of the dead who will not speak to us! But ah! I little thought to what a dungeon of gloom this lovely night was the jasmine-grown porch! The next morning I was glad to think that there was no wolf at my door, howling _work---work!_ Moldwarp Hall drew me with redoubled attraction; and instead of waiting for the afternoon, which alone I had intended to occupy with my new undertaking, I set out to cross the park the moment I had finished my late breakfast. Nor could I conceal from myself that it was quite as much for the chance of seeing Clara now and then as from pleasure in the prospect of an ordered library that I repaired thus early to the Hall. In the morning light, however, I began to suspect, as I walked, that, although Clara’s frankness was flattering, it was rather a sign that she was heart-whole towards me than that she was careless of Brotherton. I began to doubt also whether, after our first meeting, which she had carried off so well--cool even to kindness--she would care to remember that I was in the house, or derive from it any satisfaction beyond what came of the increased chances of studying the Brothertons from a humorous point of view. Then, after all, why was she there?--and apparently on such familiar terms with a family socially so far superior to her own? The result of my cogitations was the resolution to take care of myself. But it had vanished utterly before the day was two hours older. A youth’s wise talk to himself will not make him a wise man, any more than the experience of the father will serve the son’s need. I was hard at work in my shirt-sleeves, carrying an armful of books across the corridor, and thinking whether I had not better bring my servant with me in the afternoon, when Clara came out of her room. ‘Here already, Wilfrid!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why don’t you have some of the servants to help you? You’re doing what any one might as well do for you.’ ‘If these were handsomely bound,’ I answered, ‘I should not so much mind; but being old and tattered, no one ought to touch them who does not love them.’ ‘Then, I suppose, you wouldn’t trust me with them either, for I cannot pretend to anything beyond a second-hand respect for them.’ ‘What do you mean by a second-hand respect?’ I asked. ‘I mean such respect as comes from seeing that a scholar like you respects them.’ ‘Then I think I could accord you a second-hand sort of trust--under my own eye, that is,’ I answered, laughing. ‘But you can scarcely leave your hostess to help me.’ ‘I will ask Miss Brotherton to come too. She will pretend all the respect you desire.’ ‘I made three times the necessary dust in order to frighten her away yesterday.’ ‘Ah! that’s a pity. But I shall manage to overrule her objections--that is, if you would really like two tolerably educated housemaids to help you.’ ‘I will gladly endure one of them for the sake of the other,’ I replied. ‘No compliments, please,’ she returned, and left the room.