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soldiers’ guns had made a ruin of him. His wearying, tilting gait carried him away from the estate onto the muddying road.
    Ault waited impatiently at the gate. “What is so bothersome to you? I really must know, or else think of you as a boy too selfish to be concerned with his family, especially where the father of the house has met with such an end. Now tell me or else put this childish sulking aside.”
    â€œI don’t want to be here,” Eligius said.
    â€œIs it that I knew your father? Does his shadow stretch over the kindness of Christian labor?” Ault considered him a moment. “I think your father simply learned to have hope that things could be made better, and hope became important above all else. Above soldiers, above dying, above you. What can anyone do for such a man?” He opened the Colebrooks’ gate.
    Send your heart away.
    Eligius entered. He heard the gate close behind him, and the sound of Ault’s departing over the pebbled road. Outside of it all, the day moved.

To the Gates of Empire
    AFTER GRACE, MARY SERVED THE WYNFIELDS FIRST. Charles and Andrew sat at the far end of the lunch, engrossed in conversation. Catherine sat across from Lady Wynfield, who shared stories of her son’s exploits with Sir John as they followed the threads of the star tapestry.
    â€œRangoon, last we heard. In any event, our visit. For I well recall the difficulties setting up a home. Charles should soon be paid sufficiently to afford some furnishings.”
    This caught Andrew’s attention. He ceased his discussion with Charles. “Great work lies ahead.” He offered Lady Wynfield a withering look that shrank her in her seat. “Great reward accompanies.”
    â€œHence our visit,” Lady Wynfield said uncomfortably. “Andrew, may I?”
    Andrew shrugged.
    Taking Catherine by the arm, Lady Wynfield led her outside to their carriage. Catherine paid scant attention. As they made their way between rows of empty chairs, she could not get Charles’ expression out of her thoughts. Proud, at times arrogantly so, a man who suffered no one. Summarily silenced by Andrew and humiliated by Lady Wynfield, and he responded as if he expected such treatment. As if he harbored no expectation of better.
    Lady Wynfield removed two canvases from their carriage. She unveiled them in the house. “My husband’s sponsorship of
yours is a matter of some discussion amongst Ceylon society, you see. Politics, like nature, cannot sustain a vacuum for long.”
    â€œ My husband is an accomplished and well-considered man, lest you see him otherwise.”
    â€œOtherwise?”
    â€œ Dependent. Place-seeking. In need.”
    â€œ You as well, madam. The women with whom I am acquainted speak of you. I wonder, are you as attuned to their speculations in that matter?”
    Catherine was silent.
    Lady Wynfield unveiled the first painting. A perfectly adequate rendering of Julia while at the Cape. A girl of fourteen poised on the precipice of understanding and intending the communication of beauty. Her smile, the curve of her lips, her loosely pinned hair; George had acquitted himself well with her.
    â€œMay I again suggest a luncheon?” Lady Wynfield leaned Julia’s portrait against the wall. “ I chair a group of Directors’ wives. We function as, shall we say, a far-flung adjunct of Christian good works. We sponsor the transportation of children from this savage country to the continent in times of cholera or malaria. We help the edifice of the Galle Face rise. I wish to invite you to organize such a gathering. To do so is to inoculate your husband from needless gossip. For him, shall we say. Here, perhaps this is a painting to hang elsewhere. Obvious reasons, of course.”
    She unveiled the second painting.
    The infant bore the wings of angels, a quiet smile that spoke of serene rest. It bore Ewen’s face, and therefore what of Hardy could be