s, were enough. Robert turned, and went out sick at
heart. The careful exquisite beauty of the great hall struck him as
something mocking and anti-human.

No one else in the house said a word to him of Mrs. Darcy. In the
evening the Squire talked much at intervals, but in another key. He
insisted on a certain amount of light, and, leaning on Robert's arm,
went feebly round the bookshelves. He took out one of the volumes of the
Fathers that Newman had given him.

'When I think of the hours I wasted over this barbarous rubbish,' he
said, his blanched fingers turning the leaves vindictively, 'and of the
other hours I maundered away in services and self-examination! Thank
Heaven, however, the germ of revolt and sanity was always there. And
when once I got to it, I learnt my lesson pretty quick.'

Robert paused, his kind inquiring eyes looking down on the shrunken
Squire.

'Oh, not one _you_ have any chance of learning, my good friend,' said
the other aggressively. 'And after all it's simple. _Go to your grave
with your eyes open_--that's all. But men don't learn it, somehow.
Newman was incapable--so are you. All the religions are nothing but so
many vulgar anaesthetics, which only the few have courage to refuse.'

'Do you want me to contradict you?' said Robert, smiling; 'I am quite
ready.'

The Squire took no notice. Presently, when he was in his chair again, he
said abruptly, pointing to a mahogany bureau in the window, 'The book
is all there--both parts, first and second. Publish it if you please. If
not, throw it into the fire. Both are equally indifferent to me. It has
done its work; it has helped me through half a century of living.'

'It shall be to me a sacred trust,' said Elsmere with emotion. 'Of
course, if you don't publish it, I shall publish it.'

'As you please. Well, then, if you have nothing more rational to tell me
about, tell me of this ridiculous Brotherhood of yours.'

Robert, so adjured, began to talk, but with difficulty. The words would
not flow, and it was almost a relief when in the middle that strange
creeping sleep overtook the Squire again.

Meyrick, who was staying in the house, and who had been coming in and
out throughout the evening, eyeing Elsmere, now that there was more
light on the scene, with almost as much anxiety and misgiving as the
Squire, was summoned. The Squire was put into his carrying-chair.
Vincent and a male attendant appeared, and he was borne to his room,
Meyrick