Racy stories of Mommsen or Von Ranke were followed by a description of an evening of mad carouse with Heine--a talk at Nohant with George Sand--scenes in the Duchesse de Broglie’s salon--a contemptuous sketch of Guizot--a caustic sketch of Renan. Robert presently even laid aside his pipe, and stood in his favorite attitude, lounging against the mantel-piece, looking down, absorbed, on his visitor. All that intellectual passion which his struggle at Mile End had for the moment checked in him revived. Nay, after his weeks of exclusive contact with the most hideous forms of bodily ill, this interruption, these great names, this talk of great movements and great causes, had a special savour and relish. All the horizons of the mind expanded, the currents of the blood ran quicker. Suddenly, however, he sprang up. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Wendover, it is too bad to interrupt you--I have enjoyed it immensely--but the fact is I have only two minutes to get to Sunday School in!’ Mr. Wendover rose also, and resumed his ordinary manner. ‘It is I who should apologize,’ he said with stiff politeness ‘for having encroached in this way on your busy day, Mr. Elsmere.’ Robert helped him on with his coat, and then suddenly the Squire turned to him. ‘You were preaching this morning on one of the Isaiah quotations in St. Matthew. It would interest you, I imagine, to see a recent Jewish book on the subject of the prophecies quoted in the Gospels which reached me yesterday. There is nothing particularly new in it, but it looked to me well done.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Robert, not, however, with any great heartiness, and the Squire moved away. They parted at the gate, Robert running down the hill to the village as fast as his long legs could carry him. Sunday School--pshaw!’ cried the Squire, as He tramped homeward in the opposite direction. Next morning a huge packing-case arrived from the Hall, and Robert could not forbear a little gloating over the treasures in it before he tore himself away to pay his morning visit to Mile End. There everything was improving; the poor Sharland child indeed had slipped away on the night after the Squire’s visit, but the other bad cases in the diphtheria ward were mending fast. John Allwood was gaining strength daily, and poor Mary Sharland was feebly struggling back to a life which seemed hardly worth so much effort to keep. Robert felt, with a welcome sense of slackening strain, that the daily and hourly superintendence which he and Catherine had been giving to the place might lawfully be relaxed, that the nurses on the spot were now more than equal to their task, and after having made his round he raced home again in order to secure an hour with his books before luncheon. The following day a note arrived, while they were at luncheon in the Squire’s angular precise handwriting. It contained a request that, unless otherwise engaged, the Rector would walk with Mr. Wendover that afternoon. Robert flung it across to Catherine.