William really did feel quite overwhelmed. Gratitude and embarrassment made the next few minutes very uncomfortable. He didn’t quite know what he said, but he finished up with,

‘I hope you’ll live to be a hundred, sir.’

‘That’s for the Lord to say, William. I’ve passed my three score years and ten.’

‘So did Moses and Abraham. And what about Methuselah and all that lot? They lived practically for ever, didn’t they?’

‘It’s for the Lord to say,’ said Abel. ‘I thought he’d called me this time, but seemingly not.’

William had a strong feeling that street accidents could hardly be attributed to the Lord, but he wouldn’t have ventured to say so.

‘You’ll have to watch your step, you know – especially at night. You had a very narrow escape.’

Abel moved his head on the pillow.

‘I was struck down.’

Something in the tone, the solemn gaze, made William say,

‘You stepped off the pavement, and you were struck down by a car.’

‘I was struck down,’ said Abel Tattlecombe. ‘I can’t get from it, and I never shall. The doctor may say what he likes, and Abby can back him up, but I’m telling you that I was struck down. I come out by the side door and over to the kerb, just for a breath of air before I went to bed. The light shone out on the pavement and I could see it was wet, so I just went over to the kerb, meaning to come back again. A very mild air it was, but thickish, with a little rain in it. I left the door open behind me and went as far as the kerb and stood there. There was a car coming along fast. Just before it came up someone pushed me right between the shoulders. I was struck down, and the next thing I knew I was in hospital. That’s six weeks ago, and a week since I’ve been here, and you’re the first that’s listened to me when I said I was struck down. “Who’d want to strike you down?” they said. That’s neither here nor there, and no business of mine, I tell them. There’s all sorts of wickedness in the world, and no accounting for it. The imagination of the thoughts of their heart is evil continually, and what hath the righteous done? Struck down I was.’

With a feeling that it might be a good plan to change the subject, William said,

‘I sent you word by Mrs. Salt about the new assistant.’

The blue eyes became shrewd.

‘How’s she doing? What’s her name? I forget.’

‘Miss Eversley. She’s doing very well. But I’ve put her on to painting the animals – gets the right expression in the eyes. I’ve got a new creature – the Dumble Duck. He’s selling like hot cakes. We can’t turn them out fast enough, even with four doing nothing else. I really needed Miss Eversley for the painting. Miss Cole says she can manage in the shop, but we really want more help there.’

Abel gloomed.

‘I won’t be back for a fortnight, and I’ll have to go easy. Maybe I’ll not be back then. If you want more help you must get it, but I’ll not have anyone except a respectable young woman. Nothing but chapel was what I used to say, but I don’t hold out for that now – not if it’s a respectable, well conducted young woman, which I hope is what you can say about this Miss Eversley.’

Katharine Eversley rose before William’s mind. She arose and shone. When she came into a room she made a light in it. She came into William’s mind and made a light there. He heard himself saying that she was respectable and well conducted. It sounded like a piece out of another book. You didn’t use words like that about Katharine. She had words which belonged to her – lovely, lovable, beloved. You couldn’t use words about her like respectable and well conducted. He used them in a kind of wonder, and felt as though he was painting a bird of paradise drab.

It was actually a relief when Mr. Tattlecombe came back to the will.

‘As I’ve been saying, I’ve done a bit of thinking whilst I’ve been laid up, and it came to me that if you knew what your prospects were you might turn your mind to getting settled in life. How old would you be?’

‘Well, William Smith would be twenty-nine. I don’t know about me.’

Mr. Tattlecombe frowned.

‘Now, now,’ he said, ‘that’ll be enough about that. You’re old enough to be married, and a good thing if you gave your mind to it in a serious way.’

William looked down at the pattern on the carpet and said, partly to Abel and partly to himself,

‘It’s a bit difficult when you don’t know who you are. A girl would have the right to know who she was taking.’

Abel thumped the mattress with his clenched fist.

‘She’d be taking William Smith, and she’d be getting a decent-living young man with good prospects that’d make her a good husband, and that’s a thing any young woman may be thankful for!’

William lifted his eyes.

‘Suppose I was engaged – or even married. Have you thought about that, Mr. Tattlecombe?’

Abel’s colour had risen. He banged again.

‘William Smith wasn’t married, and you’re not married! Don’t you tell me anybody would forget a thing like that – not unless they wanted to, and I’d think better of you than that! Now you just listen to me! I’ve studied over it, and it’s come to me quite plain. If you’re William Smith by name and by nature, then you’re not the first that went away from his home young and improved himself and come back a bit up in the world and feeling as if he didn’t belong. To my mind that’s what’s happened to you. You’ve no near kith and kin, and the neighbours don’t recognize you because you’ve changed above a bit, and only natural, and you don’t remember on account of your memory being gone. To my mind that’s what’s happened, and no mystery about it. But just for the sake of argument, let’s take it you’re not William Smith. To my way of thinking it’s the Lord’s doing. He taketh up one and putteth down another. If He’s taken you up out of whatever you were and put you down as William Smith, then He’s got His own purpose in doing it, and not for you and me to be kicking against the pricks.’

William did not feel able to comment on this. He had a lot of respect for Mr. Tattlecombe’s theology, but he could not always follow its reasoning. He remained silent.

Abel pursued his theme.

‘You settle down and commit your way unto the Lord. Suppose it was to come to you after all this time that you were somebody else – how do you suppose you’d fit in? Forty-two was when William Smith was missing. Suppose you were someone else and you’d been missing even longer than that. There’s a lot of things might be difficult if you come to think it out. Say you had a bit of money – someone else would have got it. Say there was a young woman you were sweet on – likely enough she’d be married to someone else. You can’t come back and find things just the way they were – it isn’t in nature. If you have a cut on your finger, the place heals up – it isn’t in nature for it to stay open and aching. Same way with you. Supposing for the sake of argument that you wasn’t William Smith – your place wouldn’t be there any more, and you wouldn’t be wanted. I can see that as clear as ever I saw anything in all my life, and it’d be a good thing if you could bring yourself to see it too. William Smith you are, and if it’s the Lord’s will, William Smith you’ll stay.’

At this point, to William’s relief, the door opened upon Mrs. Salt and a cup of Benger’s. Abel in petticoats, with the same fresh complexion, blue eyes, and curly grey hair, she wore substantial black, with a fancy apron bought at a sale of work, and a gold brooch with a diamond initial A in a bunch of lace at her throat.

She said, ‘My brother has talked enough. You’d better be going, Mr. Smith,’ and William rose.

Mr. Tattlecombe was not pleased. If he had been up and dressed he would have held his own with Abby, but his leg was still in a splint and he didn’t so much as know where his trousers were. Dignity forbade a futile protest. He stared at her, but she took no notice. Setting the Benger’s down, she adjusted the pillows, smoothed a wrinkle from the bedspread, and left the room, shepherding William.