not quite so, it was better than that. The boy lectured me, Miss
Fletcher,--pitched into me, and I deserved it. He told me I was
fifty-five and a fool for my years. So I was. There was I, grinding
away,--what for? We never saw each other, we never saw the fields,
we were selling all the joys of life for three farthings. So we
decided to drudge no more. Gabriel would have continued, but I could
not allow that; I wanted him here. We found we should have just
enough money to rent a cottage, buy body-covering and plain food. So
here we are. And we are happy. As Gabriel said, What is the use of
toiling for more, when the unprofitable work that brings us a few
extra shillings takes away our capacities for enjoying life? Here we
are, happy all day, eh, Gabriel? He writes his poetry and devours
his books, I devour mine, Jane devours hers; we are learning now all
the beauties of Nature, and man's best thoughts. We are very happy."

A vision of my present life flitted across me, like a cloud on a
sunlit field.

"Oh!" said I, "how I envy you! Nothing useless, not a clog about
you, no stupid formalities, stifling luxuries, no daily lies and
false duties."

"Have you all these?" asked Gabriel.

"Not so badly as some people, but badly enough. I have money, and no
end of respectable relations."

He laughed, and made a wry face.

When I found that it was time to wend my way home, Gabriel offered