not fit into the scheme of life mapped out by his practical mind. Friendships did. He had many friends. He liked middle-aged men, unlucky men, lame dogs of any kind; and his friends were without exception better men than he. A choice which showed that, given the chance, he would grow upwards and not down. And of all his friends Denis stood first, partly for old time's sake, but mainly for no other reason than that of all men in the world there was none he respected more.

"Dear old ass!" he said to himself, between amusement, affection, and envy, contrasting his own easy code with Denis's Puritan stiffness. "One of God's dandies, that's what he is, but I wouldn't have him different, no, I wouldn't, though he's putting me in the divvle of a hole with his whimsies. Of course he's right, I ought to have owned up at once, it would have been far better in every way. But that unlucky speech of his gave me a loophole, and I jumped at it—I'd have jumped at anything then. I didn't exactly shine on that occasion, and he sees I didn't.... I wonder, would it be better even now to eat my own words and make a clean breast of it? Upon my soul, I've half a mind to! Ten to one I shall be caught out over this inquest; in fact, I don't see how I'm going to escape, unless Mrs. Trent is too ill to show up—and I don't desire that, be shot if I do! poor little woman."

A blank supervened. He took his pipe out of his mouth and listened. He was sleeping on the roof, a habit he had learned in Orotava, and earlier in the night there had been significant sounds below. All was quiet now, however. "No, I definitely do not want her to be ill," he resumed his meditation. "I haven't sunk to that yet, no matter what it costs me. And what will it cost me? Not hanging; Denis was talking through his hat there, no jury could possibly bring it in murder. But prison? I'm not sure I wouldn't rather hang."

He stared up at the stars. Walls and a roof instead of the limitless freedom of the night. Day has its bounds, either a bright blue dome or a ceiling of cloud, but night is open to the infinite. You may lose yourself climbing to the pale moon, you may send out your soul forever through space beyond the ranges of the stars. There were two men in Gardiner. By day he was the prosperous practical innkeeper; by night—even he himself did not know how much he owed to those solitary nights of his, though he did know that he would have hated to have Denis spread his mattress on the roof beside him. In cities Gardiner was an alien; but trees, mountains, rivers were all alive for him, large calm gracious beings to whom he belonged, with whom he was at ease. 

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