having
saved this volume--never hazarded a second. With all this, I had never
yet been able to arrest in his visits the freakish, friendly,
cigar-loving phantom.

But now at last I had him: there he was--the very brownie himself; and
there, curling from his lips, was the pale blue breath of his Indian
darling: he was smoking into my desk: it might well betray him.
Provoked at this particular, and yet pleased to surprise him--pleased,
that is, with the mixed feeling of the housewife who discovers at last
her strange elfin ally busy in the dairy at the untimely churn--I
softly stole forward, stood behind him, bent with precaution over his
shoulder.

My heart smote me to see that--after this morning's hostility, after my
seeming remissness, after the puncture experienced by his feelings, and
the ruffling undergone by his temper--he, all willing to forget and
forgive, had brought me a couple of handsome volumes, of which the
title and authorship were guarantees for interest. Now, as he sat
bending above the desk, he was stirring up its contents; but with
gentle and careful hand; disarranging indeed, but not harming. My heart
smote me: as I bent over him, as he sat unconscious, doing me what good
he could, and I daresay not feeling towards me unkindly, my morning's
anger quite melted: I did not dislike Professor Emanuel.

I think he heard me breathe. He turned suddenly: his temperament was
nervous, yet he never started, and seldom changed colour: there was
something hardy about him.

"I thought you were gone into town with the other teachers," said he,
taking a grim gripe of his self-possession, which half-escaped him--"It
is as well you are not. Do you think I care for being caught? Not I. I
often visit your desk."

"Monsieur, I know it."

"You find a brochure or tome now and then; but you don't read them,
because they have passed under this?"--touching his cigar.

"They have, and are no better for the process; but I read them."

"Without pleasure?"

"Monsieur must not be contradicted."

"Do you like them, or any of them?--are they acceptable?" "Monsieur has
seen me reading them a hundred times, and knows I have not so many
recreations as to undervalue those he provides."

"I mean well; and, if you see that I mean well, and derive some little
amusement from my efforts, why can we not be friends?"

"A fatalist would say--because we cannot."

"This morning," he continued, "I awoke in a bright mood, and came i