some degree thus sharing the
Silliston community life; and an unpremeditated attitude toward these
learned ones, high priests of the muses she had so long ignorantly
worshipped, accounted perhaps for a great deal in their attitude toward
her. Her fervour, repressed yet palpable, was like a flame burning
before their altars--a flattery to which the learned, being human, are
quick to respond. Besides, something of her history was known, and
she was of a type to incite a certain amount of interest amongst these
discerning ones. Often, after she had taken their dictation, or brought
their manuscripts home, they detained her in conversation. In short,
Silliston gave its approval to this particular experiment of Augusta
Maturin. As for Mrs. Maturin herself, her feeling was one of controlled
pride not unmixed with concern, always conscious as she was of the
hidden element of tragedy in the play she had so lovingly staged.
Not that she had any compunction in keeping Janet's secret, even from
Insall; but sometimes as she contemplated it the strings of her heart
grew tight. Silliston was so obviously where Janet belonged, she could
not bear the thought of the girl going out again from this sheltered
spot into a chaotic world of smoke and struggle.

Janet's own feelings were a medley. It was not, of course, contentment
she knew continually, nor even peace, although there were moments when
these stole over her. There were moments, despite her incredible good
fortune, of apprehension when she shrank from the future, when fear
assailed her; moments of intense sadness at the thought of leaving her
friends, of leaving this enchanted place now that miraculously she had
found it; moments of stimulation, of exaltation, when she forgot. Her
prevailing sense, as she found herself again, was of thankfulness and
gratitude, of determination to take advantage of, to drink in all of
this wonderful experience, lest any precious memory be lost.

Like a jewel gleaming with many facets, each sunny day was stored and
treasured. As she went from Mrs. Case's boarding-house forth to her
work, the sweet, sharp air of these spring mornings was filled with
delicious smells of new things, of new flowers and new grass and tender,
new leaves of myriad shades, bronze and crimson, fuzzy white, primrose,
and emerald green. And sometimes it seemed as though the pink and white
clouds of the little orchards were wafted into swooning scents. She
loved best the mome