I had an odd feeling that it was his novel which kept him going, and I began to wonder what would happen when it was finished.
A month later, when I met him again at Bath, he had written the last chapter of 'At Strife,' and we read it over the sitting-room fire on Saturday evening.

I was very much struck with the book; it seemed to me a great advance on 'Lynwood's Heritage,' and the part which he had written since that day at Ben Rhydding was full of an indescribable power, as if the life of which he had been robbed had flowed into his work.

When he had done, he tied up the MS.

in his usual prosaic fashion, just as if it had been a bundle of clothes, and put it on a side table.
It was arranged that I should take it to Davison--the publisher of 'Lynwood's Heritage'-- on Monday, and see what offer he would make for it.

Just at that time I felt so sorry for Derrick that if he had asked me to hawk round fifty novels I would have done it.
Sunday morning proved wet and dismal; as a rule the Major, who was fond of music, attended service at the Abbey, but the weather forced him now to stay at home.