He drew a deep breath. “At last!” “I believe in you.” “You are not saying that only to comfort met” “No; you know that I am not.” “To come back—to go on—to face it all.” “It's the hardest thing and the finest thing—I shall know—I shall always remember.” As he looked at her he knew that he might kiss her and that she would not have drawn back—but she was not his. He faced it out in that brief moment—all the ignominy, the mockery, the drudgery—the hell that Moffatt's was. Was it really his chance? Was he really in some way a new man, or was it only the passing emotion that moved him? Could he do anything still with his poor old wreck of a soul? There was a long silence. They had reached Rayner's Point. Here the sea swept, in a great arc to left and right. Sea and sky were very faintly blue. The sun broke the golden bands that bound it, the light flooded the brown earth of the winter fields, the shining mist glittered through the brown wood that hung like a cloud behind them on the horizon, a white gull, breaking the stillness with its cries, swerved past them out to sea. Perrin drew a deep breath. “If you will help me, I 'll come back,” he said. The new day shone about their heads. IV. Later, at the Comber's breakfast-table there was confusion. Mrs. Comber was flushed and happy. It was true that this happy release was only for a few weeks, but her “Freddie” was more genial and pleasant than he had been since the days of their honeymoon and her boys were returning that afternoon. “Freddie—another sausage—Oh! My dear Isabel, here's a bill from that dressmaker again and she sent one only last week; she can't leave one alone. Really, Freddie, another one won't hurt you—and I told her only a month ago that I couldn't pay for that black silk until Easter—well, some marmalade, then, if you won't have another—what train did you say you were going to catch, Isabel? I'm so glad it's a sunny day—you were up quite early weren't you, dear?—and I meant to go in and see what Mrs. Dormer had to say about yesterday afternoon, you know, Mr. Perrin—and now I shan't have a minute because Jane's been so silly about Freddie's shirts and his pyjamas—she missed them when they came from the wash, so that really it—but what did you think of it all, Isabel dear?” “Of what all?” asked Isabel. “Why, Mr. Perrin, of course. Poor man, of course he's been queer all this time—anyone could see, but really—I wonder what he 'll do now?” “I expect that he 'll come back,” said Isabel. “Come back? Well! But of course Moy-Thompson will have him back if he can. That would keep him quiet. Then he could pretend to the governors that it was simply nerves—which it was mostly, I should think. I'm sure we were all nervy enough for anything. I'm sure I've been most queer all this term. And then his quarreling like that with Archie and everything. Oh! Yes, Moy-Thompson will keep him if he can—under his thumb.” Freddie Comber had left the room. The two women were alone.