Another week passed.  Piers no longer pretended to keep his usual times; he wandered forth whenever home grew intolerable, and sometimes snatched his only sleep in the four-and-twenty hours under the hawthorn blossom of some remote meadow.  His mood had passed into bitterness.  “I was well before; why did she interfere with me?  She did it knowing what would happen; it promised her amusement.  I should have kept to myself, and have been safe.  She waylaid me.  That first meeting on the stairs——­”

He raged against her and against all women.

One evening, towards sunset, he came home dusty and weary and with a hang-dog air, for he had done something which made him ashamed.  Miles away from Ewell thirst and misery had brought him to a wayside inn, where—­the first time for years—­he drank strong liquor.  He drank more than he needed, and afterwards fell asleep in a lane, and woke to new wretchedness.

As he entered the house and was about to ascend the stairs, a voice called to him.  It was Mrs. Hannaford’s; she bade him come to her in the drawing-room.  Reluctantly he moved thither.  The lady was sitting idle and alone; she looked at him for a moment without speaking, then beckoned him forward.

“Your brother has been here,” she said, in a low voice not quite her own.

“Daniel?”

“Yes.  He called very soon after you had gone out.  He wouldn’t—­ couldn’t stay.  He’ll let you know when he is coming next time.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Come and sit down.”  She pointed to a chair next hers.  “How tired you look!”

Her tone was very soft, and, as he seated himself, she touched his arm gently.  The room was scented with roses.  A blind, half-drawn on the open window, broke the warm western rays; upon a tree near by, a garden warbler was piping evensong.

“What is it?” she asked, with a timid kindness.  “What has happened?  Won’t you tell me?”

“You know—­I am sure you know——­”

His voice was choked into silence.

“But you will get over it—­oh, yes, you will!  Your work——­”

“I can’t work!” he broke out vehemently—­“I shall never work again.  She has changed all my life.  I must find something else to do —­I don’t care what.  I can’t go in for that examination.”

Then abruptly he turned to her with a look of eagerness.

“Would it be any use?  Suppose I got a place in one of the offices?  Would there be any hope for me?”

Mrs. Hannaford’s eyes dropped.

“Don’t think of her,” she answered.  “She has such brilliant prospects—­it is so unlikely.  You think me unsympathetic—­oh, I’m not!” Again she let her fingers rest on his arm.  “I feel so much with you that I daren’t offer imaginary hopes.  She belongs to such a different world, try, try to forget her.”

“Of course I know she cares and thinks nothing about me now.  But if I made my way——­”

“She will marry very early, and someone——­”