owing what the scholar's ideal is.' And he lifted
his hand with a smile toward the Squire's book on 'English Culture,'
which stood in the book-case just above him. The Squire, following the
gesture, smiled too. It was a faint, slight illumining, but it changed
the face agreeably.

Robert began to ask questions about the book, about the pictures
contained in it of foreign life and foreign universities. The Squire
consented to be drawn out, and presently was talking at his very best.

Racy stories of Mommsen or Von Ranke were followed by a description
of an evening of mad carouse with Heine--a talk at Nohant with George
Sand--scenes in the Duchesse de Broglie's salon--a contemptuous sketch
of Guizot--a caustic sketch of Renan. Robert presently even laid aside
his pipe, and stood in his favorite attitude, lounging against
the mantel-piece, looking down, absorbed, on his visitor. All that
intellectual passion which his struggle at Mile End had for the moment
checked in him revived. Nay, after his weeks of exclusive contact with
the most hideous forms of bodily ill, this interruption, these great
names, this talk of great movements and great causes, had a special
savour and relish. All the horizons of the mind expanded, the currents
of the blood ran quicker.

Suddenly, however, he sprang up.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Wendover, it is too bad to interrupt you--I have
enjoyed it immensely--but the fact is I have only two minutes to get to
Sunday School in!'

Mr. Wendover rose also, and resumed his ordinary manner.

'It is I who should apologize,' he said with stiff politeness 'for
having encroached in this way on your busy day, Mr. Elsmere.'

Robert helped him on with his coat, and then suddenly the Squire turned
to him.

'You were preaching this morning on one of the Isaiah quotations in St.
Matthew. It would interest you, I imagine, to see a recent Jewish book
on the subject of the prophecies quoted in the Gospels which reached me
yesterday. There is nothing particularly new in it, but it looked to me
well done.'

'Thank you,' said Robert, not, however, with any great heartiness, and
the Squire moved away. They parted at the gate, Robert running down the
hill to the village as fast as his long legs could carry him.

Sunday School--pshaw!' cried the Squire, as He tramped homeward in the
opposite direction.

Next morning a huge packing-case arrived from the Hall, and Robert could
not forbear a little gloating over