"Keep it," he said kindly. "You may yet want it. If I were you, I should go on patiently adding book after book, and with each book you buy, buy a little hope too. Who knows? Some day your little Joan may want you. But she will have to go out into the world first and fight her battles. She is one of those who _must_ go out into the world and buy her experiences for herself. Those who hinder her are only hurting her. Don’t try to hinder her. Let her go. Some day when she is tired she will be glad to lean on some one whom she can trust. But she must be tired first, and thus find out her necessity. And it is when we find out our necessity that our heart cries aloud. Then it is that those who love us will not fail us. They will be to us like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." David made no answer, but he smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper and put it carefully into his pocket. *CHAPTER X.* *HIERONYMUS SPEAKS.* Hieronymus was unhappy; the exciseman might or might not be mistaken, but the fact remained that some mischief had been done, inasmuch as David Ellis’ feelings were wounded. Hieronymus felt that the best thing for him to do was to go, though he quite determined to wait until he saw the hill-ponies gathered together. There was no reason why he should hasten away as though he were ashamed of himself. He knew that not one word had been spoken to Joan which he now wished to recall. His position was a delicate one. He thought seriously over the matter, and wondered how he might devise a means of telling her a little about his own life, and thus showing her, without seeming to show her, that his whole heart was filled with the memories of the past. He could not say to Joan: "My little Joan, my little secretary, they tell me that I have been making havoc with your heart. Now listen to me, child. If it is not true, then I am glad. And if it is true, I am sad; because I have been wounding you against my knowledge, and putting you through suffering which I might so easily have spared you. You will recover from the suffering; but alas! little Joan, that I should have been the one to wound you." He could not say that to her, though he would have wished to speak some such words. But the next morning after his conversation with David Ellis he sat in the parlor of the Green Dragon fondling the ever faithful Gamboge. Joan Hammond looked up once or twice from her paper, wondering when the historian would begin work. He seemed to be taking a long time this morning to rouse himself to activity. "I shall take Gamboge with me when I go," he said at last. "I’ve bought her for half a crown. That is a paltry sum to give for such a precious creature." "Are you thinking of going, then?" asked Joan fearfully.