“You have been saying many kind words to me,” she said, as she put her hand on his arm, “and I have not told you that I value your friendship, and am grateful to you for letting me be more than a mere stranger to you.  I have been very lonely in my life, for I am not one to make friends easily, and it has been a great privilege to me to talk with you.  I want you to know this:  for if I have been anything to you, you have been a great deal to me.  I have never met with much sympathy from those of my own age:  I have found them narrow and unyielding, and they found me dull and uninteresting.  They had passed through few experiences and knew nothing about failure or success, and some of them did not even understand the earnestness of endeavour, and laughed at me when I spoke of a high ideal.  So I withdrew into myself, and should probably have grown still more isolated than I was before, but that I met you, and, as time went on, we became friends.  I shall always remember your teaching, and I will try to keep to a high ideal of life and art and endeavour, and I will not let despair creep into my heart, and I will not lose my faith in humanity.”

As she spoke a lingering ray of sunshine lit up her face and gently caressed her soft brown hair; slight though her form, sombre her clothes, and unlovely her features, she seemed a gracious presence because of her earnestness.

“Now,” she said, cheerily, “you rest here until I come back with your Lucretius, and then I think I must be getting on my way home.  But you must fix a time for our first Greek lesson, for we must begin to-morrow.”

When she had gone he walked in the cloisters, holding his hat in his hand and his stick under his arm.  There was a quiet smile on his face, which was called forth by pleasant thoughts in his mind, and he did not look quite so shrunken and shrivelled as usual.  His eyes were fixed on the ground, but he raised them, and observed a white cat creeping toward him.  It came and rubbed itself against his foot, and, purring with all its might, seemed determined to win some kind of notice from him.  The old man stooped down to stroke it, and was just touching its sleek coat when he suddenly withdrew his hand and groaned deeply.  He struggled to the recess, and sank back.  The stick fell on the stone with a clatter, and the battered hat rolled down beside it, and the white cat fled away in terror; but realising that there was no cause for alarm, it came back and crouched near the silent figure of the old man, watching him intently.  Then it stretched out its paw and played with his hand, doing its utmost to coax him into a little fun; but he would not be coaxed, and the cat lost all patience with him, and left him to himself.

Meanwhile Helen Stanley was looking for the lost Lucretius in the Poets’ Corner.  She found it laying near Chaucer’s tomb, and was just going to take it to her friend when she saw the workman to whom they had spoken in Trafalgar Square.  He recognised her at once, and came toward her.