I may mention here, that it was not long before Hugh succeeded in stopping the wine, and reducing the dinner to a mouthful of supper. Harry, as far as he was concerned, yielded at once; and his father only held out long enough to satisfy his own sense of dignity. CHAPTER IV. THE CAVE IN THE STRAW. All knowledge and wonder (which is the seed of knowledge) is an impression of pleasure in itself. LORD BACON.—Advancement of Learning. The following morning dawned in a cloud; which, swathed about the trees, wetted them down to the roots, without having time to become rain. They drank it in like sorrow, the only material out of which true joy can be fashioned. This cloud of mist would yet glimmer in a new heaven, namely, in the cloud of blooms which would clothe the limes and the chestnuts and the beeches along the ghost’s walk. But there was gloomy weather within doors as well; for poor Harry was especially sensitive to variations of the barometer, without being in the least aware of the fact himself. Again Hugh found him in the library, seated in his usual corner, with Polexander on his knees. He half dropped the book when Hugh entered, and murmured with a sigh: “It’s no use; I can’t read it.” “What’s the matter, Harry?” said his tutor. “I should like to tell you, but you will laugh at me.” “I shall never laugh at you, Harry.” “Never?” “No, never.” “Then tell me how I can be sure that I have read this book.” “I do not quite understand you.” “All! I was sure nobody could be so stupid as I am. Do you know, Mr. Sutherland, I seem to have read a page from top to bottom sometimes, and when I come to the bottom I know nothing about it, and doubt whether I have read it at all; and then I stare at it all over again, till I grow so queer, and sometimes nearly scream. You see I must be able to say I have read the book.” “Why? Nobody will ever ask you.” “Perhaps not; but you know that is nothing. I want to know that I have read the book—really and truly read it.” Hugh thought for a moment, and seemed to see that the boy, not being strong enough to be a law to himself, just needed a benign law from without, to lift him from the chaos of feeble and conflicting notions and impulses within, which generated a false law of slavery. So he said: “Harry, am I your big brother?” “Yes, Mr. Sutherland.” “Then, ought you to do what I wish, or what you wish yourself?” “What you wish, sir.” “Then I want you to put away that book for a month at least.” “Oh, Mr. Sutherland! I promised.” “To whom?”