So Thyrsis went to his room, and saw a flat package lying on the bed. He stared at it, startled, and then picked it up and read the label upon it. “Why--why!--” he gasped; and then he seized a pair of scissors and cut the string and opened it. It was his manuscript! With trembling fingers he turned it over. There was a letter with it, and he snatched it up. “We regret,” it read, “that we cannot make you an offer for the publication of your book. Thanking you for the privilege of examining it, we are very truly yours.” And that was all! “They’ve rejected the book!” gasped Thyrsis; and the two stared at each other with consternation and horror in their eyes. That was a possibility that had never occurred to Thyrsis in his wildest moment. That anyone in his senses could reject that book! That anyone could read a single chapter of it and not see what it was! “They only had it five days!” he exclaimed; and instantly an explanation flashed across his mind. “I don’t believe they read it!” he cried. “I don’t believe they ever looked at it!” But, read or unread, there was the manuscript--rejected. There was no appeal from the decision; there was no explanation, no apology--they had simply rejected it! It was like a blow in the face to Thyrsis; he felt like a woman whose love is spurned. “Oh the fools! The miserable fools!” he cried. But he could not bring much comfort to his soul by that method. The seriousness of it remained. The publishing-house was one of the largest and most prosperous in the country; and if they were fools, how many more fools might there not be among those who stood between him and the public? And if so, what would he do? Section 6. So these two began their life under the shadow of a cloud. At the very first hour, when they should have been all rapture, there had come into the chamber of their hearts this grisly spectre--that was to haunt them for so many years! But they clenched their hands grimly, and put the thought aside, and moved their worldly goods to the two tiny rooms. When they had got their trunks in, there was no place to sit save on the beds; and though Corydon had cast away all superfluities for this pilgrimage, still it was a puzzle to know where to put things. But what of that--they were together at last! What an ecstasy it was to be actually unpacking, and to be mingling their effects! A kind of symbol it was of their spiritual union, so that the most commonplace things became touched with meaning. Thyrsis thrilled when the other brought in an armful of books to him--all this wealth was to be added to his store! He owned no books himself, save a few text-books, and some volumes of poetry that he knew by heart. Other books he had borrowed all his life from libraries; and he often thought with wonder that there were people who would pay a dollar or two for a book which they did not mean to read but once!