disappointment on discovering the inside of the Miser's house to be so
much like any other.

After the necessary stir attending upon the finding of the desired
volume, and getting settled to work, profound quiet again rested upon
the library. Margaret Elizabeth wrote busily, her book propped upon a
small stand before her, while across the room Virginia softly turned the
leaves of a huge volume of engravings, pausing now and then to rest her
cheek in her palm and regard the Miser steadily for a moment.

The master of the library had the air of having forgotten their presence
altogether. Aided by a microscope, with a grave absorbed face, he
studied and compared a series of prints spread before him. So quiet was
it all, that the crackle and purr of the coal fire in the old-fashioned
grate made itself quite audible, and the leisurely tick of the clock in
the hall marked time solemnly.

Margaret Elizabeth's interest in Vedantic Philosophy began after a time
to wane, and she allowed her attention to wander about the room, from
object to object, until it concentrated upon the student himself. Was
he really a miser? she wondered. He did not look it. His was rather the
face of an ascetic. Suddenly it flashed into her mind that here was the
sad, grey man of that unforgettable conversation in the park.

Virginia slipped down and came to her side. "Is there really a room full
of gold?" she whispered.

Margaret Elizabeth shook her head sternly. It was time they were going.
Her hand was tired. She would ask permission to come again. As she
returned her book to the shelf, she displaced a smaller one, a shabby