At last she went from him.

“Good night,” said Mr. Britling, and took her to the door.  “It was very dear of you to come and comfort me,” he said....

Section 25

He closed the door softly behind her.

The door had hardly shut upon her before he forgot her.  Instantly he was alone again, utterly alone.  He was alone in an empty world....

Loneliness struck him like a blow.  He had dependents, he had cares.  He had never a soul to whom he might weep....

For a time he stood beside his open window.  He looked at the bed—­but no sleep he knew would come that night—­until the sleep of exhaustion came.  He looked at the bureau at which he had so often written.  But the writing there was a shrivelled thing....

This room was unendurable.  He must go out.  He turned to the window, and outside was a troublesome noise of night-jars and a distant roaring of stags, black trees, blacknesses, the sky clear and remote with a great company of stars....  The stars seemed attentive.  They stirred and yet were still.  It was as if they were the eyes of watchers.  He would go out to them....

Very softly he went towards the passage door, and still more softly felt his way across the landing and down the staircase.  Once or twice he paused to listen.

He let himself out with elaborate precautions....

Across the dark he went, and suddenly his boy was all about him, playing, climbing the cedars, twisting miraculously about the lawn on a bicycle, discoursing gravely upon his future, lying on the grass, breathing very hard and drawing preposterous caricatures.  Once again they walked side by side up and down—­it was athwart this very spot—­talking gravely but rather shyly....

And here they had stood a little awkwardly, before the boy went in to say good-bye to his stepmother and go off with his father to the station....

“I will work to-morrow again,” whispered Mr. Britling, “but to-night—­to-night....  To-night is yours....  Can you hear me, can you hear?  Your father ... who had counted on you....”

Section 26

He went into the far corner of the hockey paddock, and there he moved about for a while and then stood for a long time holding the fence with both hands and staring blankly into the darkness.  At last he turned away, and went stumbling and blundering towards the rose garden.  A spray of creeper tore his face and distressed him.  He thrust it aside fretfully, and it scratched his hand.  He made his way to the seat in the arbour, and sat down and whispered a little to himself, and then became very still with his arm upon the back of the seat and his head upon his arm.

BOOK III

THE TESTAMENT OF MATCHING’S EASY

CHAPTER THE FIRST