“And this is what I’m getting at. _You’ve_ got the chance to use it. I can’t yet. I seem to be all clotted with what I want, but you can! You did. You pulled me out of the crowd, not knowing me at all--made me come to you--changed me. You can _give_ with your singing--to hundreds--so that they will answer in their thoughts, and do things strange to themselves at first. They’ll want to die for you--but that isn’t the thing for you. You must want to sing for them--want to give them your soul all the time. Greater things will come to you than this--this which makes you happy. All that the world could give you--you will come to see--doesn’t matter--but what you can give the world----” He saw her falling away from his story. It crippled him. He did not think he could fail so utterly. “But you _were_ a thief,” she said. “I--was what?” “You preach all the time, but you were a thief----” He had heard aright. His hand reached for the wallet, that contained the letter from Lot & Company, but fell from it again. “If you like,” he answered, “but I saw a beast die in the open boat--and saw a saint die----” “You preach--preach--preach!” she cried, and her own points of view returned with greater intensity. “You’ve been kind--but, oh, you bore me so! You have been kind--but oh, don’t think you fail to make one pay the price! You were sunstruck, or crazed--and you come back preaching. I’m sick of you--just in my highest day, after the months of struggle--I hate you----” Bellair heard a ship’s bell. It was dark about him--a cool, serene dark. The air fanned him softly and sweet; the place rocked--just for an instant, as if he were at sea. “I hate you when you preach,” she finished. Her voice was softer. He knew she was smiling, but did not look at her face. She had delivered him. He was calm, and ineffably free, the circle finished. “_Oh, that we two were Maying_----” he muttered, his thoughts far down the seas--remote and insular, serene and homing thoughts. “It takes two to sing that,” she said. “Yes.” “But, I’m so sick of that----” “You must have sung it many times,” he said. He did not want to linger. A certain hush had come to her from him. It was not yet three.... He seemed surprised to find it broad day in the street. She touched his sleeve, drawing him to the curb, away from the crowds which astonished him. Clearly something was wrong with his head. “Bessie--before your salary begins--have you everything? Isn’t there something----?” She smiled and hesitated. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m so glad I thought of it,” he said, drawing forth the brown wallet. His gift bewildered her, but she did not ask him this time what he wanted. Instead she asked: “But where are you going?” “Why, Bessie, I’m going home.” PART SEVEN THE STONE HOUSE: II 1