Runalong，mydearchild。Youdonotamuseme。YoucantakeGeraldwithyou，ifyouwill。IhavenothingtosaytoGeraldjustnow。
Heisinmygoodbooks。IsthereanythingIcandoforyou，Gerald？
Yourallowance，forinstance-atriflingincreaseoranadvance？
Iaminageneroushumour。“
“ThengrantmewhatIbeggedfortheotherday，“theboyansweredquickly。“LetmegotoSandhurst。Icouldentermynamenextweekfortheexaminations，andIcouldpassto-morrow。“
Mr。Fentolintappedthetablethoughtfullywithhisforefinger。
“Alittleungrateful，mydearboy，“hedeclared，“alittleungratefulthat，Ithink。Yourconfidenceinyourselfpleasesme，though。Youthinkyoucouldpassyourexaminations？“
“Ididasetofpaperslastweek，“theboyreplied。“OnthegivenpercentagesIcameouttwelfthorbetter。Mr。BrownassuredmethatIcouldgoinforthematanymoment。Hepromisedtowriteyouaboutitbeforeheleft。“
Mr。Fentolinnoddedgently。
“NowIcometothinkofit，IdidhavealetterfromMr。Brown，“
heremarked。“Ratheranimpertinenceforatutor，Ithoughtit。
Hedevotedthreepagestowardsimpressinguponmethenecessityofyouradoptingsomesortofacareer。“
“Hewrotebecausehethoughtitwashisduty，“theboysaiddoggedly。
“Soyouwanttobeasoldier，“Mr。Fentollncontinuedmusingly。
“Well，well，whynot？Ourpicturegalleriesarefullofthem。
TherehasbeenaFentolinineverygreatbattleforthelastfivehundredyears。Sailors，too-plentyofthem-andjustafewdiplomatists。Bravefellows！Notone，Ifancy，“headded，“likeme-notonecondemnedtopasstheirdaysinaperambulator。Youareafinefellow，Gerald-aregularFentolin。Gettingonforsixfeet，aren’tyou？
“Sixfeettwo，sir。“
“Averyfinefellow，“Mr。Fentolinrepeated。“Iamnotsosureaboutthearmy，Gerald。Yousee，therearesomepeoplewhosay，likeyourAmericanfriend，thatweareevennowalmostonthebrinkofwar。“
“Allthemorereasonformetohurry，“theboybegged。
Mr。Fentolinclosedhiseyes。
“Don’t！“heinsisted。“Haveyoueverstoppedtothinkwhatwarmeans-thewaryouspeakofsolightly？Thesuffering，themiseryofit！Allthepageantryandmusicandheroisminfront；andbehind，ablackenedworld，atrailofwrithingcorpses，aworldofweepingwomenforwhomthesunshallneverriseagain。Ugh！Anuglythingwar，Gerald。Iamnotsurethatyouarenotbetterathomehere。
Whynotpractisegolfalittlemoreassiduously？Iseefromthelocalpaperthatyouarestillplayingattwohandicap。Nowwithyourphysique，Ishouldhavethoughtyouwouldhavebeenascratchplayerlongbeforenow。“
“Iplaycricket，sir，“theboyremindedhim，alittleimpatiently，“and，afterall，thereareotherthingsintheworldbesidesgames。“
Mr。Fentolin’slongfingershotsuddenlyout。Hewasleaningalittlefromhischair。Hisexpressionofgentleimmobilityhadpassedaway。Hisfacewasstern，almoststony。
“Youhavespokenthetruth，Gerald，“hesaid。“Thereareotherthingsintheworldbesidesgames。Thereisthereal，thetragicalsideoflife，thedutiesonetakesup，theobligationsofhonour。
Youhavenotforgotten，youngman，theburdenyoucarry？“
Theboywaspaler，buthehaddrawnhimselftohisfullheight。
“Ihavenotforgotten，sir，“heansweredbitterly。“DoIshowanysignsofforgetting？Haven’tIdoneyourbiddingyearbyyear？
Aren’tIherenowtodoit？“
“Thendoit！“Mr。Fentolinretortedsharply。“WhenIamreadyforyoutoleavehere，youshallleave。Untilthen，youaremine。
Rememberthat。Ah！thisisDoctorSarsonwhocomes，Ibelieve。
Thatmustmeanthatitisfiveo’clock。Comein，Doctor。Iamnotengaged。Yousee，Iamalonewithmydearnieceandnephew。Wehavebeenhavingalittlepleasantconversation。“
DoctorSarsonbowedtoEsther，whoscarcelyglancedathim。Heremainedinthebackground，quietlywaiting。
“Averydelightfullittleconversation，“Mr。Fentolinconcluded。
“Ihavebeencongratulatingmynephew，Doctor，uponhiswisdominpreferringthequietcountrylifedownheretothewearisomeroutineofaprofession。Heescapestheembarrassingchoiceofacareerbypreferringtodevotehislifetomycomfort。Ishallnotforgetit。
Ishallnotbeungrateful。Imayhavemyfaults，butIamnotungratefulRunawaynow，bothofyou。Dearchildrenyouare，butonewearies，youknow，ofeverything。Iamgoingout。Yousee，thetwilightiscoming。Thetideischanging。Iamgoingdowntomeetthesea。“
