newspaper,--"a fair type, with its cant, and bigotry, and weight
of uncomprehended fact. Bargain and sale,--it taints our
religion, our brains, our flags,--yours and mine, Knowles, with
the rest. Did you never hear of those abject spirits who entered
neither heaven nor hell, who were neither faithful to God nor
rebellious, caring only for themselves?"

He paused, fairly out of breath. Margret looked up. Knowles was
silent. There was a smothered look of pain on the coarse face;
the school-master's words were sinking deeper than he knew.

"No, father," said Margret, hastily ending his quotation, " `io
non averei creduto, che [vita] tanta n' avesse disfatta.' "

Skilful Margret! The broil must have been turbid in the old
man's brain which the grand, slow-stepping music of the
Florentine could not calm. She had learned that long ago, and
used it as a nurse does some old song to quiet her pettish
infant. His face brightened instantly.

"Do not believe, then, child," he said, after a pause. "It is a
noble doubt, in Dante or in you."

The Doctor had turned away; she could not see his face. The
angry scorn was gone from the old master's countenance; it was
bent with its usual wistful eagerness on the floor. A moment
after he looked up with a flickering smile.

" `Onorate l' altissmo poeta!' " he said, gently lifting his
finger to his forehead in a military fashion. "Where is my cane,