women's
society
ought
only
to
be
ventured
on
by
the
men
who
are
made
for
it
.
The
views
of
Catherine
and
Rose
may
be
deduced
from
his
with
tolerable
certainty
.
But
in
the
late
afternoon
,
when
they
thought
they
had
done
their
duty
by
him
,
and
he
was
again
alone
in
the
garden
reading
,
he
suddenly
heard
the
sounds
of
music
.
Who
was
playing
,
and
in
that
way
?
He
got
up
and
strolled
past
the
drawing-room
window
to
find
out
.
Rose
had
got
hold
of
an
accompanist
,
the
timid
dowdy
daughter
of
a
local
solicitor
,
with
some
capacity
for
reading
,
and
was
now
,
in
her
lavish
impetuous
fashion
,
rushing
through
a
quantity
of
new
music
,
the
accumulations
of
her
visit
to
London
.
She
stood
up
beside
the
piano
,
her
hair
gleaming
in
the
shadow
of
the
drawing-room
,
her
white
brow
hanging
forward
over
her
violin
as
she
peered
her
way
through
the
music
,
her
whole
soul
absorbed
in
what
she
was
doing
.
Langham
passed
unnoticed
.
What
astonishing
playing
!
Why
had
no
one
warned
him
of
the
presence
of
such
a
gift
in
this
dazzling
,
prickly
,
unripe
creature
?
He
sat
down
against
the
wall
of
the
house
,
as
close
as
possible
,
but
out
of
sight
,
and
listened
.
All
the
romance
of
his
spoilt
and
solitary
life
had
come
to
him
so
far
through
music
,
and
through
such
music
as
this
!
For
she
was
playing
Wagner
,
Brahms
,
and
Rubinstein
,
interpreting
all
those
passionate
voices
of
the
subtlest
moderns
,
through
which
the
heart
of
our
own
day
has
expressed
itself
even
more
freely
and
exactly
than
through
the
voice
of
literature
.
Hans
Sachs
'
immortal
song
,
echoes
from
the
love
duets
in
'
Tristan
und
Isolde
,
'
fragments
from
a
wild
and
alien
dance-music
,
they
rippled
over
him
in
a
warm
intoxicating
stream
of
sound
,
stirring
association
after
association
,
and
rousing
from
sleep
a
hundred
bygone
moods
of
feeling
.
What
magic
and
mastery
in
the
girl
's
touch
!
What
power
of
divination
,
and
of
rendering
!
Ah
!
she
too
was
floating
in
passion
and
romance
,
but
of
a
different
sort
altogether
from
the
conscious
reflected
product
of
the
man
's
nature
.
She
was
not
thinking
of
the
past
,
but
of
the
future
;
she
was
weaving
her
story
that
was
to
be
into
the
flying
notes
,
playing
to
the
unknown
of
her
Whindale
dreams
,
the
strong
ardent
unknown
,
—
'
insufferable
,
if
he
pleases
,
to
all
the
world
besides
,
but
to
me
heaven
!
'
She
had
caught
no
breath
yet
of
his
coming
,
but
her
heart
was
ready
for
him
.
Suddenly
,
as
she
put
down
her
violin
,
the
French
window
opened
,
and
Langham
stood
before
her
.
She
looked
at
him
with
a
quick
stiffening
of
the
face
which
a
minute
before
had
been
all
quivering
and
relaxed
,
and
his
instant
perception
of
it
chilled
the
impulse
which
had
brought
him
there
.
He
said
something
banal
about
his
enjoyment
,
something
totally
different
from
what
he
had
meant
to
say
.
The
moment
presented
itself
,
but
he
could
not
seize
it
or
her
.
'
I
had
no
notion
you
cared
for
music
,
'
she
said
carelessly
,
as
she
shut
the
piano
,
and
then
she
went
away
.
Langham
felt
a
strange
fierce
pang
of
disappointment
.
What
had
he
meant
to
do
or
say
?
Idiot
!
What
common
ground
was
there
between
him
and
any
such
exquisite
youth
?
What
girl
would
ever
see
in
him
anything
but
the
dull
remains
of
what
once
had
been
a
man
!
CHAPTER
XIII
The
next
day
was
Sunday
.
Langham
,
who
was
as
depressed
and
home-sick
as
ever
,
with
a
certain
new
spice
of
restlessness
,
not
altogether
intelligible
to
himself
,
thrown
in
,
could
only
brace
himself
to
the
prospect
by
the
determination
to
take
the
English
rural
Sunday
as
the
subject
of
severe
scientific
investigation
.
He
would
'
do
it
'
thoroughly
.
So
he
donned
a
black
coat
and
went
to
church
with
the
rest
.
There
,
in
spite
of
his
boredom
with
the
whole
proceeding
,
Robert
's
old
tutor
was
a
good
deal
more
interested
by
Robert
's
sermon
than
he
had
expected
to
be
.
It
was
on
the
character
of
David
,
and
there
was
a
note
in
it
,
a
note
of
historical
imagination
,
a
power
of
sketching
in
a
background
of
circumstance
,
and
of
biting
into
the
mind
of
the
listener
,
as
it
were
,
by
a
detail
or
an
epithet
,
which
struck
Langham
as
something
new
in
his
experience
of
Elsmere
.
He
followed
it
at
first
as
one
might
watch
a
game
of
skill
,
enjoying
the
intellectual
form
of
it
,
and
counting
the
good
points
,
but
by
the
end
he
was
not
a
little
carried
away
.
The
peroration
was
undoubtedly
very
moving
,
very
intimate
,
very
modern
,
and
Langham
up
to
a
certain
point
was
extremely
susceptible
to
oratory
,
as
he
was
to
music
and
acting
.
The
critical
judgment
,
however
,
at
the
root
of
him
kept
coolly
repeating
as
he
stood
watching
the
people
defile
out
of
the
church
:
'
This
sort
of
thing
will
go
down
,
will
make
a
mark
;
Elsmere
is
at
the
beginning
of
a
career
!
'
In
the
afternoon
Robert
,
who
was
feeling
deeply
guilty
towards
his
wife
,
in
that
he
had
been
forced
to
leave
so
much
of
the
entertainment
of
Langham
to
her
,
asked
his
old
friend
to
come
for
him
to
the
school
at
four
o'clock
and
take
him
for
a
walk
between
two
engagements
.
Langham
was
punctual
,
and
Robert
carried
him
off
first
to
see
the
Sunday
cricket
,
which
was
in
full
swing
.
During
the
past
year
the
young
rector
had
been
developing
a
number
of
outdoor
capacities
which
were
probably
always
dormant
in
his
Elsmere
blood
,
the
blood
of
generations
of
country
gentlemen
,
but
which
had
never
had
full
opportunity
before
.
He
talked
of
fishing
as
Kingsley
might
have
talked
of
it
,
and
,
indeed
,
with
constant
quotations
from
Kingsley
;
and
his
cricket
,
which
had
been
good
enough
at
Oxford
to
get
him
into
his
College
eleven
,
had
stood
him
in
specially
good
stead
with
the
Murewell
villagers
.
That
his
play
was
not
elegant
they
were
not
likely
to
find
out
;
his
bowling
they
set
small
store
by
;
but
his
batting
was
of
a
fine
,
slashing
,
superior
sort
which
soon
carried
the
Murewell
Club
to
a
much
higher
position
among
the
clubs
of
the
neighbourhood
than
it
had
ever
yet
aspired
to
occupy
.
The
rector
had
no
time
to
play
on
Sundays
,
however
,
and
,
after
they
had
hung
about
the
green
a
little
while
,
he
took
his
friend
over
to
the
Workmen
's
Institute
,
which
stood
at
the
edge
of
it
.
