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forty, he left but moderate provision for his widow and two
children.
    Only when he had reached middle age did John marry; the
experiment could not be called successful, and Mrs Yule died three
years later, childless.
    At fifty-four John Yule retired from active business; he came
back to the scenes of his early life, and began to take an
important part in the municipal affairs of Wattleborough. He was
then a remarkably robust man, fond of out-of-door exercise; he made
it one of his chief efforts to encourage the local Volunteer
movement, the cricket and football clubs, public sports of every
kind, showing no sympathy whatever with those persons who wished to
establish free libraries, lectures, and the like. At his own
expense he built for the Volunteers a handsome drill-shed; he
founded a public gymnasium; and finally he allowed it to be
rumoured that he was going to present the town with a park. But by
presuming too far upon the bodily vigour which prompted these
activities, he passed of a sudden into the state of a confirmed
invalid. On an autumn expedition in the Hebrides he slept one night
under the open sky, with the result that he had an all but fatal
attack of rheumatic fever. After that, though the direction of his
interests was unchanged, he could no longer set the example to
Wattleborough youth of muscular manliness. The infliction did not
improve his temper; for the next year or two he was constantly at
warfare with one or other of his colleagues and friends, ill
brooking that the familiar control of various local interests
should fall out of his hands. But before long he appeared to resign
himself to his fate, and at present Wattleborough saw little of
him. It seemed likely that he might still found the park which was
to bear his name; but perhaps it would only be done in consequence
of directions in his will. It was believed that he could not live
much longer.
    With his kinsfolk he held very little communication. Alfred
Yule, a battered man of letters, had visited Wattleborough only
twice (including the present occasion) since John's return hither.
Mrs Edmund Yule, with her daughter—now Mrs Reardon—had been only
once, three years ago. These two families, as you have heard, were
not on terms of amity with each other, owing to difficulties
between Mrs Alfred and Mrs Edmund; but John seemed to regard both
impartially. Perhaps the only real warmth of feeling he had ever
known was bestowed upon Edmund, and Miss Harrow had remarked that
he spoke with somewhat more interest of Edmund's daughter, Amy,
than of Alfred's daughter, Marian. But it was doubtful whether the
sudden disappearance from the earth of all his relatives would
greatly have troubled him. He lived a life of curious
self-absorption, reading newspapers (little else), and talking with
old friends who had stuck to him in spite of his irascibility.
    Miss Harrow received her visitors in a small and soberly
furnished drawing-room. She was nervous, probably because of Jasper
Milvain, whom she had met but once—last spring—and who on that
occasion had struck her as an alarmingly modern young man. In the
shadow of a window-curtain sat a slight, simply-dressed girl, whose
short curly hair and thoughtful countenance Jasper again
recognised. When it was his turn to be presented to Miss Yule, he
saw that she doubted for an instant whether or not to give her
hand; yet she decided to do so, and there was something very
pleasant to him in its warm softness. She smiled with a slight
embarrassment, meeting his look only for a second.
    'I have seen you several times, Miss Yule,' he said in a
friendly way, 'though without knowing your name. It was under the
great dome.'
    She laughed, readily understanding his phrase.
    'I am there very often,' was her reply.
    'What great dome?' asked Miss Harrow, with surprise.
    'That of the British Museum Reading-room,' explained Jasper;
'known to some of us as the valley of the shadow of books. People
who often work there necessarily