uld be the child in its nurse's arms, little
wondering, motiveless smiles passing over the tiny puckered face that
was so oddly like Robert already. And afterwards, in the fire-lit
nursery, with the bath in front of the high fender, and all the
necessaries of baby life beside it, she would go through those functions
which mothers love and linger over, let the kicking dimpled creature
principally concerned protest as it may against the over-refinements of
civilisation. Then, when the little restless voice was stilled, and the
cradle left silent in the darkened room, there would come the short
watching for Robert, his voice, his kiss, their simple meal together, a
moment of rest, of laughter and chat, before some fresh effort claimed
them. Every now and then--white-letter days--there would drop on them a
long evening together. Then out would come one or the few books--Dante
or Virgil or Milton--which had entered into the fibre of Catherine's
strong nature. The two heads would draw close over them, or Robert would
take some thought of hers as a text, and spout away from the hearthrug,
watching all the while for her smile, her look of assent. Sometimes,
late at night, when there was a sermon on his mind, he would dive into
his pocket for his Greek Testament and make her read, partly for the
sake of teaching her--for she knew some Greek and longed to know
more--but mostly that he might get from her some of that garnered wealth
of spiritual experience which he adored in her. They would go from verse
to verse, from thought to thought, till suddenly perhaps the tide of
feeling would rise, and while the wind swept round the house, and the
owls hooted in the elms, they would sit hand in hand, lost in love and
faith,--Christ near them--Eternity, warm with God, enwrapping them.

* * * * *

So much for the man of action, the husband, the philanthropist. In
reality, great as was the moral energy of this period of Elsmere's life,
the dominant distinguishing note of it was not moral but intellectual.

In matters of conduct he was but developing habits and tendencies
already strongly present in him; in matters of thinking, with every
month of this winter he was becoming conscious of fresh forces, fresh
hunger, fresh horizons.

'_One half of your day be the king of your world_,' Mr. Grey had said to
him; '_the other half be the slave of something which will take you out
of your world_, into the general l