He
explained
that
the
Institute
had
been
the
last
achievement
of
the
agent
before
Henslowe
,
a
man
who
had
done
his
duty
to
the
estate
according
to
his
lights
,
and
to
whom
it
was
owing
that
those
parts
of
it
,
at
any
rate
,
which
were
most
in
the
public
eye
,
were
still
in
fair
condition
.
The
Institute
was
now
in
bad
repair
and
too
small
for
the
place
.
'
But
catch
that
man
doing
anything
for
us
!
'
exclaimed
Robert
hotly
.
'
He
will
hardly
mend
the
roof
now
,
merely
,
I
believe
,
to
spite
me
.
But
come
and
see
my
new
Naturalists
'
Club
.
'
And
he
opened
the
Institute
door
.
Langham
followed
in
the
temper
of
one
getting
up
a
subject
for
examination
.
Poor
Robert
!
His
labour
and
his
enthusiasm
deserved
a
more
appreciative
eye
.
He
was
wrapped
up
in
his
Club
,
which
had
been
the
great
success
of
his
first
year
,
and
he
dragged
Langham
through
it
all
,
not
indeed
,
sympathetic
creature
that
he
was
,
without
occasional
qualms
.
'
But
after
all
,
'
he
would
say
to
himself
indignantly
,
'
I
must
do
something
with
him
.
'
Langham
,
indeed
,
behaved
with
resignation
.
He
looked
at
the
collections
for
the
year
,
and
was
quite
ready
to
take
it
for
granted
that
they
were
extremely
creditable
.
Into
the
old-fashioned
window-sills
glazed
compartments
had
been
fitted
,
and
these
were
now
fairly
filled
with
specimens
,
with
eggs
,
butterflies
,
moths
,
beetles
,
fossils
,
and
what
not
.
A
case
of
stuffed
tropical
birds
presented
by
Robert
stood
in
the
centre
of
the
room
;
another
containing
the
birds
of
the
district
was
close
by
.
On
a
table
farther
on
stood
two
large
open
books
,
which
served
as
records
of
observations
on
the
part
of
members
of
the
Club
.
In
one
,
which
was
scrawled
over
with
mysterious
hieroglyphs
,
any
one
might
write
what
he
would
.
In
the
other
,
only
such
facts
and
remarks
as
had
passed
the
gauntlet
of
a
Club
meeting
were
recorded
in
Robert
's
neatest
hand
.
On
the
same
table
stood
jars
full
of
strange
creatures
—
tadpoles
and
water
larvæ
of
all
kinds
,
over
which
Robert
hung
now
absorbed
,
poking
among
them
with
a
straw
,
while
Langham
,
to
whom
only
the
generalisations
of
science
were
congenial
,
stood
by
and
mildly
scoffed
.
As
they
came
out
a
great
loutish
boy
,
who
had
evidently
been
hanging
about
waiting
for
the
rector
,
came
up
to
him
,
boorishly
touched
his
cap
,
and
then
,
taking
a
cardboard
box
out
of
his
pocket
,
opened
it
with
infinite
caution
,
something
like
a
tremor
of
emotion
passing
over
his
gnarled
countenance
.
The
rector
's
eyes
glistened
.
'
Hullo
!
I
say
,
Irwin
,
where
in
the
name
of
fortune
did
you
get
that
?
You
lucky
fellow
!
Come
in
,
and
let
's
look
it
out
!
'
And
the
two
plunged
back
into
the
Club
together
,
leaving
Langham
to
the
philosophic
and
patient
contemplation
of
the
village
green
,
its
geese
,
its
donkeys
,
and
its
surrounding
fringe
of
houses
.
He
felt
that
quite
indisputably
life
would
have
been
better
worth
living
if
,
like
Robert
,
he
could
have
taken
a
passionate
interest
in
rare
moths
or
common
ploughboys
;
but
Nature
having
denied
him
the
possibility
,
there
was
small
use
in
grumbling
.
Presently
the
two
naturalists
came
out
again
,
and
the
boy
went
off
,
bearing
his
treasure
with
him
.
'
Lucky
dog
!
'
said
Robert
,
turning
his
friend
into
a
country
road
leading
out
of
the
village
,
'
he
's
found
one
of
the
rarest
moths
of
the
district
.
Such
a
hero
he
'll
be
in
the
Club
to-morrow
night
.
It
's
extraordinary
what
a
rational
interest
has
done
for
that
fellow
!
I
nearly
fought
him
in
public
last
winter
.
'
And
he
turned
to
his
friend
with
a
laugh
,
and
yet
with
a
little
quick
look
of
feeling
in
the
gray
eyes
.
'
Magnificent
,
but
not
war
,
'
said
Langham
drily
.
'
I
would
n't
have
given
much
for
your
chances
against
those
shoulders
.
'
'
Oh
,
I
do
n't
know
.
I
should
have
had
a
little
science
on
my
side
,
which
counts
for
a
great
deal
.
We
turned
him
out
of
the
Club
for
brutality
towards
the
old
grandmother
he
lives
with
—
turned
him
out
in
public
.
Such
a
scene
!
I
shall
never
forget
the
boy
's
face
.
It
was
like
a
corpse
,
and
the
eyes
burning
out
of
it
.
He
made
for
me
,
but
the
others
closed
up
round
,
and
we
got
him
put
out
.
'
'
Hard
lines
on
the
grandmother
,
'
remarked
Langham
.
'
She
thought
so
—
poor
old
thing
!
She
left
her
cottage
that
night
,
thinking
he
would
murder
her
,
and
went
to
a
friend
.
At
the
end
of
a
week
he
came
into
the
friend
's
house
,
where
she
was
alone
in
bed
.
She
cowered
under
the
bedclothes
,
she
told
me
,
expecting
him
to
strike
her
.
Instead
of
which
he
threw
his
wages
down
beside
her
and
gruffly
invited
her
to
come
home
.
"
He
would
n't
do
her
no
mischief
.
"
Everybody
dissuaded
her
,
but
the
plucky
old
thing
went
.
A
week
or
two
afterwards
she
sent
for
me
and
I
found
her
crying
.
She
was
sure
the
lad
was
ill
,
he
spoke
to
nobody
at
his
work
.
"
Lord
,
sir
!
"
she
said
,
"
it
do
remind
me
,
when
he
sits
glowering
at
nights
,
of
those
folks
in
the
Bible
,
when
the
devils
inside
'
em
kep
'
a-tearing
'
em
.
But
he
's
like
a
new-born
babe
to
me
,
sir
—
never
does
me
no
'
arm
.
And
it
do
go
to
my
heart
,
sir
,
to
see
how
poorly
he
do
take
his
vittles
!
"
So
I
made
tracks
for
that
lad
,
'
said
Robert
,
his
eyes
kindling
,
his
whole
frame
dilating
.
'
I
found
him
in
the
fields
one
morning
.
I
have
seldom
lived
through
so
much
in
half
an
hour
.
In
the
evening
I
walked
him
up
to
the
Club
,
and
we
re-admitted
him
,
and
since
then
the
boy
has
been
like
one
clothed
and
in
his
right
mind
.
If
there
is
any
trouble
in
the
Club
I
set
him
on
,
and
he
generally
puts
it
right
.
And
when
I
was
laid
up
with
a
chill
in
the
spring
,
and
the
poor
fellow
came
trudging
up
every
night
after
his
work
to
ask
for
me
—
well
,
never
mind
!
but
it
gives
one
a
good
glow
at
one
's
heart
to
think
about
it
.
'
The
speaker
threw
back
his
head
impulsively
,
as
though
defying
his
own
feeling
.
Langham
looked
at
him
curiously
.
The
pastoral
temper
was
a
novelty
to
him
,
and
the
strong
development
of
it
in
the
undergraduate
of
his
Oxford
recollections
had
its
interest
.
