he dead weight swerved, swung into balance,
and life lifted up its head once more. She remembered now, not her
limitations, but the good things of her lot; the cruelties that Fate had
spared her, the miseries that the ruthless goddess had apportioned to
others. But the Professor's presence did not banish, but rather
emphasized, the craving to take part in the enriching of that general
life which was so poor and sad. He strengthened her disposition to
revolt against the further impoverishment of it, through the starving of
her own nature. He would not blame her simply on account of difference
from others. She felt sure of that. He would not be shocked if she had
not answered to the stimulus of surroundings as faithfully as most
women seemed to answer to them. Circumstance had done its usual utmost
to excite her instinct to beat down the claims of her other self, but
for once, circumstance had failed. It was a solitary failure among a
creditable multitude of victories. But if instinct had not responded to
the imperious summons, the other self had been suffering the terrors of
a siege, and the garrison had grown starved and weakly. What would be
the end of it? And the little cynical imp that peeped among her
thoughts, as a monkey among forest boughs, gibbered his customary "What
matters it? One woman's destiny is but a small affair. If I were you I
would make less fuss about it." The Professor would understand that she
did not wish to make a fuss. He would not be hard upon any human being.
He knew that existence was not such an easy affair to manage. She wished
that she could tell him everything in her life--its struggle, its
desperate longing and ambition, its hatred, its love: only _he_ would
understand all the contradictions and all the pain. She would not mind
his blame, because he would understand, and the blame would be just.

They walked together down the avenue towards the beautiful old Tudor
house, which stood on the further side of a broad lawn.

The Professor looked worn and thin. He owned to being very tired of the
hurry and struggle of town. He was sick of the conflict of jealousies
and ambitions. It seemed so little worth while, this din of voices that
would so soon be silenced.

"I starve for the sight of a true and simple face, for the grasp of a
brotherly hand."

"_You?_" exclaimed Hadria.

"There are so few, so very few, where the throng is thick and the battle
fierce. It saddens me to see good fello