but so much worse than the average of such things that they would never have printed it without his name.  He also contributed to a magazine a short tale,—­he who could never write tales,—­and he struck all the beautiful reflections out of it, and never referred to himself once, and the result was so imbecile that kindly people said there must be another writer of the same name.  “Show them to Grizel,” Tommy wrote to Elspeth, inclosing also some of the animadversions of the press, and he meant Grizel to see that he could write in his own way only.  But she read those two efforts with delight, and said to Elspeth, “Tell him I am so proud of them.”

Elspeth thought it very nice of Grizel to defend the despised in this way (even Elspeth had fallen asleep over the political paper).  She did not understand that Grizel loved them because they showed Tommy trying to do without his wings.

Then another trifle by him appeared, shorter even than the others; but no man in England could have written it except T. Sandys.  It has not been reprinted, and I forget everything about it except that its subject was love.  “Will not the friends of the man who can produce such a little masterpiece as this,” the journals said, “save him from wasting his time on lumber for the reviews, and drivelling tales?” And Tommy suggested to Elspeth that she might show Grizel this exhortation also.

Grizel saw she was not helping him at all.  If he would not fight, why should she?  Oh, let her fall and fall, it would not take her farther from him!  These were the thoughts that sent her into solitude, to meet with worse ones.  She could not face the morrow.  “What shall I do to-morrow?” She never shrank from to-day—­it had its duties; it could be got through:  but to-morrow was a never-ending road.  Oh, how could she get through to-morrow?

Her great friend at this time was Corp; because he still retained his faith in Tommy.  She could always talk of Tommy to Corp.

How loyal Corp was!  He still referred to Tommy as “him.”  Gavinia, much distressed, read aloud to Corp a newspaper attack on the political article, and all he said was, “He’ll find a wy.”

“He’s found it,” he went upstairs to announce to Grizel, when the praises of the “little masterpiece” arrived.

“Yes, I know, Corp,” she answered quietly.  She was sitting by the window where the plant was.  Tommy had asked her to take care of it, without telling her why.

Something in her appearance troubled the hulking, blundering man.  He could not have told what it was.  I think it was simply this—­that Grizel no longer sat erect in her chair.

“I’m nain easy in my mind about Grizel,” he said that evening to Gavinia.  “There’s something queery about her, though I canna bottom ’t.”

“Yea?” said Gavinia, with mild contempt.

He continued pulling at his pipe, grunting as if in pleasant pain, which was the way Corp smoked.