Such being the case, I felt not a little surprised when he raised his head suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping, and said —

“You see, Jane, the battle is fought and the victory won.”

Startled at being thus addressed, I did not immediately reply:  after a moment’s hesitation I answered —

“But are you sure you are not in the position of those conquerors whose triumphs have cost them too dear?  Would not such another ruin you?”

“I think not; and if I were, it does not much signify; I shall never be called upon to contend for such another.  The event of the conflict is decisive:  my way is now clear; I thank God for it!” So saying, he returned to his papers and his silence.

As our mutual happiness (i.e., Diana’s, Mary’s, and mine) settled into a quieter character, and we resumed our usual habits and regular studies, St. John stayed more at home:  he sat with us in the same room, sometimes for hours together.  While Mary drew, Diana pursued a course of encyclopaedic reading she had (to my awe and amazement) undertaken, and I fagged away at German, he pondered a mystic lore of his own:  that of some Eastern tongue, the acquisition of which he thought necessary to his plans.

Thus engaged, he appeared, sitting in his own recess, quiet and absorbed enough; but that blue eye of his had a habit of leaving the outlandish-looking grammar, and wandering over, and sometimes fixing upon us, his fellow-students, with a curious intensity of observation:  if caught, it would be instantly withdrawn; yet ever and anon, it returned searchingly to our table.  I wondered what it meant:  I wondered, too, at the punctual satisfaction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion that seemed to me of small moment, namely, my weekly visit to Morton school; and still more was I puzzled when, if the day was unfavourable, if there was snow, or rain, or high wind, and his sisters urged me not to go, he would invariably make light of their solicitude, and encourage me to accomplish the task without regard to the elements.

“Jane is not such a weakling as you would make her,” he would say:  “she can bear a mountain blast, or a shower, or a few flakes of snow, as well as any of us.  Her constitution is both sound and elastic; —­ better calculated to endure variations of climate than many more robust.”

And when I returned, sometimes a good deal tired, and not a little weather-beaten, I never dared complain, because I saw that to murmur would be to vex him:  on all occasions fortitude pleased him; the reverse was a special annoyance.

One afternoon, however, I got leave to stay at home, because I really had a cold.  His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead:  I sat reading Schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls.  As I exchanged a translation for an exercise, I happened to look his way:  there I found myself under the influence of the ever-watchful blue eye.  How long it had been searching me through and through, and over and over, I cannot tell:  so keen was it, and yet so cold, I felt for the moment superstitious —­ as if I were sitting in the room with something uncanny.