"Don't you know why I came," she said at last impulsively--"It is because you are a man--because you have power and a great future. I want you to rouse yourself--I want you to make a stir in the world. This is what I have come to say to you--to preach a very simple doctrine. Make the best of things. There is room for you in great places, Enoch Strone. This generation is empty of strong men. Fill your life with ambitions and remember all those wonderful dreams of yours. Strive to realize them. Tell Milly about them; let her know each day how you are getting on. Come out of the crowd, Enoch, and let me feel that I have known one man in my life, at least, who was strong enough to climb to the hilltop with another's burden upon his shoulders." Under the spell of her words his apathy and indifference gave way. Life was there in her face--in her voice. He listened to her with kindling eyes, conscious that the old passion for life was moving once more in his veins--conscious, too, with a certain sense of wonder at the transformation, that this woman, who was pleading with him so earnestly, stood revealed in a wholly new light. The delicate vein of mockery, which sometimes gave to her most serious sayings an air of insincerity, as though conversation were a mere juggling with words, seemed to have passed away. She spoke without languor or weariness, and her words touched his heart--stirred his brain. The man in him leaped up, vigorous and eager. He faced her with glowing eyes. "If the burden had been twice as heavy," he cried, "I would bear it cheerfully now. Forever--" He stopped short. Some instinct told him that any further words were unnecessary. As she had spoken and looked, so would she remain to him forever. So he called her carriage, and once more her fingers rested in his great work-hardened hand. "Good-bye," she said, "and good fortune." When he reached the cottage Milly brought tea out to him, waited upon him breathlessly. The terrible gloom which had oppressed her so much had passed away. He was dressed in new and well-fitting clothes. Even to her untrained eye there was a wonderful change in his bearing and demeanor. "Milly," he said, "would you like to live in London?" The thought was like paradise. She strove to contain herself. "With you, Enoch--anywhere." "With me, certainly," he answered. "We shall go there next week. You will be able to have a decent house and servants. Dobell's are opening a London branch, and I shall have to manage it. I ought to have told you some of these things before. I had no right to keep them to myself. You will never be poor again, Milly. It seems as though we were going to be very rich." "Enoch! Enoch!" He smiled at the excitement which baffled speech.