He quitted the room as he spoke, to make his way out as he came--through the office. The lawyer stood in the passage and looked after him: and a thought, that had forced itself into his mind several times since this trouble set in, crossed it again. Should he make the best of a bad bargain: give Brook a chief place in his own office and let them set up in some pleasant little home near at hand? Ellin had her mother's money: and she would have a great deal more at his own death; quite enough to allow her husband to live the idle life of a gentleman--and William was a gentleman, and the nicest young fellow he knew. Should he? For a full minute Mr. Delorane stood deliberating--yes, or no; then he took a hasty step forward to call the young man back. Then, wavering and uncertain, he stepped back again, and let the idea pass. "Well, how have you sped?" asked Mr. St. George, as William Brook reappeared in the office. "Any hope?" "Yes, I think so," answered William. "At least, it is not absolutely forbidden. There's a line in a poem my mother would repeat to us when we were boys--'God and an honest heart will bear us through the roughest day.' I trust He, and it, will so bear me and Ellin." "Wish I had your chance, old fellow!" "My chance!" repeated William. "To go out to see the world; to go out to the countries where gold and diamonds are picked up for the stooping--instead of being chained, as I am, between four confined walls, condemned to spend my life over musty parchments." William smiled. "I don't know where you can pick up gold and diamonds for the stooping. Not where I am going." "No, not in New York. You should make your way to the Australian gold-fields, Brook, or to the rich Californian mines, or to the diamond mountains in Africa, and come back--as you would in no time--with a sack of money on your shoulders, large enough to satisfy even Delorane." "Or lose my health, if not my life, in digging, and come home without a shirt to my back; a more common result than the other, I fancy," remarked William. "Well, good-bye, old friend." St. George, towering aloft in his height and strength, put his arm around William's shoulder and walked thus with him to the street-entrance. There they shook hands, and parted. Ellin Delorane, her face shaded behind the drawing-room curtain from the October sun, watched the parting. There was to be no set farewell allowed to her. She understood that. But she gathered from Aunt Hester, during the day, that her father had not been altogether obdurate, and that if William could get on in the future, perhaps things might be suffered to come right. It brought to her a strange comfort. So very slight a ray, no bigger than one of the specks that fall from the sky, as children say, will serve to impart a most unreasonable amount of hope to the troubled heart.