--a
circumstance, however, which threw no light on it either way.

'I find myself a good deal reconciled to life by this migration of
mine,' wrote Langham. 'Now that my enforced duties to them are all done
with, my fellow-creatures seem to me much more decent fellows than
before. The great stir of London, in which, unless I please, I have no
part whatever, attracts me more than I could have thought possible. No
one in these noisy streets has any rightful claim upon me. I have cut
away at one stroke lectures, and Boards of Studies, and tutors'
meetings, and all the rest of the wearisome Oxford make-believe, and the
creature left behind feels lighter and nimbler than he has felt for
years. I go to concerts and theatres; I look at the people in the
streets; I even begin to take an outsider's interest in social
questions, in the puny dykes which well-meaning people are trying to
raise all round us against the encroaching, devastating labour-troubles
of the future. By dint of running away from life, I may end by cutting a
much more passable figure in it than before. Be consoled, my dear
Elsmere; reconsider your remonstrances.'

* * * * *

There, under the great cedar by the gate, stood Mr. Wendover. Illumined
as he was by the spring sunshine, he struck Elsmere as looking unusually
shrunken and old. And yet under the look of physical exhaustion there
was a new serenity, almost a peacefulness of expression, which gave the
whole man a different aspect.

'Don't take me far,' he said abruptly, as they started. 'I have not got
the energy for it. I have been over-working, and must go away.'

'I have been sure of it for some time,' said Elsmere warmly. 'You ought
to have a long rest. But mayn't I know, Mr. Wendover, before you take
it, what this great task is you have been toiling at? Remember, you have
never told me a word of it.

And Elsmere's smile had in it a touch of most friendly reproach. Fatigue
had left the scholar relaxed, comparatively defenceless. His sunk and
wrinkled eyes lit up with a smile, faint indeed, but of unwonted
softness.

'A task indeed,' he said with a sigh, 'the task of a lifetime. To-day I
finished the second third of it. Probably before the last section is
begun some interloping German will have stepped down before me; it is
the way of the race! But for the moment there is the satisfaction of
having come to an end of some sort--a natural halt, at any rate.'

Elsme