The Rector sometimes came over to the Grange, and was friendly with every one saving Caliphronas, as for some inexplicable reason he professed to heartily dislike that brilliant gentleman. It was certainly a kind of Dr. Fell-ish aversion, of which Mr. Carriston felt rather ashamed, as he could give no plausible reason for such distrust. In reply to a question of Maurice’s he simply said that, much as he admired the physical beauty of the Greek, he was by no means sure that his soul corresponded to the perfection of the body. Indeed, on one occasion, while Mrs. Dengelton was eulogizing the charms of Caliphronas from a feminine point of view, the Rector pointedly quoted that line from the _Odyssey_ which says,—“Faultlessly fair bodies are not always the temples of a godlike soul;” but as this remark was made in Homeric Greek, the significance of it was lost upon the lady. It may be that some subtle instinct warned him against this man, whose evil nature was concealed under the semblance of good; but at all events the Rector was always on his guard against the Count, and delicately warned Maurice against trusting him too far. Evidently Mr. Carriston had studied the character of Ulysses to no small purpose, and found in Caliphronas a reproduction, body, brain, and soul, of the most crafty of the Greeks. Regarding the outward appearance of Caliphronas, the Rector was too deeply steeped in the serene literature of Hellas to be unimpressed with the physical splendor of the man. Making allowances for the subduing influence of modern clothing, which detracts from the most perfect beauty either in man or woman, Mr. Carriston at times, seeing Caliphronas in the dazzling sunlight, thought he beheld, as in a vision, the phantom of some joyous Hellenic divinity untouched by sorrow or care. This man, gifted with exceptional beauty, might have been Hylas, Hyacinth, or Theoxenos, and strayed by chance from some unknown Arcadian vale into the rush and turmoil of the modern world, with its worship of money and position, so alien to the adoration of Beauty and Genius which formed the cult of antique Hellas. In truth, Caliphronas was out of place in England;—our gray rainy skies, smoky air, stifling cities, and domesticated Nature, formed but a dark background for this strongly vitalized being, tingling from head to foot with the healthfulness of wild life. He should have dwelt in the burning south, beside the tideless ripples of serene seas, under the cloudless blue of Attic skies, with the silver-gray olives, the shining temples of the gods, and headland, mountain peak, and island melting into phantom forms of aërial grace far beyond the expanse of the laughing ocean. He was an anachronism in this nineteenth century, the physical survivor of Hellas as Keats was the mental survivor—one had the body of Alcibiades, the other the brain of Theocritus, and both were equally alien to the modern world.