, and her eyes were wearied with the glitter of the dragons'
scales or the silver mail of the knights who fought to the death for the
damsels they served.

Knowing her love of outdoor life, he sent her to Borrow, but even
"Lavengro" failed to charm the lonely student, to whom the sun, the
moon, the stars were all "sweet things" indeed, when no printed page
intervened between her and their sweetness.

It was weary work, toiling there day after day, while the river flashed
and gleamed in the sunlight, and Jock ran barking hither and thither
under the windows, as though imploring her to leave those musty haunts
and come to chase the elusive yellow sunbeams on the lawn.

At first she had been used to take the big, high-backed chair at the
head of the table, and spreading out her books, refuse to cast so much
as a look at the sunny world without; but after four or five mornings so
spent she gave in suddenly and betook herself to the little table in the
window, where from her seat she could watch the tall white lilies
swaying in the breeze, or catch the fragrance of the mauve and scarlet
sweet-peas which climbed their hedge just out of sight.

It was weary work, and Toni's eyes and head ached when the luncheon-bell
rang to set her free from her self-imposed task; but she did not give
in, and after her hasty meal she would return to the library and
struggle till tea-time with half a dozen French exercises, which by the
aid of a key she sternly corrected when finished.

When Owen arrived home, shortly before dinner, Toni was worn out with
the combined effects of her mental exertions and her lack of fresh air;
but Owen, who was turning over in his mind the material for a novel, was
not in a mood to notice her unwonted silence, and was relieved when,
after dinner, she went early to bed and set him free to spend the
evening in his sanctum, making notes and generally planning out the book
he felt he could write.

To the novelist there comes, at the inception of a book, a period in
which the things and people around him recede into the background before
the people and things he seeks to create; and it is scarcely to be
wondered at if at these times the writer's vision, which is turned, so
to speak, inward, fails to realize the significance of the scenes being
enacted beneath his mortal eyes.

And it was so with Owen. During that strenuous fortnight of Toni's
laborious study, Owen was so fully occupied with the visions of his