'
A
quarter
to
six
,
'
said
Robert
,
as
on
their
return
from
their
walk
they
were
descending
a
low-wooded
hill
above
the
village
,
and
the
church
clock
rang
out
.
'
I
must
hurry
,
or
I
shall
be
late
for
my
story-telling
.
'
'
Story-telling
!
'
said
Langham
,
with
a
half-exasperated
shrug
.
'
What
next
?
You
clergy
are
too
inventive
by
half
!
'
Robert
laughed
a
trifle
bitterly
.
'
I
ca
n't
congratulate
you
on
your
epithets
,
'
he
said
,
thrusting
his
hands
far
into
his
pockets
.
'
Good
heavens
,
if
we
were
—
if
we
were
inventive
as
a
body
,
the
Church
would
n't
be
where
she
is
in
the
rural
districts
!
My
story-telling
is
the
simplest
thing
in
the
world
.
I
began
it
in
the
winter
with
the
object
of
somehow
or
other
getting
at
the
imagination
of
these
rustics
.
Force
them
for
only
half
an
hour
to
live
some
one
else
's
life
—
it
is
the
one
thing
worth
doing
with
them
.
That
's
what
I
have
been
aiming
at
.
I
told
my
stories
all
the
winter
—
Shakespeare
,
Don
Quixote
,
Dumas
—
Heaven
knows
what
!
And
on
the
whole
it
answers
best
.
But
now
we
are
reading
The
Talisman
.
Come
and
inspect
us
,
unless
you
're
a
purist
about
your
Scott
!
None
other
of
the
immortals
have
such
longueurs
as
he
,
and
we
cut
him
freely
.
'
'
By
all
means
,
'
said
Langham
;
'
lead
on
.
'
And
he
followed
his
companion
without
repugnance
.
After
all
,
there
was
something
contagious
in
so
much
youth
and
hopefulness
.
The
story-telling
was
held
in
the
Institute
.
A
group
of
men
and
boys
were
hanging
round
the
door
when
they
reached
it
.
The
two
friends
made
their
way
through
,
greeted
in
the
dumb
friendly
English
fashion
on
all
sides
,
and
Langham
found
himself
in
a
room
half-filled
with
boys
and
youths
,
a
few
grown
men
,
who
had
just
put
their
pipes
out
,
lounging
at
the
back
.
Langham
not
only
endured
,
but
enjoyed
the
first
part
of
the
hour
that
followed
.
Robert
was
an
admirable
reader
,
as
most
enthusiastic
imaginative
people
are
.
He
was
a
master
of
all
those
arts
of
look
and
gesture
which
make
a
spoken
story
telling
and
dramatic
,
and
Langham
marvelled
with
what
energy
,
after
his
hard
day
's
work
and
with
another
service
before
him
,
he
was
able
to
throw
himself
into
such
a
hors
d'œuvre
as
this
.
He
was
reading
to-night
one
of
the
most
perfect
scenes
that
even
the
Wizard
of
the
North
has
ever
conjured
;
the
scene
in
the
tent
of
Richard
Lion-Heart
,
when
the
disguised
slave
saves
the
life
of
the
king
,
and
Richard
first
suspects
his
identity
.
As
he
read
on
,
his
arms
resting
on
the
high
desk
in
front
of
him
,
and
his
eyes
,
full
of
infectious
enjoyment
,
travelling
from
the
book
to
his
audience
,
surrounded
by
human
beings
whose
confidence
he
had
won
,
and
whose
lives
he
was
brightening
from
day
to
day
,
he
seemed
to
Langham
the
very
type
and
model
of
a
man
who
had
found
his
métier
,
found
his
niche
in
the
world
,
and
the
best
means
of
filling
it
.
If
to
attain
to
an
'
adequate
and
masterly
expression
of
one
's
self
'
be
the
aim
of
life
,
Robert
was
fast
achieving
it
.
This
parish
of
twelve
hundred
souls
gave
him
now
all
the
scope
he
asked
.
It
was
evident
that
he
felt
his
work
to
be
rather
above
than
below
his
deserts
.
He
was
content
—
more
than
content
—
to
spend
ability
which
would
have
distinguished
him
in
public
life
,
or
carried
him
far
to
the
front
in
literature
,
on
the
civilising
of
a
few
hundred
of
England
's
rural
poor
.
The
future
might
bring
him
worldly
success
—
Langham
thought
it
must
and
would
.
Clergymen
of
Robert
's
stamp
are
rare
among
us
.
But
if
so
,
it
would
be
in
response
to
no
conscious
effort
of
his
.
Here
,
in
the
country
living
he
had
so
long
dreaded
and
put
from
him
,
lest
it
should
tax
his
young
energies
too
lightly
,
he
was
happy
—
deeply
,
abundantly
happy
,
at
peace
with
God
,
at
one
with
man
.
Happy
!
Langham
,
sitting
at
the
outer
corner
of
one
of
the
benches
,
by
the
open
door
,
gradually
ceased
to
listen
,
started
on
other
lines
of
thought
by
this
realisation
,
warm
,
stimulating
,
provocative
,
of
another
man
's
happiness
.
Outside
,
the
shadows
lengthened
across
the
green
;
groups
of
distant
children
or
animals
passed
in
and
out
of
the
golden
light-spaces
;
the
patches
of
heather
left
here
and
there
glowed
as
the
sunset
touched
them
.
Every
now
and
then
his
eye
travelled
vaguely
past
a
cottage
garden
,
gay
with
the
pinks
and
carmines
of
the
phloxes
,
into
the
cool
browns
and
bluish-grays
of
the
raftered
room
beyond
;
babies
toddled
across
the
road
,
with
stooping
mothers
in
their
train
;
the
whole
air
and
scene
seemed
to
be
suffused
with
suggestions
of
the
pathetic
expansiveness
and
helplessness
of
human
existence
,
which
,
generation
after
generation
,
is
still
so
vulnerable
,
so
confiding
,
so
eager
.
Life
after
life
flowers
out
from
the
darkness
and
sinks
back
into
it
again
.
And
in
the
interval
what
agony
,
what
disillusion
!
All
the
apparatus
of
a
universe
that
men
may
know
what
it
is
to
hope
and
fail
,
to
win
and
lose
!
Happy
!
—
in
this
world
,
'
where
men
sit
and
hear
each
other
groan
.
'
His
friend
's
confidence
only
made
Langham
as
melancholy
as
Job
.
What
was
it
based
on
?
In
the
first
place
,
on
Christianity
—
'
on
the
passionate
acceptance
of
an
exquisite
fairy
tale
,
'
said
the
dreaming
spectator
to
himself
,
'
which
at
the
first
honest
challenge
of
the
critical
sense
withers
in
our
grasp
!
That
challenge
Elsmere
has
never
given
it
,
and
in
all
probability
never
will
.
No
!
A
man
sees
none
the
straighter
for
having
a
wife
he
adores
,
and
a
profession
that
suits
him
,
between
him
and
unpleasant
facts
!
'
In
the
evening
Langham
,
with
the
usual
reaction
of
his
afternoon
self
against
his
morning
self
,
felt
that
wild
horses
should
not
take
him
to
Church
again
,
and
,
with
a
longing
for
something
purely
mundane
,
he
stayed
at
home
with
a
volume
of
Montaigne
,
while
apparently
all
the
rest
of
the
household
went
to
evening
service
.
After
a
warm
day
the
evening
had
turned
cold
and
stormy
;
the
west
was
streaked
with
jagged
strips
of
angry
cloud
,
the
wind
was
rising
in
the
trees
,
and
the
temperature
had
suddenly
fallen
so
much
that
when
Langham
shut
himself
up
in
Robert
's
study
he
did
what
he
had
been
admonished
to
do
in
case
of
need
,
set
a
light
to
the
fire
,
which
blazed
out
merrily
into
the
darkening
room
.
