lane to
the rectory, and then, boylike, was ashamed of himself, and greeted
Catherine, with all the tenderer greeting.

Only on two occasions during three months could he be sure of having
seen the Squire. Both were in the twilight, when, as the neighborhood
declared, Mr. Wendover always walked, and both made a sharp impression
on the Rector's nerves. In the heart of one of the loneliest commons
of the parish Robert, swinging along one November evening through the
scattered furze bushes growing ghostly in the darkness, was suddenly
conscious of a cloaked figure with slouching shoulders and head bent
forward coming toward him. It passed without recognition of any kind,
and for an instant Robert caught the long, sharpened features and
haughty eyes of the Squire.

At another time Robert was walking, far from home, along a bit of level
road. The pools in the ruts were just filmed with frost, and gleamed
under the sunset; the winter dusk was clear and chill. A horseman turned
into the road from a side lane. It was the Squire again, alone. The
sharp sound of the approaching hoofs stirred Robert's pulse, and as they
passed each other the Rector raised his hat. He thought his greeting was
acknowledged, but could not be quite sure. From the shelter of a group
of trees he stood a moment and looked after the retreating figure. It
and the horse showed dark against a wide sky barred by stormy reds and
purples. The wind whistled through the withered oaks; the long road
with its lines of glimmering pools seemed to stretch endlessly into the
sunset; and with every minute the night strode on. Age and loneliness
could have found no fitter setting. A shiver ran through Elsmere as he
stepped forward.

Undoubtedly the quarrel, helped by his work, and the perpetual presence
of that beautiful house commanding the whole country round it from its
plateau above the river, kept Elsmere specially in mind of the Squire.
As before their first meeting, and in spite of it, he became more and
more imaginatively preoccupied with him. One of the signs of it was a
strong desire to read the Squire's two famous books: one, 'The Idols of
the Market Place,' an attack on English beliefs; the other, 'Essays on
English Culture,' an attack on English ideals of education. He had never
come across them as it happened, and perhaps Newcome's denunciation had
some effect in inducing him for a time to refrain from reading them. But
in December he ordered them and wa