’Owing to a new arrangement at Bates’s, I start tomorrow for my holiday in Cornwall, so cannot see you for a few weeks.  Please offer Malkin my apologies; make them (I mean it) as profuse as those he telegraphed.  Herewith I send you my paper, “The New Sophistry”, which I have written at a few vehement sittings, and have carelessly copied.  If you think it worth while, will you have the kindness to send it for me to The Critical?  I haven’t signed it, as my unmeaning name would perhaps indispose the fellow to see much good in it.  I should thank you if you would write in your own person, saying that you act for a friend; you are probably well known in those quarters.  If it is accepted, time enough to claim my glory.  If it seems to you to have no chance, keep it till I return, as I hate the humiliation of refusals.—­Don’t think I made an ass of myself the other night.  We will never speak on that subject again.  All I said was horribly sincere, but I’m afraid you can’t understand that side of my nature.  I should never have spoken so frankly to Moxey, though he has made no secret with me of his own weaknesses.  If I perish before long in a South American swamp, you will be able to reflect on my personality with completer knowledge, so I don’t regret the indiscretion.’

CHAPTER III

‘Pereunt et imputantur.’

Godwin Peak read the motto beneath the clock in Exeter Cathedral, and believed it of Christian origin.  Had he known that the words were found in Martial, his rebellious spirit would have enjoyed the consecration of a phrase from such an unlikely author.  Even as he must have laughed had he stood in the Vatican before the figures of those two Greek dramatists who, for ages, were revered as Christian saints.

His ignorance preserved him from a clash of sentiments.  This afternoon he was not disposed to cynicism; rather he welcomed the softening influence of this noble interior, and let the golden sunlight form what shapes it would—­heavenly beam, mystic aureole —­before his mind’s eye.  Architecture had no special interest for him, and the history of church or faith could seldom touch his emotions; but the glorious handiwork of men long dead, the solemn stillness of an ancient sanctuary, made that appeal to him which is independent of names.

‘Pereunt et imputantur.’

He sat down where the soft, slow ticking of the clock could guide his thoughts.  This morning he had left London by the earliest train, and after a night in Exeter would travel westward by leisurely stages, seeing as much as possible of the coast and of that inland scenery which had geological significance.  His costume declared him bent on holiday, but, at the same time, distinguished him with delicate emphasis from the tourist of the season.  Trustworthy sartorial skill had done its best for his person.  Sitting thus, he had the air of a gentleman who enjoys no unwonted ease.  He could forget himself in reverie, and be unaware of soft footfalls that drew near along the aisle.