ittle near what you call charlatanism. Still, though you may deny it
as much as you like, there are many, many things in the world--things,
even, in connection with our daily lives, which are absolutely,
wonderfully mysterious. There are new things to be learned, Henry.
Bertrand Saton may be a self-deceiver. He may even deserve all the
hard things you can say of him, but there are cleverer people than you
and I who do not think so."

"Dear," Rochester answered, "I did not bring you here to talk of
Bertrand Saton. To tell you the truth," he added, "I even hate to hear
his name upon your lips."

There was no time for her to answer. From the shadow of the rock
against which they leaned, he rose with a subtle alertness which
seemed somehow a little uncanny--as though, indeed, he had risen from
under the ground upon which they stood.

"I heard my name," he said. "Forgive me if I am interrupting you. I
had no wish to play the eavesdropper."

Pauline took a quick step backwards. Even in that tense moment of
surprise, Rochester found himself able to notice the color fading from
her cheeks. He turned upon the newcomer, and there was something like
fury in his tone.

"What the devil are you doing here, Saton?" he asked.

Saton's tone was almost apologetic.

"I did not know," he said, "that I was forbidden to walk upon your
lands. I am often here, and this is my favorite hour."

Rochester laughed, a little harshly.

"You like to come back," he said. "You like to sit here, perhaps, and
think. Well, I do not envy you. You sat here and thought, years ago.
You built a house of dreams here, unless you lied. You come here now,
perhaps, to compare it with the house of gewgaws which you have built,
and in which you dwell."

Saton did not for a moment shrink. In his heart he felt that it was
one of his inspired moments. There was confidence alike in his bearing
and in his gentle reply.

"Why not?" he asked. "Why should you take it for granted that there is
so much amiss in my life, that I have fallen so far away from those
dreams? It may not be so," he continued. "Remember that the man who
lives, and comes a little nearer toward knowledge, has nothing to be
ashamed of. It is the man who lives, and eats and drinks and sleeps,
and knows no more when his head presses the pillow at night than when
the sun woke him in the morning, it is that man who is ignoble. You
have spoken of the past," he added, turning face to face with
Roc