t to say, I for my count cannot comprehend. Three more parcels on
the stairs, your honour. Mr. Young says you must have them. But it
took two porters to carry them to the Preston diligence."

Not without eagerness did the recluse of Scarthey bend over and finger
the unequal rows of volumes arrayed on the table, and with a smile of
expectation examine the labels.

"The Corsair" and "Lara" he read aloud, lifting a small tome more
daintily printed than the rest. "Lord Byron. What's this? Jane Austen,
a novel. 'Roderick, last of the Goths.' Dear, dear," his smile fading
into blankness; "tiresome man, I never gave him orders for any such
things."

Rene, battling with his second parcel, shrugged his shoulders.

"The librarian," he explained, "said that all the world read these
books, and your honour must have them."

"Well, well," continued the hermit, "what else? 'Jeremy Bentham,' a
new work; Ricardo, another book on economy; Southey the Laureate,
'Life of Nelson.' Really, Mr. Young might have known that naval deeds
have no joy for me, hardly more than for you, Renny," smiling grimly
on his servant. "'Edinburgh Review,' a London magazine for the last
six months; 'Rees's Cyclopaedia,' vols. 24-27; Wordsworth, 'The
Recluse.' Ah, old Willie Wordsworth! Now I am anxious to see what he
has to say on such a topic."

"Dear Willie Wordsworth," mused Sir Adrian, sitting down to turn over
the pages of the 'Excursion,' "how widely have our lives drifted apart
since those college days of ours, when we both believed in the coming
millennium and the noble future of mankind--noble mankind!"

He read a few lines and became absorbed, whilst Rene noiselessly
busied himself in and out of the chamber. Presently he got up, book in
hand, slowly walked to the north window, and passively gazed at the
misty distance where rose the blue outline of the lake hills.

"So my old friend, almost forgotten," he murmured, "that is where you
indite such worthy lines. It were enough to tempt me out into men's
world again to think that there would be many readers and lovers
abroad of these words of yours. So, that is what five and twenty years
have done for you--what would you say to what they have done for
me...?"

It was a long retrospect.

Sir Adrian was deeply immersed in thought when he became aware that
his servant had come to a standstill, as if waiting for a return of
attention. And in answer to the mute appeal he turned his head once
more