Then
he
drew
the
curtains
and
threw
himself
down
into
Robert
's
chair
with
a
sigh
of
Sybaritic
satisfaction
.
'
Good
!
Now
for
something
that
takes
the
world
less
naïvely
,
'
he
said
to
himself
;
'
this
house
is
too
virtuous
for
anything
.
'
He
opened
his
Montaigne
and
read
on
very
happily
for
half
an
hour
.
The
house
seemed
entirely
deserted
.
'
All
the
servants
gone
too
!
'
he
said
presently
,
looking
up
and
listening
.
'
Anybody
who
wants
the
spoons
need
n't
trouble
about
me
.
I
do
n't
leave
this
fire
.
'
And
he
plunged
back
again
into
his
book
.
At
last
there
was
a
sound
of
the
swing
door
which
separated
Robert
's
passage
from
the
front
hall
opening
and
shutting
.
Steps
came
quickly
towards
the
study
,
the
handle
was
turned
,
and
there
on
the
threshold
stood
Rose
.
He
turned
quickly
round
in
his
chair
with
a
look
of
astonishment
.
She
also
started
as
she
saw
him
.
'
I
did
not
know
any
one
was
in
,
'
she
said
awkwardly
,
the
colour
spreading
over
her
face
.
'
I
came
to
look
for
a
book
.
'
She
made
a
delicious
picture
as
she
stood
framed
in
the
darkness
of
the
doorway
;
her
long
dress
caught
up
round
her
in
one
hand
,
the
other
resting
on
the
handle
.
A
gust
of
some
delicate
perfume
seemed
to
enter
the
room
with
her
,
and
a
thrill
of
pleasure
passed
through
Langham
's
senses
.
'
Can
I
find
anything
for
you
?
'
he
said
,
springing
up
.
She
hesitated
a
moment
,
then
apparently
made
up
her
mind
that
it
would
be
foolish
to
retreat
,
and
,
coming
forward
,
she
said
,
with
an
accent
as
coldly
polite
as
she
could
make
it
,
—
'
Pray
do
n't
disturb
yourself
.
I
know
exactly
where
to
find
it
.
'
She
went
up
to
the
shelves
where
Robert
kept
his
novels
,
and
began
running
her
fingers
over
the
books
,
with
slightly
knitted
brows
and
a
mouth
severely
shut
.
Langham
,
still
standing
,
watched
her
and
presently
stepped
forward
.
'
You
ca
n't
reach
those
upper
shelves
,
'
he
said
;
'
please
let
me
.
'
He
was
already
beside
her
,
and
she
gave
way
.
'
I
want
Charles
Auchester
,
'
she
said
,
still
forbiddingly
.
'
It
ought
to
be
there
.
'
'
Oh
,
that
queer
musical
novel
—
I
know
it
quite
well
.
No
sign
of
it
here
,
'
and
he
ran
over
the
shelves
with
the
practised
eye
of
one
accustomed
to
deal
with
books
.
'
Robert
must
have
lent
it
,
'
said
Rose
,
with
a
little
sigh
.
'
Never
mind
,
please
.
It
does
n't
matter
,
'
and
she
was
already
moving
away
.
'
Try
some
other
instead
,
'
he
said
,
smiling
,
his
arm
still
upstretched
.
'
Robert
has
no
lack
of
choice
.
'
His
manner
had
an
animation
and
ease
usually
quite
foreign
to
it
.
Rose
stopped
,
and
her
lips
relaxed
a
little
.
'
He
is
very
nearly
as
bad
as
the
novel-reading
bishop
,
who
was
reduced
at
last
to
stealing
the
servant
's
Family
Herald
out
of
the
kitchen
cupboard
,
'
she
said
,
a
smile
dawning
.
Langham
laughed
.
'
Has
he
such
an
episcopal
appetite
for
them
?
That
accounts
for
the
fact
that
when
he
and
I
begin
to
talk
novels
I
am
always
nowhere
.
'
'
I
should
n't
have
supposed
you
ever
read
them
,
'
said
Rose
,
obeying
an
irresistible
impulse
,
and
biting
her
lip
the
moment
afterwards
.
'
Do
you
think
that
we
poor
people
at
Oxford
are
always
condemned
to
works
on
the
"
enclitic
δέ
"
?
'
he
asked
,
his
fine
eyes
lit
up
with
gaiety
,
and
his
head
,
of
which
the
Greek
outlines
were
ordinarily
so
much
disguised
by
his
stoop
and
hesitating
look
,
thrown
back
against
the
books
behind
him
.
Natures
like
Langham
's
,
in
which
the
nerves
are
never
normal
,
have
their
moments
of
felicity
,
balancing
their
weeks
of
timidity
and
depression
.
After
his
melancholy
of
the
last
two
days
the
tide
of
reaction
had
been
mounting
within
him
,
and
the
sight
of
Rose
had
carried
it
to
its
height
.
She
gave
a
little
involuntary
stare
of
astonishment
.
What
had
happened
to
Robert
's
silent
and
finicking
friend
?
'
I
know
nothing
of
Oxford
,
'
she
said
a
little
primly
,
in
answer
to
his
question
.
'
I
never
was
there
—
but
I
never
was
anywhere
,
I
have
seen
nothing
,
'
she
added
hastily
,
and
,
as
Langham
thought
,
bitterly
.
'
Except
London
,
and
the
great
world
,
and
Madame
Desforêts
!
'
he
answered
,
laughing
.
'
Is
that
so
little
?
'
She
flashed
a
quick
defiant
look
at
him
,
as
he
mentioned
Madame
Desforêts
,
but
his
look
was
imperturbably
kind
and
gay
.
She
could
not
help
softening
towards
him
.
What
magic
had
passed
over
him
?
'
Do
you
know
,
'
said
Langham
,
moving
,
'
that
you
are
standing
in
a
draught
,
and
that
it
has
turned
extremely
cold
?
'
For
she
had
left
the
passage-door
wide
open
behind
her
,
and
as
the
window
was
partially
open
the
curtains
were
swaying
hither
and
thither
,
and
her
muslin
dress
was
being
blown
in
coils
round
her
feet
.
'
So
it
has
,
'
said
Rose
,
shivering
.
'
I
do
n't
envy
the
Church
people
.
You
have
n't
found
me
a
book
,
Mr.
Langham
?
'
'
I
will
find
you
one
in
a
minute
,
if
you
will
come
and
read
it
by
the
fire
,
'
he
said
,
with
his
hand
on
the
door
.
She
glanced
at
the
fire
and
at
him
,
irresolute
.
His
breath
quickened
.
She
too
had
passed
into
another
phase
.
Was
it
the
natural
effect
of
night
,
of
solitude
,
of
sex
?
At
any
rate
,
she
sank
softly
into
the
armchair
opposite
to
that
in
which
he
had
been
sitting
.
'
Find
me
an
exciting
one
,
please
.
'
Langham
shut
the
door
securely
,
and
went
back
to
the
bookcase
,
his
hand
trembling
a
little
as
it
passed
along
the
books
.
He
found
Villette
and
offered
it
to
her
.
She
took
it
,
opened
it
,
and
appeared
deep
in
it
at
once
.
He
took
the
hint
and
went
back
to
his
Montaigne
.
The
fire
crackled
cheerfully
,
the
wind
outside
made
every
now
and
then
a
sudden
gusty
onslaught
on
their
silence
,
dying
away
again
as
abruptly
as
it
had
risen
.
Rose
turned
the
pages
of
her
book
,
sitting
a
little
stiffly
in
her
long
chair
,
and
Langham
gradually
began
to
find
Montaigne
impossible
to
read
.
He
became
instead
more
and
more
alive
to
every
detail
of
the
situation
into
which
he
had
fallen
.
