mistakes in orders and got mixed with change. There she was day
and night, drawing me and drawing me. Oh, I wanted her. Lord! how
I wanted her! I was up there, most evenings I was up there on the Knoll,
often even when it rained. I used to walk over the Knoll and round it
and round it, calling for them to let me in. Shouting. Near blubbering
I was at times. Daft I was and miserable. I kept on saying it was all
a mistake. And every Sunday afternoon I went up there, wet and fine,
though I knew as well as you do it wasn't no good by day. And I've
tried to go to sleep there."

He stopped sharply and decided to drink some whisky.

"I've tried to go to sleep there," he said, and I could swear his lips
trembled. "I've tried to go to sleep there, often and often. And,
you know, I couldn't, sir--never. I've thought if I could go to sleep
there, there might be something. But I've sat up there and laid up
there, and I couldn't--not for thinking and longing. It's the
longing. . . . I've tried--"

He blew, drank up the rest of his whisky spasmodically, stood up
suddenly and buttoned his jacket, staring closely and critically
at the cheap oleographs beside the mantel meanwhile. The little
black notebook in which he recorded the orders of his daily round
projected stiffly from his breast pocket. When all the buttons were
quite done, he patted his chest and turned on me suddenly. "Well,"
he said, "I must be going."

There was something in his eyes and manner that was too difficult
for him to express in words. "One gets talking," he said at last
at the door, and smiled wanly, and so vanished from my eyes.