"
The Doctor came in that night from a vestry meeting to which he went
after dinner. The clock was striking nine, the chimes played their
tune, and as the last note sounded the housekeeper and servants filed
into the study for prayers. Prayers over they rose and went out, and he
sat down. His habits were becoming fixed and for some years he had
always read in the evening the friends of his youth. No sermon was
composed then; no ecclesiastical literature was studied. Pope and Swift
were favourites and, curiously enough, Lord Byron. His case is not
uncommon, for it often happens that men who are forced into reserve or
opposition preserve a secret, youthful, poetic passion and are even kept
alive by it. On this particular evening, however, Pope, Byron, and
Swift remained on his shelves. He meditated.
"A wedding-ring on her finger; no widow's weeds; he may nevertheless be
dead--I believe I heard he was--and she has discontinued that frightful
disfigurement. Leighton had the thickest crop of black hair I ever saw
on a man: what thick, black hair that child has! A lady; a reader of
books; nobody to be compared with her here.
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