At
last
seeing
,
or
imagining
,
that
the
fire
wanted
attending
to
,
he
bent
forward
and
thrust
the
poker
into
it
.
A
burning
coal
fell
on
the
hearth
,
and
Rose
hastily
withdrew
her
foot
from
the
fender
and
looked
up
.
'
I
am
so
sorry
!
'
he
interjected
.
'
Coals
never
do
what
you
want
them
to
do
.
Are
you
very
much
interested
in
Villette
?
'
'
Deeply
,
'
said
Rose
,
letting
the
book
,
however
,
drop
on
her
lap
.
She
laid
back
her
head
with
a
little
sigh
,
which
she
did
her
best
to
check
,
half
way
through
.
What
ailed
her
to-night
?
She
seemed
wearied
;
for
the
moment
there
was
no
fight
in
her
with
anybody
.
Her
music
,
her
beauty
,
her
mutinous
mocking
gaiety
—
these
things
had
all
worked
on
the
man
beside
her
;
but
this
new
softness
,
this
touch
of
childish
fatigue
,
was
adorable
.
'
Charlotte
Brontë
wrote
it
out
of
her
Brussels
experience
,
did
n't
she
?
'
she
resumed
languidly
.
'
How
sorry
she
must
have
been
to
come
back
to
that
dull
home
and
that
awful
brother
after
such
a
break
!
'
'
There
were
reasons
more
than
one
that
must
have
made
her
sorry
to
come
back
,
'
said
Langham
reflectively
.
'
But
how
she
pined
for
her
wilds
all
through
!
I
am
afraid
you
do
n't
find
your
wilds
as
interesting
as
she
found
hers
?
'
His
question
and
his
smile
startled
her
.
Her
first
impulse
was
to
take
up
her
book
again
,
as
a
hint
to
him
that
her
likings
were
no
concern
of
his
.
But
something
checked
it
,
probably
the
new
brilliancy
of
that
look
of
his
,
which
had
suddenly
grown
so
personal
,
so
manly
.
Instead
.
Villette
slid
a
little
farther
from
her
hand
,
and
her
pretty
head
still
lay
lightly
back
against
the
cushion
.
'
No
,
I
do
n't
find
my
wilds
interesting
at
all
,
'
she
said
forlornly
.
'
You
are
not
fond
of
the
people
as
your
sister
is
?
'
'
Fond
of
them
?
'
cried
Rose
hastily
.
'
I
should
think
not
;
and
what
is
more
,
they
do
n't
like
me
.
It
is
quite
intolerable
since
Catherine
left
.
I
have
so
much
more
to
do
with
them
.
My
other
sister
and
I
have
to
do
all
her
work
.
It
is
dreadful
to
have
to
work
after
somebody
who
has
a
genius
for
doing
just
what
you
do
worst
.
'
The
young
girl
's
hands
fell
across
one
another
with
a
little
impatient
gesture
.
Langham
had
a
movement
of
the
most
delightful
compassion
towards
the
petulant
,
childish
creature
.
It
was
as
though
their
relative
positions
had
been
in
some
mysterious
way
reversed
.
During
their
two
days
together
she
had
been
the
superior
,
and
he
had
felt
himself
at
the
mercy
of
her
scornful
sharp-eyed
youth
.
Now
,
he
knew
not
how
or
why
,
Fate
seemed
to
have
restored
to
him
something
of
the
man
's
natural
advantage
,
combined
,
for
once
,
with
the
impulse
to
use
it
.
'
Your
sister
,
I
suppose
,
has
been
always
happy
in
charity
?
'
he
said
.
'
Oh
dear
,
yes
,
'
said
Rose
irritably
;
'
anything
that
has
two
legs
and
is
ill
,
that
is
all
Catherine
wants
to
make
her
happy
.
'
'
And
you
want
something
quite
different
,
something
more
exciting
?
'
he
asked
,
his
diplomatic
tone
showing
that
he
felt
he
dared
something
in
thus
pressing
her
,
but
dared
it
at
least
with
his
wits
about
him
.
Rose
met
his
look
irresolutely
,
a
little
tremor
of
self-consciousness
creeping
over
her
.
'
Yes
,
I
want
something
different
,
'
she
said
in
a
low
voice
and
paused
;
then
,
raising
herself
energetically
,
she
clasped
her
hands
round
her
knees
.
'
But
it
is
not
idleness
I
want
.
I
want
to
work
,
but
at
things
I
was
born
for
;
I
ca
n't
have
patience
with
old
women
,
but
I
could
slave
all
day
and
all
night
to
play
the
violin
.
'
'
You
want
to
give
yourself
up
to
study
then
,
and
live
with
musicians
?
'
he
said
quietly
.
She
shrugged
her
shoulders
by
way
of
answer
,
and
began
nervously
to
play
with
her
rings
.
That
under-self
which
was
the
work
and
the
heritage
of
her
father
in
her
,
and
which
,
beneath
all
the
wilfulnesses
and
defiances
of
the
other
self
,
held
its
own
moral
debates
in
its
own
way
,
well
out
of
Catherine
's
sight
generally
,
began
to
emerge
,
wooed
into
the
light
by
his
friendly
gentleness
.
'
But
it
is
all
so
difficult
,
you
see
,
'
she
said
despairingly
.
'
Papa
thought
it
wicked
to
care
about
anything
except
religion
.
If
he
had
lived
,
of
course
I
should
never
have
been
allowed
to
study
music
.
It
has
been
all
mutiny
so
far
,
every
bit
of
it
,
whatever
I
have
been
able
to
do
.
'
'
He
would
have
changed
with
the
times
,
'
said
Langham
.
'
I
know
he
would
,
'
cried
Rose
.
'
I
have
told
Catherine
so
a
hundred
times
.
People
—
good
people
—
think
quite
differently
about
art
now
,
do
n't
they
,
Mr.
Langham
?
'
She
spoke
with
perfect
naïveté
.
He
saw
more
and
more
of
the
child
in
her
,
in
spite
of
that
one
striking
development
of
her
art
.
'
They
call
it
the
handmaid
of
religion
,
'
he
answered
,
smiling
.
Rose
made
a
little
face
.
'
I
should
n't
,
'
she
said
,
with
frank
brevity
.
'
But
then
there
's
something
else
.
You
know
where
we
live
—
at
the
very
ends
of
the
earth
,
seven
miles
from
a
station
,
in
the
very
loneliest
valley
of
all
Westmoreland
.
What
's
to
be
done
with
a
fiddle
in
such
a
place
?
Of
course
,
ever
since
papa
died
I
've
just
been
plotting
and
planning
to
get
away
.
But
there
's
the
difficulty
,
'
and
she
crossed
one
white
finger
over
another
as
she
laid
out
her
case
.
'
That
house
where
we
live
has
been
lived
in
by
Leyburns
ever
since
—
the
Flood
!
Horrid
set
they
were
,
I
know
,
because
I
ca
n't
ever
make
mamma
or
even
Catherine
talk
about
them
.
But
still
,
when
papa
retired
,
he
came
back
and
bought
the
old
place
from
his
brother
.
Such
a
dreadful
,
dreadful
mistake
!
'
cried
the
child
,
letting
her
hands
fall
over
her
knee
.
'
Had
he
been
so
happy
there
?
'
'
Happy
!
'
—
and
Rose
's
lip
curled
.
'
His
brothers
used
to
kick
and
cuff
him
,
his
father
was
awfully
unkind
to
him
,
he
never
had
a
day
's
peace
till
he
went
to
school
,
and
after
he
went
to
school
he
never
came
back
for
years
and
years
and
years
,
till
Catherine
was
fifteen
.
What
could
have
made
him
so
fond
of
it
?
