could possibly give to the work he
contemplated he of course had no choice but to abandon the work itself.
He wrote more verses, and he dreamed more dreams, and he meanwhile
acquired much learning and in process of time realised that he had but a
few days longer to stay at Billingsfield. The Michaelmas term was about
to open and he must bid farewell to the hospitable roof and the learned
conversation of the good vicar. But when those last days came he realised
that he was leaving the scene of his only dream, and his heart grew sad.

Indeed he loved the old red brick vicarage with its low porch, overgrown
with creepers, its fragrant old flower garden, surrounding it on three
sides, its gabled roof, its south wall whereon the vicar constantly
attempted to train fig trees, maintaining that the climate of England had
grown warmer and that he would prove it--John loved it all, and
especially he loved the little study, lined with the books grown familiar
to him, and the study door, the door through which he had seen that
lovely face which he firmly believed was to inspire him to do great
things and to influence his whole life for ever after. He would leave the
door open and place himself just where he had sat that day, and then he
would look suddenly up with beating heart, almost fancying he could again
see those violet eyes gazing at him from the dusky passage--blushing then
to himself, like any girl, and burying himself in his book till the fancy
was grown too strong and he looked up again. He had attempted to sketch
her face on a bit of paper; but he had no skill and he thrust the drawing
into the paper basket, horrified at having made anything so hideous in
the effort to represent anything so beautiful, and returned to making
odes upon her, and Latin epistles, in which he succeeded much better.

And now the time had come when he must leave all this dreaming, or at
least the scene of it, and go to college and win scholarships and renown.
It was hard to go and he showed his regret so plainly that Mrs. Ambrose
was touched at what she took for his affection for the place and for
herself and for the vicar. John Short was indeed very grateful to her for
all the kindness she had shown him, and to Mr. Ambrose for the learning
he had acquired; for John was a fine fellow and never forgot an
obligation nor undervalued one. But when we are very young our hearts are
far more easily touched to joy and sadness by the chords and discords