He stood for a moment in the great lonely field--the last of the sun and the first of the moon upon him, around him the dawning eternity of the stars. Two hours ago he had been festering, sick, with his schemes, the comrade of a hundred repulsive ideas. Now he was alone--utterly alone with his one great ambition, stripped of the last rag of personal motive that had clung to it--his ambition to be honest and pure and true.
Tony had pointed him out the way, and directly he had taken it, she had gone--to show it to another man, and walk in it with him. Nigel suddenly pictured that man. He was at Redpale Farm ... he kneeled in the dust at Tony's feet ... her hands were upon his head. In her he found redemption, love and blessing--and dared he, Furlonger, grudge redemption, love and blessing to any man? He did not grudge them--let Quentin Lowe take them, walk in white with Tony, and be worthy of her. Furlonger, too, would walk in white and be worthy--but he would walk alone.
No, not quite alone. He trod softly up the path to Sparrow Hall, between the ranks of the folded flowers. The evening primroses and night-scented stock sent their fragrance in with him at the door. The house was in darkness, and he groped his way to the kitchen, where he found Janey.
She was half asleep in the armchair by the fire--she had laid the supper, that dreary little supper for two, and now lay huddled by the dying embers, cold, in spite of the thick heat of the night.
"Janey," whispered Nigel, as he kissed her.
"Oh, you're back at last!--what a time you've been!"
"I'm sorry, dear. Come now, I'll light the lamp, and we'll have supper."
She rose listlessly, and sat down opposite him.
"It's a rotten supper--I don't cook so well as Novice Unity Agnes."
"Nonsense! you cook quite well enough for me. Janey--will you come and cook for me in London?"
"Yes, I must go back to my work--and I can't leave you here."
"But--but--I don't understand--and what shall we do about the farm?"
"We can sell it, and the money will keep us--just the two of us in a workman's flat--till my training is over, and I'm earning money on my own. Oh, Janey, I don't suppose I'll ever be rich or famous or that I'll fill the Albert Hall--but I--I shall be more worthy of you, dear."