The last day arrived, a bright showery Sunday in April. I was to leave early next morning. Lord Tawborough would see me as far as Southampton.

At my last Breaking of Bread many allusions were made in prayer to my departure for foreign lands. If I was not going there avowedly in His service, none the less let His service be my chief aim and effort. I worshipped devoutly. This might be the last Lord's Supper of which I should ever partake. The Lord's People in France were the merest handful; there were not more than four Meetings in all the Empire, of which not one, Grandmother had ascertained, was in Paris or the north or any part I was likely to be near. And I might be abroad three or four years without a holiday in England.

Now that at last my hopes and ambitions were being fulfilled, sadness and regret were uppermost. The old life I knew so well, the present in which I had still one day to live, already seemed far behind me. I looked back in the anticipatorily retrospective fashion of all who live in the future; and to whom, living in the future, the present is always already the past.

Already Bear Lawn was the past, decked with a pathos that as the present it had never worn.

The last dinner was a goodly spread: a roast fowl, a hog's pudding, and apple dumplings with clotted cream. Glory and Salvation were invited. The latter slobbered noisily of how she would miss me; I realized with a sudden sentimental pang that, after all, it might be true. Glory wept till the tears streamed down her cheeks on to her untidy bodice; I watched with a feeling of guilt for her sorrow and the increasing shamefulness of her blouse.

The last night was full of odd pauses and silences. Aunt Jael kept looking at me and looking away quickly when I looked back. She tried to keep up an appearance of stoicism and sternness, and knew that she was failing. At the last moment she gave up all pretence. In my emotional mood, she seemed to atone for years of hardness when she turned sharply away from the Book of Proverbs at which her Bible opened—it was real sacrifice—and chose for the nightly portion my 137th Psalm. I thought of that dismal first night at Torribridge so many years ago.

Later on, at my bedside, my Grandmother prayed a long devoted prayer. "Oh Lord Jesus! How my old heart aches when I am sometimes tempted to fear that she may be unworthy of that Saint who sits with Thee, her dear dear mother. Grant that in foreign lands and the cities of the plain she may shun the ungodly and flee from all worldliness and evil. Grant, Oh Lord, that we three may meet together in Thine Own everlasting arms. For Jesus' sake."

Next morning I was up betimes. Mrs. Cheese, red-eyed and tearful, helped me cord my box. "I daun knaw what we shall do without 'ee, my dear. Even the ol' biddy is sorrowful, though she's not enough of a Christian to fancy showin' it."

The last moment came. We had finished breakfast. I was dressed for the journey, and my brass-nailed box was ready in the hall. We awaited the sound of Lord Tawborough's carriage.

Aunt Jael epitomized.

"Well, child, you're at your eighteenth year and you're doing well in life. I'm sure I don't grudge it 'ee. Your poor mother would have been a proud woman to see you going off like this to a good post among fine folk; but don't think as much of folk being fine and grand as she did, poor soul. All is vanity. Keep lowly. Don't let your head be turned because a fine lord is seeing you on your way to a life amid foreign lords and ladies: they're no better than humbler folk before the Lord and not often as good. Profit all you can. Never be ashamed of those who brought you up. Maybe 'twill be three or four years before we see you. A long time when we're old and within sight of the grave. Maybe you'll never see us again."

"Oh no, Aunt Jael!"

"Why not?" said my Grandmother, "'tis as likely as not true. Ye know not the day nor the hour." (The door knocker sounded.) "Come kiss me good-bye and remember I shall tell her you're following after. Love the Lord always."

I hold in my mind the last vision of Bear Lawn: Aunt Jael and my Grandmother standing at the gate of Number Eight, Mrs. Cheese behind weeping in the doorway. I turned round in the carriage and waved my hand. I got a last glimpse of my Grandmother and Great-Aunt and saw them turn round and begin to walk back along the garden path. I saw them after they had ceased to see me. That was the real instant of parting.

On the long journey I said little to my companion; wrapped up in myself and my own thoughts. Some of the way I slept. When we got to Southampton docks, and my last Good-bye in England was but a few minutes ahead I remembered with the greater shame and vividness (that throughout the long journey I had forgotten it) to whom it was I owed all the bright prospects before me, how needlessly good and generous he had always been, and how utterly unworthy of his goodness and generosity I was.

"Sir," I said, and my voice was shaky, "I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for me. I've no money, no power, no anything. But if there's anything I can make or send you to remember me by—if there's anything at all I can do—Is there anything?"

"Yes: Kiss me."

He spoke in a low voice. I trembled with sudden emotion and surprise. Then I kissed him on the cheeks, and he kissed me.

There were two old ladies standing near by; "Brother and sister," we overheard one of them say.

"That's it, isn't it?" I said.

He did not reply.

There was one more moment before I had to go on to the boat. I noticed with a new interest—reviewing with staring inquisition every detail of his face—how good and clever and refined and aristocratic he was; how more than all he seemed sad and hankering and lonely. I could not help apprehending after what had happened—but then, no, that was too absurd. It was but a natural thing to have asked at a parting.

"Au revoir," he said in a last handshake, "but not Adieu."

It was dusk as we sailed out of Southampton Water. England was a fading piece of purple sky, lying low upon the sea; sprinkled with stars, for the harbour lights were showing. As she faded away I knew that she too belonged to the past.

I went to sleep in my bunk, and awoke in the bright sunshine of France and the future.