'
And
again
looking
despondently
into
the
fire
she
pondered
that
far-off
perversity
of
her
father
's
.
'
Blood
has
strange
magnetisms
,
'
said
Langham
,
seized
as
he
spoke
by
the
pensive
prettiness
of
the
bent
head
and
neck
,
'
and
they
show
themselves
in
the
oddest
ways
.
'
'
Then
I
wish
they
would
n't
,
'
she
said
irritably
.
'
But
that
is
n't
all
.
He
went
there
,
not
only
because
he
loved
that
place
,
but
because
he
hated
other
places
.
I
think
he
must
have
thought
'
—
and
her
voice
dropped
—
'
he
was
n't
going
to
live
long
—
he
was
n't
well
when
he
gave
up
the
school
—
and
then
we
could
grow
up
there
safe
,
without
any
chance
of
getting
into
mischief
.
Catherine
says
he
thought
the
world
was
getting
very
wicked
and
dangerous
and
irreligious
,
and
that
it
comforted
him
to
know
that
we
should
be
out
of
it
.
'
Then
she
broke
off
suddenly
.
'
Do
you
know
,
'
she
went
on
wistfully
,
raising
her
beautiful
eyes
to
her
companion
,
'
after
all
,
he
gave
me
my
first
violin
?
'
Langham
smiled
.
'
I
like
that
little
inconsequence
,
'
he
said
.
'
Then
of
course
I
took
to
it
,
like
a
duck
to
water
,
and
it
began
to
scare
him
that
I
loved
it
so
much
.
He
and
Catherine
only
loved
religion
,
and
us
,
and
the
poor
.
So
he
always
took
it
away
on
Sundays
.
Then
I
hated
Sundays
,
and
would
never
be
good
on
them
.
One
Sunday
I
cried
myself
nearly
into
a
fit
on
the
dining-room
floor
because
I
might
n't
have
it
.
Then
he
came
in
,
and
he
took
me
up
,
and
he
tied
a
Scotch
plaid
round
his
neck
,
and
he
put
me
into
it
,
and
carried
me
away
right
up
on
to
the
hills
,
and
he
talked
to
me
like
an
angel
.
He
asked
me
not
to
make
him
sad
before
God
that
he
had
given
me
that
violin
;
so
I
never
screamed
again
—
on
Sundays
!
Her
companion
's
eyes
were
not
quite
as
clear
as
before
.
'
Poor
little
naughty
child
'
he
said
,
bending
over
to
her
.
'
I
think
your
father
must
have
been
a
man
to
be
loved
.
'
She
looked
at
him
,
very
near
to
weeping
,
her
face
all
working
with
a
soft
remorse
.
'
Oh
,
so
he
was
—
so
he
was
!
If
he
had
been
hard
and
ugly
to
us
,
why
,
it
would
have
been
much
easier
for
me
;
but
he
was
so
good
!
And
there
was
Catherine
just
like
him
,
always
preaching
to
us
what
he
wished
.
You
see
what
a
chain
it
's
been
—
what
a
weight
!
And
as
I
must
struggle
—
must
,
because
I
was
I
—
to
get
back
into
the
world
on
the
other
side
of
the
mountains
,
and
do
what
all
the
dear
wicked
people
there
were
doing
,
why
,
I
have
been
a
criminal
all
my
life
!
And
that
is
n't
exhilarating
always
.
'
And
she
raised
her
arm
and
let
it
fall
beside
her
with
the
quick
over-tragic
emotion
of
nineteen
.
'
I
wish
your
father
could
have
heard
you
play
as
I
heard
you
play
yesterday
,
'
he
said
gently
.
She
started
.
'
Did
you
hear
me
—
that
Wagner
?
'
He
nodded
,
smiling
.
She
still
looked
at
him
,
her
lips
slightly
open
.
'
Do
you
want
to
know
what
I
thought
?
I
have
heard
much
music
,
you
know
.
'
He
laughed
into
her
eyes
,
as
much
as
to
say
,
'
I
am
not
quite
the
mummy
you
thought
me
,
after
all
!
'
And
she
coloured
slightly
.
'
I
have
heard
every
violinist
of
any
fame
in
Europe
play
,
and
play
often
;
and
it
seemed
to
me
that
with
time
—
and
work
—
you
might
play
as
well
as
any
of
them
.
'
The
slight
flush
became
a
glow
that
spread
from
brow
to
chin
.
Then
she
gave
a
long
breath
and
turned
away
,
her
face
resting
on
her
hand
.
'
And
I
ca
n't
help
thinking
,
'
he
went
on
,
marvelling
inwardly
at
his
own
rôle
of
mentor
,
and
his
strange
enjoyment
of
it
,
'
that
if
your
father
had
lived
till
now
,
and
had
gone
with
the
times
a
little
,
as
he
must
have
gone
,
he
would
have
learnt
to
take
pleasure
in
your
pleasure
,
and
to
fit
your
gift
somehow
into
his
scheme
of
things
.
'
'
Catherine
has
n't
moved
with
the
times
,
'
said
Rose
dolefully
.
Langham
was
silent
.
Gaucherie
seized
him
again
when
it
became
a
question
of
discussing
Mrs.
Elsmere
,
his
own
view
was
so
inconveniently
emphatic
.
'
And
you
think
,
'
she
went
on
,
'
you
really
think
,
without
being
too
ungrateful
to
papa
,
and
too
unkind
to
the
old
Leyburn
ghosts
'
—
and
a
little
laugh
danced
through
the
vibrating
voice
—
'
I
might
try
and
get
them
to
give
up
Burwood
—
I
might
struggle
to
have
my
way
?
I
shall
,
of
course
I
shall
!
I
never
was
a
meek
martyr
,
and
never
shall
be
.
But
one
ca
n't
help
having
qualms
,
though
one
does
n't
tell
them
to
one
's
sisters
and
cousins
and
aunts
.
And
sometimes
'
—
she
turned
her
chin
round
on
her
hand
and
looked
at
him
with
a
delicious
shy
impulsiveness
—
'
sometimes
a
stranger
sees
clearer
.
Do
you
think
me
a
monster
,
as
Catherine
does
?
'
Even
as
she
spoke
her
own
words
startled
her
—
the
confidence
,
the
abandonment
of
them
.
But
she
held
to
them
bravely
;
only
her
eyelids
quivered
.
She
had
absurdly
misjudged
this
man
,
and
there
was
a
warm
penitence
in
her
heart
.
How
kind
he
had
been
,
how
sympathetic
!
He
rose
with
her
last
words
,
and
stood
leaning
against
the
mantelpiece
,
looking
down
upon
her
gravely
,
with
the
air
,
as
it
seemed
to
her
,
of
her
friend
,
her
confessor
.
Her
white
childish
brow
,
the
little
curls
of
bright
hair
upon
her
temples
,
her
parted
lips
,
the
pretty
folds
of
the
muslin
dress
,
the
little
foot
on
the
fender
—
every
detail
of
the
picture
impressed
itself
once
for
all
.
Langham
will
carry
it
with
him
to
his
grave
.
'
Tell
me
,
'
she
said
again
,
smiling
divinely
,
as
though
to
encourage
him
—
'
tell
me
quite
frankly
,
down
to
the
bottom
,
what
you
think
?
'
The
harsh
noise
of
an
opening
door
in
the
distance
,
and
a
gust
of
wind
sweeping
through
the
house
,
voices
and
steps
approaching
.
Rose
sprang
up
,
and
,
for
the
first
time
during
all
the
latter
part
of
their
conversation
,
felt
a
sharp
sense
of
embarrassment
.
'
How
early
you
are
,
Robert
!
'
she
exclaimed
,
as
the
study
door
opened
,
and
Robert
's
wind-blown
head
and
tall
form
,
wrapped
in
an
Inverness
cape
,
appeared
on
the
threshold
.
