kes you feel glad that you're alive, doesn't it? Ah! my boy, it's fine to see

he weather, unless I'm writing abo

like this.... By the way, would you like to have two stalls for the Garrick to-morrow. It's the same old play the

aving in his wake a trail of chuckling optimism. It happened to be a Saturday night, when he was quite free, and so he arranged with

r. She was to meet him at a quarter to seven, and it was now five minutes to the hour and she had not come. He stood there, absolutely white with the tension of the passing moments. It seemed that he had been waiting an eternity, and he

n o'

th could ha

ent to make the evening glorious for him. The suspense was really terrible. There was nothing to do except to watch the newsboys cheerily gathering the magazines and papers together into piles, and shuttering the bookstall. He saw people running for t

en he was still

[128] waiting for her on the moment. How little she cared if she could not even be punctual to the tim

to be very angry wit

come through the crowd at the wicket-gate, floating towards him, it seemed, like a cloud of filmy, fluffy w

f you'd be here." (As if he had not been

anything, it made her look more beautiful, as it rose in little waves from her forehead and fell about her ears in wa

n, to guide her through the clumsy throng of station people. Her arm was warm an

everyday things, though all the time, with her by his sid

never coming," he sa

"I couldn't help it. I ran like mad, and j

1

m in evening-dress. He was passed on from waiter to waiter until a table was found, and then Lilian unfastened her white cloak, and he helped her to take it off, with a queer sensation of awe and wonder. She stood before him transformed, another Lilian from the one he had known in the street where they worked. He w

e theatre, and he bought her chocolates, and they sat in the stalls, side by side, for nearly three hours. He tried to appear normal—impossible! He knew what was coming: he fought against it for quite a long time, but some primeval instinct in him was stronger than his will—his hand sought hers, when the lights were low, and closed upon it. If she had withdrawn her hand, the whole castle of[130] his dream would have come crashing about his ears. But she did not: she let it rest there. Once or twice he glanced at her sidewise, but she seemed oblivious of him. Her gaze was fixed on th

e, he leaned towards her and kissed her on the lips. She gave a little dry sob, and her head drooped on his shoulder, so that he could bend over her and kiss her with all the impetuous lon

ew world, whose music beat gloriously on his ears, and who

ispered, calling her by he

ght," she said.... "

" he sai

ictoria: romance dropped away from her as the Park was

ve kissed me.... I

ble to him. It jarred. He, too

ht, of course," she sai

sitively. "It's for to-

ed in a clatter of horses' hoofs and hissing of steam, and

Humphrey, as he stood

she whispered.

s flag. Humphrey's heart was bursting w

"Good-night and thank yo

se of it. She was leaning out of the window, and h

ou. I'll write t

cries of "Stand away there," and

tter, and told her all the things he had be