And so the last morning of his probation dawned, and for the first time he breathed freely.

He rose early on the day that was to witness his great effort and dressed slowly.  It was a splendid morning; the spirit of the spring seemed embodied in the air, in the pale-blue sky, in the shafts of cool sunshine that danced from the mirror to the dressing-table, from the dressing-table to the pictures on the walls of Chilcote’s vast room.  Inconsequently with its dancing rose a memory of the distant past—­a memory of long-forgotten days when, as a child, he had been bidden to watch the same sun perform the same fantastic evolutions.  The sight and the thought stirred him curiously with an unlooked-for sense of youth.  He drew himself together with an added touch of decision as he passed out into the corridor; and as he walked down-stairs he whistled a bar or two of an inspiriting tune.

In the morning-room Eve was already waiting.  She looked up, colored, and smiled as he entered.  Her face looked very fresh and young and she wore a gown of the same pale blue that she had worn on his first coming.

She looked up from an open letter as he came into the room, and the sun that fell through the window caught her in a shaft of light, intensifying her blue eyes, her blue gown, and the bunch of violets fastened in her belt.  To Loder, still under the influence of early memories, she seemed the embodiment of some youthful ideal—­something lost, sought for, and found again.  Realization of his feeling for her almost came to him as be stood there looking at her.  It hovered about him; it tipped him, as it were, with its wings; then it rose again and soared away.  Men like him—­men keen to grasp an opening where their careers are concerned, and tenacious to hold it when once grasped—­are frequently the last to look into their own hearts.  He glanced at Eve, he acknowledged the stir of his feeling, but he made no attempt to define its cause.  He could no more have given reason for his sensations than he could have told the precise date upon which, coming down-stairs at eight o’clock, he had first found her waiting breakfast for him.  The time when all such incidents were to stand out, each to a nicety in its appointed place, had not yet arrived.  For the moment his youth had returned to him; he possessed the knowledge of work done, the sense of present companionship in a world of agreeable things; above all, the steady, quiet conviction of his own capacity.  All these things came to him in the moment of his entering the room, greeting Eve, and passing to the breakfast-table; then, while his eyes still rested contentedly on the pleasant array of china and silver, while his senses were still alive to the fresh, earthly scent of Eve’s violets, the blow so long dreaded—­so slow in coming fell with accumulated force.

XXIV

The letter through which the blow fell was not voluminous.  It was written on cheap paper in a disguised hand, and the contents covered only half a page.  Loder read it slowly, mentally articulating every word; then he laid it down, and as he did so he caught Eve’s eyes raised in concern.  Again he saw something of his own feelings reflected in her face, and the shock braced him; he picked up the letter, tearing it into strips.