'
Is
Catherine
tired
?
'
'
Rather
,
'
said
Robert
,
the
slightest
gleam
of
surprise
betraying
itself
on
his
face
.
'
She
has
gone
to
bed
,
and
told
me
to
ask
you
to
come
and
say
good-night
to
her
.
'
'
You
got
my
message
about
not
coming
from
old
Martha
?
'
asked
Rose
.
'
I
met
her
on
the
common
.
'
'
Yes
,
she
gave
it
us
at
the
church
door
.
'
He
went
out
again
into
the
passage
to
hang
up
his
greatcoat
.
She
followed
,
longing
to
tell
him
that
it
was
pure
accident
that
took
her
to
the
study
,
but
she
could
not
find
words
in
which
to
do
it
,
and
could
only
say
good-night
a
little
abruptly
.
'
How
tempting
that
fire
looks
!
'
said
Robert
,
re-entering
the
study
.
'
Were
you
very
cold
,
Langham
,
before
you
lit
it
?
'
'
Very
,
'
said
Langham
,
smiling
,
his
arm
behind
his
head
,
his
eyes
fixed
on
the
blaze
;
'
but
I
have
been
delightfully
warm
and
happy
since
.
'
CHAPTER
XIV
Catherine
stopped
beside
the
drawing-room
window
with
a
start
,
caught
by
something
she
saw
outside
.
It
was
nothing
,
however
,
but
the
figures
of
Rose
and
Langham
strolling
round
the
garden
.
A
bystander
would
have
been
puzzled
by
the
sudden
knitting
of
Catherine
's
brows
over
it
.
Rose
held
a
red
parasol
,
which
gleamed
against
the
trees
;
Dandie
leapt
about
her
,
but
she
was
too
busy
talking
to
take
much
notice
of
him
.
Talking
,
chattering
,
to
that
cold
cynic
of
a
man
,
for
whom
only
yesterday
she
had
scarcely
had
a
civil
word
!
Catherine
felt
herself
a
prey
to
all
sorts
of
vague
unreasonable
alarms
.
Robert
had
said
to
her
the
night
before
,
with
an
odd
look
:
'
Wifie
,
when
I
came
in
I
found
Langham
and
Rose
had
been
spending
the
evening
together
in
the
study
.
And
I
do
n't
know
when
I
have
seen
Langham
so
brilliant
or
so
alive
as
in
our
smoking
talk
just
now
!
'
Catherine
had
laughed
him
to
scorn
;
but
,
all
the
same
,
she
had
been
a
little
longer
going
to
sleep
than
usual
.
She
felt
herself
almost
as
much
as
ever
the
guardian
of
her
sisters
,
and
the
old
sensitive
nerve
was
set
quivering
.
And
now
there
could
be
no
question
about
it
—
Rose
had
changed
her
ground
towards
Mr.
Langham
altogether
.
Her
manner
at
breakfast
was
evidence
enough
of
it
.
Catherine
's
self-torturing
mind
leapt
on
for
an
instant
to
all
sorts
of
horrors
.
That
man
!
—
and
she
and
Robert
responsible
to
her
mother
and
her
dead
father
!
Never
!
Then
she
scolded
herself
back
to
common
sense
.
Rose
and
he
had
discovered
a
common
subject
in
music
and
musicians
.
That
would
be
quite
enough
to
account
for
the
new-born
friendship
on
Rose
's
part
.
And
in
five
more
days
,
the
limit
of
Langham
's
stay
,
nothing
very
dreadful
could
happen
,
argued
the
reserved
Catherine
.
But
she
was
uneasy
,
and
after
a
bit
,
as
that
tête-à-tête
in
the
garden
still
went
on
,
she
could
not
,
for
the
life
of
her
,
help
interfering
.
She
strolled
out
to
meet
them
with
some
woollen
stuff
hanging
over
her
arm
,
and
made
a
plaintive
and
smiling
appeal
to
Rose
to
come
and
help
her
with
some
preparations
for
a
mothers
'
meeting
to
be
held
that
afternoon
.
Rose
,
who
was
supposed
by
the
family
to
be
'
taking
care
'
of
her
sister
at
a
critical
time
,
had
a
moment
's
prick
of
conscience
,
and
went
off
with
a
good
grace
.
Langham
felt
vaguely
that
he
owed
Mrs.
Elsmere
another
grudge
,
but
he
resigned
himself
and
took
out
a
cigarette
,
wherewith
to
console
himself
for
the
loss
of
his
companion
.
Presently
,
as
he
stood
for
a
moment
turning
over
some
new
books
on
the
drawing-room
table
,
Rose
came
in
.
She
held
an
armful
of
blue
serge
,
and
,
going
up
to
a
table
in
the
window
,
she
took
from
it
a
little
work-case
,
and
was
about
to
vanish
again
when
Langham
went
up
to
her
.
'
You
look
intolerably
busy
,
'
he
said
to
her
,
discontentedly
.
'
Six
dresses
,
ten
cloaks
,
eight
petticoats
to
cut
out
by
luncheon
time
,
'
she
answered
demurely
,
with
a
countenance
of
most
Dorcas-like
seriousness
,
'
and
if
I
spoil
them
I
shall
have
to
pay
for
the
stuff
!
'
He
shrugged
his
shoulders
and
looked
at
her
,
smiling
,
still
master
of
himself
and
of
his
words
.
'
And
no
music
—
none
at
all
?
Perhaps
you
do
n't
know
that
I
too
can
accompany
?
'
'
You
play
!
'
she
exclaimed
,
incredulous
.
'
Try
me
.
'
The
light
of
his
fine
black
eyes
seemed
to
encompass
her
.
She
moved
backward
a
little
,
shaking
her
head
.
'
Not
this
morning
,
'
she
said
.
'
Oh
dear
,
no
,
not
this
morning
!
I
am
afraid
you
do
n't
know
anything
about
tacking
or
fixing
,
or
the
abominable
time
they
take
.
Well
,
it
could
hardly
be
expected
.
There
is
nothing
in
the
world
'
—
and
she
shook
her
serge
vindictively
—
'
that
I
hate
so
much
!
'
'
And
not
this
afternoon
,
for
Robert
and
I
go
fishing
.
But
this
evening
?
'
he
said
,
detaining
her
.
She
nodded
lightly
,
dropped
her
lovely
eyes
with
a
sudden
embarrassment
,
and
went
away
with
lightning
quickness
.
A
minute
or
two
later
Elsmere
laid
a
hand
on
his
friend
's
shoulder
.
'
Come
and
see
the
Hall
,
old
fellow
.
It
will
be
our
last
chance
,
for
the
squire
and
his
sister
come
back
this
afternoon
.
I
must
parochialise
a
bit
afterwards
,
but
you
sha
n't
be
much
victimised
.
'
Langham
submitted
,
and
they
sallied
forth
.
It
was
a
soft
rainy
morning
,
one
of
the
first
heralds
of
autumn
.
Gray
mists
were
drifting
silently
across
the
woods
and
the
wide
stubbles
of
the
now
shaven
cornfield
,
where
white
lines
of
reapers
were
at
work
,
as
the
morning
cleared
,
making
and
stacking
the
sheaves
.
After
a
stormy
night
the
garden
was
strewn
with
débris
,
and
here
and
there
noiseless
prophetic
showers
of
leaves
were
dropping
on
the
lawn
.
Elsmere
took
his
guest
along
a
bit
of
common
,
where
great
black
junipers
stood
up
like
magnates
in
council
above
the
motley
undergrowth
of
fern
and
heather
,
and
then
they
turned
into
the
park
.
