He drew in the aromatic scent of the fir-trees as he passed down the curving drive.

Before him lay the long sloping countryside, all dotted over with the farmsteadings and little red cottages, with the morning sun striking slantwise upon their grey roofs and glimmering windows.

His heart yearned over all these people with their manifold troubles, their little sordid miseries, their strivings and hopings and petty soul-killing cares.

How could he get at them?
How could he manage to lift the burden from them, and yet not hinder them in their life aim?
For more and more could he see that all refinement is through sorrow, and that the life which does not refine is the life without an aim.
Laura was alone in the sitting-room at Elmdene, for Robert had gone out to make some final arrangements about his father.

She sprang up as her lover entered, and ran forward with a pretty girlish gesture to greet him.
"Oh, Raffles!" she cried, "I knew that you would come.