Hislittlecarriagemovedtowardsthedoor。Thebrotherandsisterpassedout。EstherledGeraldintothegreatdining-room，andfromthere，throughtheopenwindows，outontotheterrace。ShegrippedhisshoulderandpointeddowntotheTower。
“Something，“shewhisperedinhisear，“isgoingtohappenthere。“
ThelittlestationatwhichHamelalightedwaslikeanoasisinthemiddleofaflatstretchofsandandmarsh。Itconsistedonlyofafewraisedplanksandarudeshelter-built，indeed，fortheconvenienceofSt。David’sHallalone，forthenearestvillagewastwomilesaway。Thestation-master，onhisreturnfromescortingtheyoungladytohercar，staredatthisotherpassengerinsomesurprise。
“Whichwaytothesea？“Hamelasked。
Themanpointedtothewhitegatesofthecrossing。
“Youcantakeanyofthosepathsyoulike，sir，“hesaid。“IfyouwanttogettoSalthouse，though，youshouldhavegotoutatthenextstation。“
“Thiswilldoforme，“Hamelrepliedcheerfully。
“Becarefulofthedikes，“thestation-masteradvisedhim。“Someofthemareprettydeep。“
Hamelnodded，andpassingthroughthewhitegates，madehiswaybyaraisedcattletracktowardsthesea。Oneithersideofhimflowedanarrowdikefilledwithsalt-water。Beyondstretchedtheflatmarshland，itsmossyturfleavenedwithcracksandcreeksofallwidths，filledalsowithsea-slimeandsea-water。Aslightgreymistresteduponthemoredistantpartsofthewildernesswhichhewascrossing，amistwhichseemedtobeblowninfromtheseainlittlepuffs，restingforatimeupontheearth，andthendriftingupandfadingawaylikesoapbubbles。
Morethanoncewherethedikeshadoverflownhewascompelledtochangehiscourse，buthearrivedatlastatthelittleridgeofpebbledbeachborderingthesea。Straightaheadofhimnowwasthatstrange-lookingbuildingtowardswhichhehadallthetimebeendirectinghisfootsteps。Asheapproachedit，hisforeheadslightlycontracted。Therewasampleconfirmationbeforehimofthetruthofhisfellow-passenger’swords。Theplace，lefttoitselfforsomanyyears，withoutanyattentionfromitsactualowner，wasneitherdesertednorinruins。Itssolidgreystonewallsweresea-stainedandatrifleworn，butthearchedwoodendoorsleadingintothelifeboatshelter，whichoccupiedonesideofthebuilding，hadbeennewlypainted，andinthefrontthewindowwashungwithacurtain，nowcloselydrawn，ofsomedarkredmaterial。Thelockfromthedoorhadbeenremovedaltogether，andinitsplacewastheapertureforaYalelatch-key。Thelastnoteofmodernitywassuppliedbythetelephonewireattachedtotheroofofthelifeboatshelter。Hewalkedallroundthebuilding，seekinginvainforsomeothermeansofingress。Thenhestoodforafewmomentsinfrontofthecurtainedwindow。Hewasamanofsomewhatdetermineddisposition，andhefoundhimselfvaguelyirritatedbythelibertieswhichhadbeentakenwithhisproperty。
Hehammeredgentlyupontheframeworkwithhisfist，andthewindowsopenedreadilyinwards，pushingbackthecurtainwiththem。
Hedrewhimselfupontothesill，and，squeezinghimselfthroughtheopening，landedonhisfeetandlookedaroundhim，alittlebreathless。
Hefoundhimselfinasimplyfurnishedman’ssitting-room。Aneaselwasstandingclosetothewindow。Therewerereamsofdrawingpaperandseveralunfinishedsketchesleaningagainstthewall。Therewasasmalloaktableinthemiddleoftheroom；againstthewallstoodanexquisitechiffonier，onwhichwererestingsomecut-glassdecantersandgoblets。TherewasaTurkeycarpetuponthefloorwhichmatchedthecurtains，buttohissurprisetherewasnotasinglechairofanysorttobeseen。Thewallshadbeendistemperedandwerehungwithoneortwoengravingswhich，althoughhewasnojudge，hewasquitesureweregood。Hewanderedintothebackroom，wherehefoundastove，atea-serviceuponadealtable，andseveralothercookingutensils，allspotlesslycleanandofthemostexpensivedescription。Thewallsherewereplainlywhitewashed，andthefloorwasofhardstone。Hethentriedthedoorontheleft，whichledintothelargerportionofthebuilding-theshedinwhichthelifeboathadoncebeenkept。Notonlywasthedoorlocked，buthesawatoncethatthelockwasmodern，andthedooritselfwassecuredwithheavyironclamps。Hereturnedtothesitting-room。
