Could he do any better than before his miserable, poorly done, detested work? Could he hate it any less? No, he would hate it a thousand times more now that he knew that it was not only a collaboration with materialism fatly triumphant, but that it kept him from his real work, vital, living, creative work, work he could do as no one else could, work that meant the salvation of his own children. Could he sit again sunk in that treacherous bog of slavery to possessions, doing his share of beckoning unsuspecting women into it ... and all the time know that perhaps at that very minute Helen was repressing timidly some sweet shy impulse that would fester in her heart when it might have blossomed into fragrance in the sun? It would drive him mad to see again in Helen’s eyes that old stupid, crushed expression of self-distrustful discouragement which he had always thought was the natural expression of her nature. He thought of Henry, leaping and running with his dog, both of them casting off sparkling rays of youth as they capered. He thought of Henry ghastly white, shrunken, emptied of vitality, as he lay on the bed that last evening of the old life, in the condition which they had all thought was the inevitable one for Henry. And Eva.... He gave a deep groan as he thought of Eva--Eva who loved the work he hated, who took it all simple-heartedly at the solemnly preposterous value that the world put on it--to shut that strong-flying falcon into the barnyard again, to watch her rage, and droop, and tear at her own heart and at the children’s! * * * * * Solemnly, out of the darkness, as though it had been Stephen’s voice reciting “The Little Boy Lost” to him, he heard, “Father, father, where are you going? Oh, do not walk so fast. Speak, father, speak to your little boy Or else I shall be lost.” And there was Stephen.... Lester had no words for what the name meant to him now--nothing but a great aching sorrow into which he sank helplessly, letting its black waves close over his head. Presently he struggled up to the air again and looked about him. There must be some way of escape. Anybody but a weakling would invent some way to save them all. He must leave nothing unthought of, he must start methodically to make the rounds of the possibilities. He must not lose his head in this hysterical way. He must be a man and master circumstances. * * * * *