and saints--like Renan in his queer envy of Theophile Gautier--when such
men inevitably ask themselves whether they have not missed something
irreplaceable, the student, by his learning--the saint even, by his
goodness.

Here now was "Miners' Row." As the Rector approached the cottage of which
he was in search the clouds lightened in the east, and a pale moonshine,
suffusing the dusk, showed in the far distance beyond the village, the
hills of Fitton Chase, rounded, heathy hills, crowned by giant firs.
Meynell looked at them with longing, and a sudden realization of his own
weariness. A day or two, perhaps a week or two, among the fells, with
their winds and scents about him, and their streams in his ears--he must
allow himself that, before the fight began.

No. 8. A dim light showed in the upper window. The Rector knocked at the
door. A woman opened--a young and sweet-looking nurse in her bonnet and
long cloak.

"You look pretty done!" exclaimed the Rector. "Has he been giving
trouble?"

"Oh, no, sir, not more than usual. It's the two of them."

"She won't go to her sister's?"

"She won't stir a foot, sir."

"Where is she?" The nurse pointed to the living-room on her left.

"She scarcely eats anything--a sup of tea sometimes. And I doubt whether