silent. There was a smothered look of pain on the coarse face; the
school-master's words were sinking deeper than he knew.

"No, father," said Margret, hastily ending his quotation, "'io non
averei creduto, che [vita] tanta n' avesse disfatta.'"

Skilful Margret! The broil must have been turbid in the old man's
brain which the grand, slow-stepping music of the Florentine could not
calm. She had learned that long ago, and used it as a nurse does some
old song to quiet her pettish infant. His face brightened instantly.

"Do not believe, then, child," he said, after a pause. "It is a noble
doubt, in Dante or in you."

The Doctor had turned away; she could not see his face. The angry
scorn was gone from the old master's countenance; it was bent with its
usual wistful eagerness on the floor. A moment after he looked up with
a flickering smile.

"'Onorate l' altissmo poeta!'" he said, gently lifting his finger to
his forehead in a military fashion. "Where is my cane, Margret? The
Doctor and I will go and walk on the porch before it grows dark."

The sun had gone down long before, and the stars were out; but no one
spoke of this. Knowles lighted the school-master's pipe and his own
cigar, and then moved the chairs out of their way, stepping softly that
the old man might not hear him. Margret, in the room, watched them as
they went, seeing how gentle the rough, burly man was with her father,
and how, every time they passed the sweet-brier, he bent the branches
aside, that they might not touch his face. Slow, childish tears came
into her eyes as she saw it; for the school-master was blind. This had
been their regular walk every evening, since it grew too cold for them
to go down under the lindens. The Doctor had not missed a night since
her father gave up the school, a month ago: at first, under pretence of
attending to his eyes; but since the day he had told them there was no
hope of cure, he had never spoken of it again. Only, since then, he had
grown doubly quarrelsome,--standing ready armed to dispute with the old
man every inch of every subject in earth or air, keeping the old man in
a state of boyish excitement during the long, idle days, looking
forward to this nightly battle.

It was very still; for the house, with its half-dozen acres, lay in an
angle of the hills, looking out on the river, which shut out all
distant noises. Only the men's footsteps broke the silence, passing
and repassing the w