g's treasure, and around
the walls of the room there were rows of books, interrupted here and
there to admit a picture of value and beauty out of all proportion to
the other possessions.

Over the window hung a large-faced clock that kept faultless time, and
announced the fact hourly in a mellow, but convincing, voice. Just below
the window and over the desk, was a pipe-rack with pipes to fit every
mood and fancy of a lonely man. There were the short stumpy ones, with
the small bowls for the brief whiff when one did not choose to keep
company with himself for long, but was willing to be sociable for a
moment. There were the comfortable, self-caring pipes that obligingly
kept lighted between long puffs while the master was looking over old
papers, or considering future plans. Then there were the long-stemmed,
deep-bellied friends for hours when Memory would have her way and wanted
the misty, fragrant setting for her pictures that so comforted or
tormented the man who wooed them.

By the rude desk Gaston was sitting on the evening that Jude and Joyce
were clinging to each other in the house under the maples. His hands
were plunged deep in the pockets of his corduroy trousers, his long legs
extended, and his head thrown back; he was smoking one of his
memory-filled pipes, and his eyes were fixed upon the rafters of the
room.

He was a good-looking fellow in the neighbourhood of thirty-five;
browned by an out-of-door life, but marked by a delicacy of feature and
expression.

The strength that was in Gaston's face might puzzle a keen reader of
character as to whether it were native, or the result of years of
well-fought battles. Once the will was off guard, a certain softness of
the eyes, and a twitching of the mouth muscles came into play; but the
will was rarely off guard during Gaston's waking hours.

An open book lay upon the desk, and the student lamp cast a full light
upon the words that had caught the reader's thoughts after the events of
the day and their outcome.

"In the life of every man there occurs at least one epoch when the
spirit seems to abandon the body, and elevating itself above mortal
affairs just so far as to get a comprehensive and general view, makes
this an estimate of its humanity, as accurate as it is possible, under
the circumstances, to that particular spirit. The soul here separates
itself from its own idiosyncrasy, or individuality, and considers its
own being, not as appertaining solel