in other men’s activity and enjoyments.  I must have a life of my own, outside the walls of a library.  It would be easy to give up all ambition of knowledge, to forget all the joy and sorrow that has been and passed into nothingness; to know only the eternity of a present hour.  Might one not learn more in one instant of unreflecting happiness than by toiling on to a mummied age, only to know in the end the despair of never having lived?’

He again raised his eyes to her face.  It was fixed in a cold, absent gaze; her lips hardened into severity, the pose of her head impressive, noble.  Athel regarded her for several moments; she was revealing to him more of her inner self than he had yet divined.

‘What are your thoughts?’ he asked quietly.

She smiled, recovering her wonted passiveness.

‘Have you not often much the same troubles?’

’They arc only for the mind which is strong enough to meet and overcome them,’ she replied.

’But look, my mind has given way already!  I am imbecile.  For ever I shall be on the point of a break-down, and each successive one will bring me nearer to some final catastrophe—­perhaps the lunatic asylum—­who knows?’

‘I should think,’ she said gravely, ’that you suggested a truth.  Very likely your mind will contract its range and cease to aim at the impossible.’

’But tell me, have you not yourself already attained that wisdom?  Why should you make pretences of feebleness which does not mark you?  You have a mind as active as my own; I know that perfectly well.  What is your secret of contentment?  Won’t you help me in this miserable plight?’

’No, Mr. Athel, I have none but very ordinary powers of mind, and perhaps it is my recognition of that which keeps me contented.  There is indeed one principle of guidance which I have worked out for myself—­’

‘Ah!  And that?’

’It will not enlighten you, for it is only the choice of a natural and easy course, seeing that difficult ones are closed.  The literature of learning is out of my reach, so I limit myself to the literature of beauty, and in this I try to keep to the best.’

’You are right, you are right!  To know the masterpieces of literature, pure literature, poetry in its widest sense; that is the wise choice.  Think; we feed ourselves with the secondhand wisdom of paltry philosophisers and critics, and Shakespeare waits outside the door with the bread of life.  From Homer—­Alas! you do not read Greek?’

She shook her head.

’And you work at German!  In Heaven’s name change your language forthwith!  Why should you not know Greek?  You must know Greek!  I will give you books, I will advise you, show you the essentials to begin with.  There are still a few days before you go into Yorkshire; you can work during the holidays on lines I shall set you; you can write and tell me your—­’

He paused, for her face had lost its smile, and wore again that coldly respectful look which she seldom put off save in her privacy with the children.  For the last quarter of an hour he had marked in her quite another aspect; the secret meanings of her face had half uttered themselves in eye and lip.  His last words seemed to recall her to the world of fact.  She made a slight movement and closed the book on her lap.