"But if one only knew the ins and outs of the life here, it might not prove so inviting," he thought. "I daresay all the little towns and villages in this neighbourhood are full of petty discords, jealousies, envyings and spites,—even Prue's mother, Mrs. Clodder, may have, and probably has, a neighbour whom she hates, and wishes to get the better of, in some way or other, for there is really no such thing as actual peace anywhere except—in the grave! And who knows whether we shall even find it there! Nothing dies which does not immediately begin to live—in another fashion. And every community, whether of insects, birds, wild animals, or men and women, is bound to fight for existence,—therefore those who cry: 'Peace, peace!' only clamour for a vain thing. The very stones and rocks and mountains maintain a perpetual war with destroying elements,—they appear immutable things to our short lives, but they change in their turn even as we do—they die to live again in other forms, even as we do. And what is it all for? What is the sum and substance of so much striving—if merest Nothingness is the end?"
He was disturbed from his reverie by the entrance of Miss Tranter. He turned round and smiled at her.
"Well!" she said—"Enjoyed your breakfast?"
"Very much indeed, thanks to your kindness!" he replied. "I hardly thought I had such a good appetite left to me. I feel quite strong and hearty this morning."
"You look twice the man you were last night, certainly,"—and she eyed him thoughtfully—"Would you like a job here?"
A flush rose to his brows. He hesitated before replying.
"You'd rather not!" snapped out Miss Tranter—"I can see 'No' in your face. Well, please yourself!"
He looked at her. Her lips were compressed in a thin line, and she wore a decidedly vexed expression.
"Ah, you think I don't want to work!" he said—"There you're wrong! But I haven't many years of life in me,—there's not much time left to do what I have to do,—and I must get on."
"Get on, where?"