"Ay, it’s soft," Simon agreed, lifting his eyes to look at the sky, and wondering suddenly how long it had taken the gull to get itself out to sea. His brother nodded and went away, and he drifted unwillingly into the inn. The chimes had finished their ill-omened song, but the echo of it still seemed to linger on the air. They told him inside that Mr. Dent was engaged, so he went into the bar to wait, seating himself where he could see the stairs. The landlord tried to coax him to talk, but he was too melancholy to respond, and could only sit waiting for the door to open and summon him overhead. He was able to think, now that he was away from the crowd and the chaff about the hearse, but no amount of thinking could find him a way out. He had already given the agent a hint of his business, and would only have to confirm it when he got upstairs, but it seemed to him at the moment as if the final words would never be said. After a while, indeed, he began to think that he would sneak away quietly and let the appointment go. He would say no more about the notice to Mr. Dent, and things might take their way for another year. It was just possible, with the promised help from Will, that they might manage to scrape along for another year.... He left it there at last and got to his feet, but even as he did so he remembered Sarah’s eyes. He wondered what the doctor had said and wished he knew, because, of course, there would be no question of staying if the report were bad. He was still standing, hesitating, and wondering what he should do, when the door of the Stewards’ Room opened above, and a man came out. It was, as somehow might have been expected, the stranger of the car, otherwise Simon’s now celebrated ’hearse.’ Simon, however, had not looked at him then, and he barely glanced at him now. It was a blind day, as Sarah had said, and all through the Thornthwaites seemed determined to be as blind as the day. The agent followed him out, looking cheerful and amused. "I wish you luck all round!" Simon heard him say, as he shook the stranger’s hand, and thought morosely that it was easy and cheap to wish folks luck. "This should be the finest day of your life," he added more gravely, looking over the rail, and the man going down looked up and said "That’s so!" in a fervent tone. The old farmer waiting in the bar felt a spasm of envy and bitterness at the quietly triumphant words. "The finest day of your life,"--that was for the man going down. "The heaviest day of your life,"--that was for the man going up. With a touch of dreary humour he thought to himself that it was really he who was going down, if it came to that....