"It means the world to me. Oh, Tony--little pal that was--forgive me! Life's a hard, rotten, wretched thing, and if there was no one to forgive...." "I'll try." "Oh, please try! If you think, you'll come to understand things presently, even if you can't now. It's for your own sake as well as mine I ask it. Think how many a man who lies in the mud wouldn't be there if only he had some woman to forgive him." "I'll try----" she repeated falteringly. "Then I've got what'll keep me going for the present. And, Tony, you'll believe that I can and will behave decently, and make myself worthy to be your--your friend?" "Yes, I'll believe it." "Thank you." She was trembling from head to foot. "Good-bye," he said. "Good-bye." He took her hand, and longed to kiss it. But he was still humble and afraid, and let it fall. "Tony--Tony--you will have to forgive me a great many things ... because I am so very hungry." BOOK II THE WORLD AGAINST THE THREE CHAPTER I GLIMPSES AND DREAMS I There was a foam of anemones in the hollows of Furnace Wood. The wind crept over the heads of the hazel bushes, bowing them gently, and shaking out of them the scent of their budding. From the young grass and tender, vivid mosses crept up more scents, faint, moist and earthy. The sky was grey behind the stooping hazels, but glimmered with the yellow promise of noon. Janet Furlonger and Quentin Lowe had met to say good-bye in Furnace Wood. The scent of spring was in Janey's clothes, and when her lover drew her head down to his shoulder he tasted spring in her hair. But there was not spring on her lips when he sought them--only the salt wash of sorrow. "Why do you cry, little Janey? This is the beginning of hope." Another tear slid down towards her mouth, but she wiped it away--he must not drink her tears. "Quentin ... I hope it won't be for long." "No, no--not long, little Janey, sweet, not long. It can't be. In six months, perhaps in less, you'll have a letter asking you to come up to town and marry a poor but independent journalist." "You really think that this time you're going to succeed?" "Of course. Do you imagine I'd touch Rider's idiotic rag with the tongs if I didn't look on it as a stepping-stone to better things. There's a mixed metaphor, Janey. Didn't you notice it?" "No, dear." "You're not critical enough, little one. You're worthy of good prose--when I'm too weak and heavy-hearted for poetry." The wind sighed towards them, bringing the scent of hidden water. "I must leave you, my own--or I shall be late. Now for months of hard work and hungry dreams of Janey, who will be given at last to my great hunger. Little heart, do you know what it is to hunger?" She trembled. "Yes."