Part 5 The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the reasonable certainty that he would come to her. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. But it appears he was picked up by fishermen, and carried to France, where he has remained ever since, and where it would have been well for him if he had remained altogether. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. So it does. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. "Ah! but," said I, "there's a great deal in being hanged. Brendon.
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