He looked into the glowing ashes--there he seemed to see in ruins the whole fabric of his dreams--but if there was a law which brought thoughts back, and back again at the same hour each day, then Moravia was right: he must blot out the old pictures and conjure up new ones--but what could they be--?
"You are musing, Henry," Moravia's voice went on.

"Are you thinking over what I said?
I hope so, and you will find it is true.

See, I will tell you what to visualize there in the fire.

You are looking at a splendid English home, all peace and warmth, and you see yourself in it happy and surrounded by friends.

And you see yourself a great man, the center of political interest, and everything coming toward you that heart can desire.