They went a last time to the city.... There was a place for a chair, and they had seen an old urn in a by-street which belonged near the Spring. They felt that these products of men had to be just so, and that they had earned a great boon in being given a part at stone cottage. The things that were brought there must endure; must reason together in long leisure concord, putting on the same inner hue at the last and mellowing together as old friends, or old mates. This time, Bellair’s eyes did not meet the city quite as before; it was not as a stranger exactly, who rambles through a port while his ship lies in the offing. His real berth was an hour’s ride back from the city and made of stone. Perhaps later he would find work to do here.... A child passed them in the store, and brought the change after their purchase--a boy of twelve or fourteen, his face old with care. It made Bellair think of Davy Acton at Lot & Company’s. They bought a bit of glass, a bit of silver, some linen and a rug, and rode home with their arms full. Another letter had come from one of the Island headquarters of Stackhouse, in answer to Bellair’s inquiry concerning affairs. The papers in the wallet had given him clues to the various insular interests; and the replies, without exception, represented the attitudes of agents ready and open to authority from without. Stackhouse had left no centre of force that appeared to have vitality enough to rise in its own responsibility. Bellair saw that sooner or later he must make a visit to these different interests, and that the place of the wallet for the time being, at least, amounted to headquarters. He wrote as explicitly as possible in reply to the letters, promised to call in due course, established a freedom where his judgment permitted, but felt the whole vast business very loosely in hand. New York was first, and it became very clear to him, especially on this night, that New York must be entered upon without further delay. There was a thrill of dismay in the thought of the weeks that had passed, and the dreaming. Dreams were good. He had needed these days; great adjustments and healings had taken place. It had been the pleasant lull between the old and new, the only rest his life had known, in fact. All its beauty was massed into the period--but the dreams must be turned into action now. A man may stay just so long in joy. There are moments in every life when the hour strikes for parting. The lover does well to leave his lady then quickly. There is an understanding in the world that the woman invariably whispers, _Stay_, but very often an organisation of force that makes austerity possible, does not come from the man alone. If the moment of parting passes, the two still lingering together, a shadow enters between them, blurring their faces for each other’s eyes, dimming the dream.