"It's not likely." Richard remembered miserably that after all nothing was settled. An exceeding high mountain blocked his path and it was growing higher and higher. He looked out over the valley, chin on hand. It seemed to Eleanor that he shut her out of his thoughts, that he had already forgotten her.
"I have written a story that has been accepted," she said timidly, forgetting all her fears and compunctions about what she had written. "It has been accepted by 'Willard's Magazine' and it is to be published very soon. A Mr. Utterly came here to tell me."
Richard's comment came after a long pause.
"I think that is splendid!"
"I haven't told any one but my mother," faltered Eleanor, certain that he must think her boastful and conceited. It seemed to her that again he left in a sudden, unceremonious way.
Again Richard sat by his window. He would have liked to walk the floor, but he was afraid that his mother would hear and that she would come to his room and talk to him. He must have this time alone. He had accomplished nothing, was accomplishing nothing. Only a little while ago he had been so happy and so certain of himself and of all that he was going to do. But Eleanor Bent had had a story accepted for publication! He did not believe that Dr. Scott, whom he called "Old Scotty," had ever dreamed of such an honor. That man Utterly had come to tell her! Utterly had seemed a counterfeit, but he must be a man of some parts or he would not hold a responsible position. She was now even farther above him than before. To-morrow his own future must be definitely settled.
The next afternoon he went to see Thomasina. She would help him as she had always helped him. She sat upon her throne by the garden door with a new life of Beethoven open on the table by her side; she had put it down as he came in to take up a piece of sewing.
"It is amazing and incredible and inspiring to contemplate the obstacles which great spirits have overcome," said Thomasina with shining eyes. "Physical defects, mental defects, opposition of relatives, of all mankind, of fate itself—none of them ever daunted an earnest man set upon achieving a great thing. All great achievement seems to have had the history of Paul's! 'In weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness.' Richard—" Her bright eyes searched his troubled face—"What is the matter, my dear?"
"Everything," said Richard.
"Suppose we begin with one thing."