there, for him to love, and one day to go to. Fate could never be so unjust
as to part him from--the mother of his child.

And then a state of mad ecstasy came over Paul with that vision; he could
not stay in the house; he must go out under God's sky, and let his
soul-thoughts fly into space. Dazzling pictures came to him; surely the
spring was in his heart breaking through the frozen ground like a single
golden crocus he saw at his feet--surely, surely the sun of life would
shine again, and living he should see her.

He strode away, Pike gambolling beside him, and racing ahead and back
again, seeming to understand and participate in his master's inward joy.

Paul hardly noticed where he went, his thoughts exalting him so that he did
not even heed to choose his favourite haunt, the wood against the
sky-line. It was as if great blocks of icy fear and anguish were melting in
the warmth. Hope and glory shone on his path, almost blinding him.

He left the park far behind, and struck away across the moor. As he passed
some gipsy vans a swarthy young woman looked out, an infant in her arms,
and gave him a smiling greeting. But Paul stopped and said good-day,
tossing her a sovereign with laughing, cheery words--for her little
child--and so passed on, his glad face radiant as the morn.

But the woman called after him in gratitude:

"Blessings on your honour. Your own will grace a throne."

And the strange coincidence of her prophecy set fresh thrills of delight
bounding in Paul's veins.