He consequently devoted all his spare time (and ‘by our Lady,’ as his father would have said, also no little of his employer’s) to the discovery of some precious MS. Instead of the spectacled and wizened faces which they were wont to see poring over their old wares, the bookstall-keepers of the city began to be haunted by that of William Henry, eager and young. They could not understand what his bright eyes came to seek, and certainly never dreamed that it was love that had sent him there—to my mind a very touching episode, reminding one of the difficult and uncouth tasks to which true knights in the days of romance were put, in order to show their worthiness to win those they wooed. The lady of his affections, however, was far from being sanguine of his success; she could hardly fail to appreciate his exertions, but she refrained from encouraging them. ‘My dear Willie,’ she said, ‘it is painful to me to see you occupied in a search so fruitless. It is only too probable that what you seek has absolutely no existence. It is like hunting for the elixir of life, or the secret of turning base metals into gold.’ ‘But, my dear Maggie, some such literary treasure _may_ exist,’ he answered tenderly; ‘and if I can discover it, what is the elixir of life to me will be found with it.’ It was impossible to reason with a young man like this, and Margaret tried to comfort herself with the reflection that his madness had but five months more to run. But it was very, very difficult. Her life was now far from being a cheerful one. She was not so vain as to take pleasure in a wasted devotion, and she bitterly repented of the momentary weakness that had inclined her to feed its flame.