When he had paid the truckman, and shut the door upon him, he knelt down beside his trunk, and with a little chisel began to pry out the small brass-headed tacks that formed the initials of his name—W. E. H.
To the agent of whom he rented the room he had given the name of William Williams, persuading himself that the doubling of his first name and the suppression of the other could scarcely be called giving a false name.
He did not wish to take into his new life the old name. His reluctance did not come from any remnant of false pride. All that was gone now, and William Harcourt knew that labor with the pick or shovel, the hod or trowel, honestly performed, was just as honorable as labor with the pen, the pencil or the voice.
But he wished to guard against the chances of his mother’s discovery of his hard life, which would certainly give her great pain and distress, and lead to questionings that could not be answered.
For the present he hoped and believed that she was enjoying a rare season of comfort and happiness in the society of Ruth Elde, at Goblin Hall, and with the prospect of several weeks of uninterrupted peace.
He did not dare to write to her just yet; nor did he think she would be uneasy at not hearing from him. She would just think that he was so much absorbed in his happiness that, knowing she was well cared for at Goblin Hall, he had delayed writing. She was not jealous or exacting, this noble Dorothy Harcourt.
Later she must know the truth—that Roma Fronde had married William Hanson and not William Harcourt; but, oh! let it be as much later as possible. How should he tell her? How should he explain his own part in that wrong? He could not think, and he told himself it was not necessary to think just now.
He had borne as much of the burden of heavy thought as he could bear without going mad.
When he had finished picking the tacks out of his trunk, and shoved it across the bare floor into a corner, he began to feel faint from fatigue and fasting. He was also very cold, for there was no fire in the room.
He went out again, and bought a bucket of coal, a parcel of kindling wood, a box of matches, a loaf of bread, a mutton chop and a little coffee, sugar, pepper and salt.