n carpet, a few old chairs, and was lined from floor to ceiling
with books. But the wall space between the windows was occupied by an
enormous map of England, scored all over with figures and crosses; and
before this map stood an immense desk, on which were piles of double
foolscap covered with Miltoun's neat and rather pointed writing. Barbara
examined them, puckering up her forehead; she knew that he was working
at a book on the land question; but she had never realized that the
making of a book requited so much writing. Papers, too, and Blue Books
littered a large bureau on which stood bronze busts of AEschylus and
Dante.

"What an uncomfortable place!" she thought. The room, indeed, had an
atmosphere, a spirit, which depressed her horribly. Seeing a few flowers
down in the court below, she had a longing to get out to them. Then
behind her she heard the sound of someone talking. But there was no one
in the room; and the effect of this disrupted soliloquy, which came from
nowhere, was so uncanny, that she retreated to the door. The sound, as
of two spirits speaking in one voice, grew louder, and involuntarily she
glanced at the busts. They seemed quite blameless. Though the sound had
been behind her when she was at the window, it was again behind her now
that she was at the door; and she suddenly realized that it was issuing
from a bookcase in the centre of the wall. Barbara had her father's
nerve, and walking up to the bookcase she perceived that it had been
affixed to, and covered, a door that was not quite closed. She pulled it
towards her, and passed through. Across the centre of an unkempt bedroom
Miltoun was striding, dressed only in his shirt and trousers. His feet
were bare, and his head and hair dripping wet; the look on his thin dark
face went to Barbara's heart. She ran forward, and took his hand. This
was burning hot, but the sight of her seemed to have frozen his tongue
and eyes. And the contrast of his burning hand with this frozen silence,
frightened Barbara horribly. She could think of nothing but to put her
other hand to his forehead. That too was burning hot!

"What brought you here?" he said.

She could only murmur:

"Oh! Eusty! Are you ill?"

Miltoun took hold of her wrists.

"It's all right, I've been working too hard; got a touch of fever."

"So I can feel," murmured Barbara. "You ought to be in bed. Come home
with me."

Miltoun smiled. "It's not a case for leeches."

The look of his s