Here and now he was descended deep into himself, aspiring to greatness, set on high designs; and, as the days passed, his thoughts more and more took form, though sometimes, with a sudden heart-pang, he would flinch and shrink, pierced by a consciousness of the unwieldy thing which he was at; and he would mutter: “I _must_ be mad”. Anon he would start and cower at a distinct sound of cannon in his ears. Usually, during the day, he had with him an atlas, a pair of compasses. One day he took train, to see the sea. Another day, happening to look into the goat-hair trunk, he saw that account-book, containing the addresses of the signatories to his old “association”, and was overjoyed. “Quite a little army”, he tenderly said: “I won't forget them”. After two months he left Hadston for London, having in his head a new age hatched. XXVIII THE LETTER It was night when Hogarth broke into the presence of Loveday at Cheyne Gardens with a glad face, crying: “Forgive me, my friend, for being a boor!” “You are forgiven”, Loveday answered with his smile, hastening to meet him: “the broken picture, you see, is in a better frame, and so are we. What could have made us invent a quarrel about--land, of all things!” “Come, let us talk”, said Hogarth: “not long--all about land, and sea, too. I suppose you have nothing to tell about my sister? Never mind--we shall find her. Come, sit and give me _all_ your intelligence. You are not interested in land, then? You _will_ be in ten minutes--it is interesting. Listen: all the land of the earth is _mine_, and all the sea especially--a good thing, for, for a hundred years Europe, especially England, has wanted a master: the anarchy of our modern life is too terrible! it cannot arrange itself; and now the hour has struck, though none has heard the bell”. “Hogarth! but you gabble like a mad god”, cried Loveday. “I am all in the dark--” “I will tell you”. And he spoke, first going into his discovery at Colmoor, frowning upon Loveday, ploughing the truth into his brow; proving how modern misery, in its complexity, had its cause in one simple old fault, sure as the fact that smoke ascends, or apples fall. And when he saw conviction beam in Loveday's face, he next told what had happened at the elm-tree, and what would happen-soon; whereat Loveday, like a frightened child, clung to his arm, and once gasped: “Oh no--my God!” and once felt a gory ghost raise horror in his hairs. An hour afterwards they were bending over a sheet of paper, Hogarth in his shirt-sleeves, writing, Loveday overlooking, suggesting, when two men were announced, and in stepped O'Hara with bows and polished hesitations, followed by his shadow, Harris; and, “Ah, O'Hara...” cried Hogarth, still writing, “who is that with you?” “A friend of mine”, said Loveday, for O'Hara had introduced Harris to him, and he had adopted Harris as a human study, horrid, but amusing.