Ernest had by this time been married some two months, for he had stuck to his original plan of marrying Ellen on the first day he could legally do so. This date was a little delayed by the change of abode from Laystall Street to Blackfriars, but on the first day that it could be done it was done. He had never had more than L250 a year, even in the times of his affluence, so that a profit of L5 a week, if it could be maintained steadily, would place him where he had been as far as income went, and, though he should have to feed two mouths instead of one, yet his expenses in other ways were so much curtailed by his changed social position, that, take it all round, his income was practically what it had been a twelvemonth before. The next thing to do was to increase it, and put by money. CHAPTER IV. 福彩3d么算中奖 鈥淚 mentioned the word 鈥榩rofessional,鈥?鈥?Fortinbras remarked. 鈥淚n matters like that, no, ma tante,鈥?said F茅lise. At length Chrissy said: 鈥淚t鈥檚 a fine night,鈥?said Martin. 鈥淭owneley is a good fellow,鈥?said I, gravely, 鈥渁nd you should not have cut him.鈥? Martin always remembered the scene: the little low-ceilinged room with its grotesque decorations looming fantastic through the semi-darkness; the noises and warm smells rising from the narrow street; the eyes of the girl opposite raised somewhat mockingly to his, as straw in mouth she bent her head over the iced kummel; the burly figure and benevolent face of their queer companion who for five francs had offered to be the arbiter of his destiny, and leaned forward, elbow on table and chin in hand, serenely expectant to hear the inmost secrets of his life. Pryer had often been like this before, but never so nearly, as ft seemed to Ernest, coming to a point 鈥?though what the point was he could not fully understand. His inquietude was communicating itself to Ernest, who would probably ere long have come to know as much as Pryer could tell him, but the conversation was abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a visitor. We shall never know how it would have ended, for this was the very last time that Ernest ever saw Pryer. Perhaps Pryer was going to break him some bad news about his speculations. I was not sorry that he failed with periodical literature, for writing for reviews or newspapers is bad training for one who may aspire to write works of more permanent interest. A young writer should have more time for reflection than he can get as a contributor to the daily or even weekly press. Ernest himself, however, was chagrined at finding how unmarketable he was. 鈥淲hy,鈥?he said to me, 鈥渋f I was a well-bred horse, or sheep, or a pure-bred pigeon, or lop-eared rabbit I should be more salable. If I was even a cathedral in a colonial town people would give me something, but as it is they do not want me鈥? and now that he was well and rested he wanted to set up a shop again, but this, of course, I would not hear of. "It was the Christ who turned darkness into light. It was the Christ who brought life out of death. It was the Christ who lifted woman from the depths of degradation and placed her in a realm of love and hope. It was the Christ who gave the weary toiler rest.