A
great
stretch
of
dimpled
land
it
was
,
falling
softly
towards
the
south
and
west
,
bounded
by
a
shining
twisted
river
,
and
commanding
from
all
its
highest
points
a
heathery
world
of
distance
,
now
turned
a
stormy
purple
under
the
drooping
fringes
of
the
rain
clouds
.
They
walked
downwards
from
the
moment
of
entering
it
,
till
at
last
,
when
they
reached
a
wooded
plateau
about
a
hundred
feet
above
the
river
,
the
house
itself
came
suddenly
into
view
.
That
was
a
house
of
houses
!
The
large
main
building
,
as
distinguished
from
the
lower
stone
portions
to
the
north
which
represented
a
fragment
of
the
older
Elizabethan
house
,
had
been
in
its
day
the
crown
and
boast
of
Jacobean
house-architecture
.
It
was
fretted
and
jewelled
with
Renaissance
terra-cotta
work
from
end
to
end
;
each
gable
had
its
lace
work
,
each
window
its
carved
setting
.
And
yet
the
lines
of
the
whole
were
so
noble
,
genius
had
hit
the
general
proportions
so
finely
,
that
no
effect
of
stateliness
or
grandeur
had
been
missed
through
all
the
accumulation
of
ornament
.
Majestic
relic
of
a
vanished
England
,
the
house
rose
amid
the
August
woods
rich
in
every
beauty
that
site
,
and
wealth
,
and
centuries
could
give
to
it
.
The
river
ran
about
it
as
though
it
loved
it
.
The
cedars
which
had
kept
it
company
for
well-nigh
two
centuries
gathered
proudly
round
it
;
the
deer
grouped
themselves
in
the
park
beneath
it
,
as
though
they
were
conscious
elements
in
a
great
whole
of
loveliness
.
The
two
friends
were
admitted
by
a
housemaid
who
happened
to
be
busy
in
the
hall
,
and
whose
red
cheeks
and
general
breathlessness
bore
witness
to
the
energy
of
the
storm
of
preparation
now
sweeping
through
the
house
.
The
famous
hall
to
which
Elsmere
at
once
drew
Langham
's
attention
was
,
however
,
in
no
way
remarkable
for
size
or
height
.
It
told
comparatively
little
of
seignorial
dignity
,
but
it
was
as
though
generation
after
generation
had
employed
upon
its
perfecting
the
craft
of
its
most
delicate
fingers
,
the
love
of
its
most
fanciful
and
ingenious
spirits
.
Overhead
,
the
stucco-work
ceiling
,
covered
with
stags
and
birds
and
strange
heraldic
creatures
unknown
to
science
,
had
the
deep
creamy
tint
,
the
consistency
and
surface
of
antique
ivory
.
From
the
white
and
gilt
frieze
beneath
,
untouched
,
so
Robert
explained
,
since
the
Jacobean
days
when
it
was
first
executed
,
hung
Renaissance
tapestries
which
would
have
made
the
heart
's
delight
of
any
romantic
child
,
so
rich
they
were
in
groves
of
marvellous
trees
hung
with
red
and
golden
fruits
,
in
far-reaching
palaces
and
rock-built
citadels
,
in
flying
shepherdesses
and
pursuing
shepherds
.
Between
the
tapestries
,
again
,
there
were
breadths
of
carved
panelling
,
crowded
with
all
things
round
and
sweet
,
with
fruits
and
flowers
and
strange
musical
instruments
,
with
flying
cherubs
,
and
fair
faces
in
laurel-wreathed
medallions
;
while
in
the
middle
of
the
wall
a
great
oriel
window
broke
the
dim
venerable
surfaces
of
wood
and
tapestry
with
stretches
of
jewelled
light
.
Tables
crowded
with
antiques
,
with
Tanagra
figures
or
Greek
vases
,
with
Florentine
bronzes
or
specimens
of
the
wilful
vivacious
wood-carving
of
seventeenth-century
Spain
,
stood
scattered
on
the
Persian
carpets
.
And
,
to
complete
the
whole
,
the
gardeners
had
just
been
at
work
on
the
corners
of
the
hall
,
and
of
the
great
window
,
so
that
the
hard-won
subtleties
of
man
's
bygone
handiwork
,
with
which
the
splendid
room
was
encrusted
from
top
to
bottom
,
were
masked
and
relieved
here
and
there
by
the
careless
easy
splendour
of
flowers
,
which
had
but
to
bloom
in
order
to
eclipse
them
all
.
Robert
was
at
home
in
the
great
pile
,
where
for
many
months
he
had
gone
freely
in
and
out
on
his
way
to
the
library
,
and
the
housekeeper
only
met
him
to
make
an
apology
for
her
working
dress
,
and
to
hand
over
to
him
the
keys
of
the
library
bookcases
,
with
the
fretful
comment
that
seemed
to
have
in
it
the
ghostly
voice
of
generations
of
housemaids
,
'
Oh
lor
'
,
sir
,
they
are
a
trouble
,
them
books
!
'
From
the
drawing-rooms
,
full
of
a
more
modern
and
less
poetical
magnificence
,
where
Langham
turned
restless
and
refractory
,
Elsmere
with
a
smile
took
his
guest
silently
back
into
the
hall
,
and
opened
a
carved
door
behind
a
curtain
.
Passing
through
,
they
found
themselves
in
a
long
passage
lighted
by
small
windows
on
the
left-hand
side
.
'
This
passage
,
please
notice
,
'
said
Robert
,
'
leads
to
nothing
but
the
wing
containing
the
library
,
or
rather
libraries
,
which
is
the
oldest
part
of
the
house
.
I
always
enter
it
with
a
kind
of
pleasing
awe
!
Consider
these
carpets
,
which
keep
out
every
sound
,
and
look
how
everything
gets
older
as
we
go
on
.
'
For
half-way
down
the
passage
the
ceiling
seemed
to
descend
upon
their
heads
,
the
flooring
became
uneven
and
woodwork
and
walls
showed
that
they
had
passed
from
the
Jacobean
house
into
the
much
older
Tudor
building
.
Presently
Robert
led
the
way
up
a
few
shallow
steps
,
pushed
open
a
heavy
door
,
also
covered
by
curtains
,
and
bade
his
companion
enter
.
They
found
themselves
in
a
low
immense
room
,
running
at
right
angles
to
the
passage
they
had
just
quitted
.
The
long
diamond-paned
window
,
filling
almost
half
of
the
opposite
wall
,
faced
the
door
by
which
they
had
come
in
;
the
heavy
carved
mantelpiece
was
to
their
right
;
an
open
doorway
on
their
left
,
closed
at
present
by
tapestry
hangings
,
seemed
to
lead
into
yet
other
rooms
.
The
walls
of
this
one
were
completely
covered
from
floor
to
ceiling
with
latticed
bookcases
,
enclosed
throughout
in
a
frame
of
oak
carved
in
light
classical
relief
by
what
appeared
to
be
a
French
hand
of
the
sixteenth
century
.
The
chequered
bindings
of
the
books
,
in
which
the
creamy
tints
of
vellum
predominated
,
lined
the
whole
surface
of
the
wall
with
a
delicate
sobriety
of
colour
;
over
the
mantelpiece
,
the
picture
of
the
founder
of
the
house
—
a
Holbein
portrait
,
glorious
in
red
robes
and
fur
and
golden
necklace
—
seemed
to
gather
up
and
give
voice
to
all
the
dignity
and
impressiveness
of
the
room
beneath
him
;
while
on
the
window
side
the
book-lined
wall
was
,
as
it
were
,
replaced
by
the
wooded
face
of
a
hill
,
clothed
in
dark
lines
of
trimmed
yews
,
which
rose
abruptly
about
a
hundred
yards
from
the
house
and
overshadowed
the
whole
library
wing
.
Between
the
window
and
the
hill
,
however
,
was
a
small
old
English
garden
,
