Hester was nothing loth to fall in with her husband's suggestion. The prospect of a quiet hour within the sound of the waves was welcome to her. She felt weary and dispirited, and had thought many times of telling her husband she did not feel able to join in the festivity of the evening. The episode, which seemed to have passed all too lightly over him, had left a deep mark on her sensitive heart. Not only did she feel wounded and shamed at the exhibition her husband had made of himself, but she mourned the loss of her faithful friend. After being so wantonly insulted, never, probably, would Mark Cheveril and she meet again. Not even his chivalrous kindness could be proof against the unjust taunts levelled against him by the man she now felt ashamed to own as her husband. She suspected indeed that his attitude that morning was assumed on purpose to put a stop to the friendship, and in losing Mark, she felt sorrowfully, she had lost her only real friend--except indeed, Mrs. Fellowes. But never, even to her, could she unfold the pass to which her husband's extraordinary behaviour had brought matters. She must go on suffering in absolute silence, she decided, with a more conscious effort at resignation to her lot than she had yet made. Truly the tools were sharp, she thought, with a long-drawn sigh, recalling Mark's parable of the rough block in the making. Much indeed was being chiselled off, but as Mark had said, they must trust to the Master Sculptor. Only yesterday there had come to Hester what she interpreted as a farewell gift from the friend she might see no more. She knew the token must be from him, though the brown book bore no evidence as to its sender. She felt sure it was none other than Mark when she read the marked poem. That metaphor of the Potter's Wheel had already become like an inspiration to her. The book lay on her knees now as she drove to the beach, and drawing it from beneath the carriage-wrap, she turned to the poem to ponder once more its deep meaning in reference to herself. All her life she had been brought up in a religious atmosphere, though her attitude towards that side of life had been in part more traditional than personal. It was only lately since the sore need of her heart craved a refuge that she had come to find the "very present help" for herself, and now every hour of every day she was seeking it and finding it. During the last hours she had travelled far on that eventful journey. She felt that till travelling days were done, and perhaps in the "new beginning" of which Mark had spoken, she would always connect the crisis in her life with the noble words of "Rabbi Ben Ezra."