y to serve them, and yet able to
concentrate himself upon any work of his own.

In his directions he spoke of his great desire to keep his house and
chapel as much as possible in their present state. "I have spent an
immense amount of time and care on these things," he said. It seemed
that he had nearly realised his wish, by careful economy, to live at
Hare Street quietly and without anxiety, even if his powers had failed
him; and it was strange to walk as I did, one day when I had nearly
finished my task, round about the whole garden, which had been so
tangled and weed-choked a wilderness, and the house at first so ruinous
and bare, and to realise that it was all complete and perfect, a setting
of order and peace. How insecure and frail the beautiful hopes of
permanence and quiet enjoyment all seemed! I passed over the smooth
lawn, under the leafless limes, through the yew-tree walk to the
orchard, where the grave lay, with the fading wreaths, and little paths
trodden in the grass; by the hazel hedge and the rose-garden, and the
ranked vegetable rows with their dying flower-borders; into the chapel
with its fantasy of ornament, where the lamp burned before the shrine;
through the house, with its silent panelled rooms all so finely ordered,
all prepared for daily use and tranquil delight. It seemed impossible
that he should not be returning soon in joyful haste, as he used to
return, pleased to show his new designs and additions. But I could not
think of him as having any shadow of regret about it all, or as coming
back, a pathetic _revenant_, to the scene of his eager inventiveness.
That was never his way, to brood over what had been done. It was always
the new, the untouched, the untried, that he was in search of. Hugh
never wished that he had done otherwise, nor did he indulge in the
passion of the past, or in the half-sad, half-luxurious retrospect of
the days that are no more. "Ah," I could fancy him saying, "that was all
delightful while it lasted--it was the greatest fun in the world! But
now!"--and I knew as well in my heart and mind as if he had come behind
me and spoken to me, that he was moving rapturously in some new
experience of life and beauty. He loved indeed to speak of old days, to
recall them vividly and ecstatically, as though they were actually
present to him; and I could think of him as even delighting to go over
with me those last hours of his life that we spent together, not with
any shadow of dr