With a degree of gravity that trenched on sternness, he bowed, and answered,-- "So be it. I might insist that the closing lines of 'Ulysses' nobly refute all the numbing heresy of the 'Lotos Eaters'-- ... 'But something ere the end, Some work of noble note may yet be done. That which we are, we are: One equal templer of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.' But I would not rouse you from a lethargy, which, knowing it to be fatal to all hopes of usefulness, you still deliberately prefer. Take care, however, lest you bury the one original talent so deep that you fail to unearth it when the Master demands it in the final day of restitution. I have questioned you concerning your studies, because I desired and intended to offer my services as tutor, while you prosecuted mathematics and the languages; but I forbear to suggest a course so evidently distasteful to you. Unless I completely misjudge your character, I fear the day is not distant, when, haunted by ghosts of strangled opportunities, you will realize the solemn and painful truth, that,-- 'There is nothing a man knows, in grief or in sin, _Half so bitter as to think, What I might have been_!'" CHAPTER III. "Salome, you look so weary that I must insist upon relieving you. Give me the book and run out for a breath of fresh air--a glimpse of blue sky." Dr. Grey laid his hand on the volume, but the girl shook her head and pushed aside his fingers. "I am not at all tired, and even if I were it would make no difference. Miss Jane desires me to read this sermon aloud, and I shall finish it." The invalid, who had been confined to her bed for many days by a severe attack of rheumatism, partially raised herself on one elbow, and said,-- "My dear, give him the book, while you take a little exercise. You have been pent up here long enough, and, moreover, I want to talk to Ulpian about some business matters. Don't look so sullen, my child; it makes no difference who reads the sermon to me. Kiss me, and run out on the lawn." The orphan relinquished chair and book, but there was no relaxation of her bent brows, and neither warmth nor lingering pressure in the firm, hardly drawn lips, which lightly touched the old lady's sallow, wrinkled cheek. When she had left the room, closing the door after her with more force than was requisite to bolt it securely, Miss Jane sighed heavily, and turned to her brother. "Poor thing! She is so jealous of you; and it distresses me to see that no friendship grows up between you, as I hoped and believed would be the case. If you would only notice her a little more I think you might win her over."