But not even the attraction of an unopened parcel of books he had carried home that afternoon from Clough End--a loan from a young stationer he had lately made acquaintance with--could draw him back to the farm.

He sat on and on in the dark.

And when at last, roused by the distant sounds of shutting up the house, he slunk in and up to bed, he tossed about for a long time, and woke up often in the night.

The tyrannous power of another man's faith was upon him.

He could not get Mr.Dyson out of his head.