attempting to make a living as an artist out of Westmoreland--out of
any place, indeed, but London, the natural centre and clearing-house
of talent.

'I could make a living out of teaching, I suppose, up here. I could
get--in time--a good many lessons going round to schools. But that
would be a dog's life. You wouldn't want to see me at that for ever,
would you, Phoebe? Or at painting portraits at five guineas apiece? I
could chuck it all, of course, and go in for business. But I can tell
you, England would lose something if I did.'

And, catching up another stone, he threw it into the beck with a
passion which made the clash of it, as it struck upon a rock, echo
through the ghyll. There was something magnificent in the gesture, and
a movement, half thrill, half shudder, ran through the wife's delicate
frame. She clasped her hands round his arm, and drew close to him.

'John!--are you going to leave baby and me behind?'

Her voice, as she pressed towards him, her face upraised to his, rose
from deep founts of feeling; but she kept the sob in it restrained.
Fenwick felt the warmth and softness of her young body; the fresh
face, the fragrant hair were close upon his lips. He threw both his
arms round her and folded her to him.

'Just for a little while,' he pleaded--'till I get my footing. One
year! For both our sakes--Phoebe!'

'I could live on such a little--we could get two rooms, which would be
cheaper for you than lodgings.'