distance, over pastoral country, rose low wolds, pleasantly shaped,
skirted with little hamlets, surrounded by orchards; the old
untroubled necessary work of the world flows on in these fields and
villages, peopled with lives hardly conscious of themselves, with
no aims or theories, just toiling, multiplying, dying, existing, it
would seem, merely to feed and clothe the more active part of the
world. Howard loved such little interludes of silence, out in the
fresh country, when the calm life of tree and herb, the delicate
whisper of dry, evenly-blowing breezes, tranquillised and hushed
his restless thoughts. He lost himself in a formless reverie,
exercising no control over his trivial thoughts.

By four o'clock he was back, made himself some tea, put on a cap
and gown, and walked out to a meeting. In a high bare room in the
University offices the Committee sat. The Vice-Chancellor, a big,
grave, solid man, Master of St. Benedict's, sat in courteous state.
Half a dozen dons sat round the great tables, ranged in a square.
The business was mostly formal. The Vice-Chancellor read the points
from a paper in his resonant voice, comments and suggestions were
made, and the Secretary noted down conclusions. Howard was struck,
as he often had been before, to see how the larger questions of
principle passed almost unnoticed, while the smaller points, such
as the wording of a notice, were eagerly and humorously debated by
men of acute minds and easy speech. It was over in half an hour.
Howard strolled off with one of the members, and then, returning to
his rooms, wrote some letters, and looked up a lecture for the next
day, till the bell rang for Hall.

Beaufort was a hospitable and sociable College, and guests often
appeared at dinner. On this night Mr. Redmayne was in the chair, at