" "By Heaven!" cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, "it is true—as true as my affection for you. " Trenchard took up a pen. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. I have calculated my chances, you perceive. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. “I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together. “I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg.
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