Most men of
letters are mad and I should be inclined,' he added, with a sudden and
fretful emphasis, 'to argue much worse things for the sanity of your
squire, Elsmere, from the fact that this room is undoubtedly allowed to
get damp sometimes, than from any of those absurd parochial tests of
yours.'

And he held up a couple of priceless books, of which the Spanish
sheepskin bindings showed traces here and there of moisture.

'It is no use, I know, expecting you to preserve a moral sense when you
get among books,' said Robert with a shrug. 'I will reserve my remarks
on that subject. But you must really tear yourself away from this room,
Langham, if you want to see the rest of the squire's quarters. Here you
have what we may call the ornamental sensational part of the library,
that part of it which would make a stir at Sotheby's; the working parts
are all to come.'

Langham reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged away. Robert held back
the hangings over the doorway leading into the rest of the wing, and,
passing through, they found themselves in a continuation of the library
totally different in character from the magnificent room they had just
left. The walls were no longer latticed and carved; they were closely
packed, in the most business-like way, with books which represented the
squire's own collection, and were in fact a chart of his own
intellectual history.

'This is how I interpret this room,' said Robert, looking round it.
'Here are the books he collected at Oxford in the Tractarian Movement
and afterwards. Look here,' and he pulled out a volume of St. Basil.

Langham looked, and saw on the title-page a note in faded characters:
'_Given to me by Newman at Oxford, in 1845_.'

'Ah, of course, he was one of them in '45; he must have left them very
soon after,' said Langham reflectively.

Robert nodded. 'But look at them! There are the Tracts, all the Fathers,
all the Councils, and masses, as you see, of Anglican theology. Now look
at the next case, nothing but eighteenth century!'

'I see,--from the Fathers to the Philosophers, from Hooker to Hume. How
history repeats itself in the individual!'

'And there again,' said Robert, pointing to the other side of the room,
'are the results of his life as a German student.'

'Germany--ah, I remember! How long was he there?'

'Ten years, at Berlin and Heidelberg. According to old Meyrick, he
buried his last chance of living like other men at Berlin. His years