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most practical in the Stateit's odd if it doesn't save you from a
poet's dreams。 Good…night！〃 He passed out on to the lawn； and
vanished。
The young man sat unmoving； the glow of the fire had caught his face；
so that a spirit seemed clinging round his lips； gleaming out of his
eyes。 Suddenly he said：
〃Do you believe that； Mrs。 Noel？〃
For answer Audrey Noel smiled； then rose and went over to the window。
〃Look at my dear toad！ It comes here every evening！〃
On a flagstone of the verandah； in the centre of the stream of
lamplight； sat a little golden toad。 As Miltoun came to look； it
waddled to one side； and vanished。
〃How peaceful your garden is！〃 he said； then taking her hand； he very
gently raised it to his lips； and followed his opponent out into the
darkness。
Truly peace brooded over that garden。 The Night seemed listening
all lights out； all hearts at rest。 It watched； with a little white
star for every tree； and roof； and slumbering tired flower； as a
mother watches her sleeping child； leaning above him and counting
with her love every hair of his head； and all his tiny tremors。
Argument seemed child's babble indeed under the smile of Night。 And
the face of the woman； left alone at her window； was a little like
the face of this warm； sweet night。 It was sensitive； harmonious；
and its harmony was not； as in some faces； coldbut seemed to
tremble and glow and flutter； as though it were a spirit which had
found its place of resting。
In her garden；all velvety grey； with black shadows beneath the yew…
trees； the white flowers alone seemed to be awake； and to look at her
wistfully。 The trees stood dark and still。 Not even the night birds
stirred。 Alone； the little stream down in the bottom raised its
voice； privileged when day voices were hushed。
It was not in Audrey Noel to deny herself to any spirit that was
abroad； to repel was an art she did not practise。 But this night；
though the Spirit of Peace hovered so near； she did not seem to know
it。 Her hands trembled； her cheeks were burning； her breast heaved；
and sighs fluttered from her lips； just parted。
CHAPTER V
Eustace Cardoc； Viscount Miltoun； had lived a very lonely life； since
he first began to understand the peculiarities of existence。 With
the exception of Clifton； his grandmother's 'majordomo；' he made； as
a small child； no intimate friend。 His nurses； governesses； tutors；
by their own confession did not understand him； finding that he took
himself with unnecessary seriousness； a little afraid； too； of one
whom they discovered to be capable of pushing things to the point of
enduring pain in silence。 Much of that early time was passed at
Ravensham； for he had always been Lady Casterley's favourite
grandchild。 She recognized in him the purposeful austerity which had
somehow been omitted from the composition of her daughter。 But only
to Clifton； then a man of fifty with a great gravity and long black
whiskers； did Eustace relieve his soul。 〃I tell you this； Clifton；〃
he would say； sitting on the sideboard； or the arm of the big chair
in Clifton's room； or wandering amongst the raspberries； 〃because you
are my friend。〃
And Clifton； with his head a little on one side； and a sort of wise
concern at his 'friend's' confidences； which were sometimes of an
embarrassing description； would answer now and then： 〃Of course； my
lord；〃 but more often： 〃Of course； my dear。〃
There was in this friendship something fine and suitable； neither of
these 'friends' taking or suffering liberties； and both being
interested in pigeons； which they would stand watching with a
remarkable attention。
In course of time； following the tradition of his family； Eustace
went to Harrow。 He was there five yearsalways one of those boys a
little out at wrists and ankles； who may be seen slouching； solitary；
along the pavement to their own haunts； rather dusty； and with one
shoulder slightly raised above the other； from the habit of carrying
something beneath one arm。 Saved from being thought a 'smug；' by his
title； his lack of any conspicuous scholastic ability； his obvious
independence of what was thought of him； and a sarcastic tongue；
which no one was eager to encounter； he remained the ugly duckling
who refused to paddle properly in the green ponds of Public School
tradition。 He played games so badly that in sheer self…defence his
fellows permitted him to play without them。 Of 'fives' they made an
exception； for in this he attained much proficiency； owing to a
certain windmill…like quality of limb。 He was noted too for daring
chemical experiments； of which he usually had one or two brewing；
surreptitiously at first； and afterwards by special permission of his
house…master； on the principle that if a room must smell； it had
better smell openly。 He made few friendships； but these were
lasting。
His Latin was so poor； and his Greek verse so vile； that all had been
surprised when towards the finish of his career he showed a very
considerable power of writing and speaking his own language。 He left
school without a pang。 But when in the train he saw the old Hill and
the old spire on the top of it fading away from him； a lump rose in
his throat； he swallowed violently two or three times； and； thrusting
himself far back into the carriage corner； appeared to sleep。
At Oxford； he was happier； but still comparatively lonely； remaining；
so long as custom permitted； in lodgings outside his College； and
clinging thereafter to remote； panelled rooms high up； overlooking
the gardens and a portion of the city wall。 It was at Oxford that he
first developed that passion for self…discipline which afterwards
distinguished him。 He took up rowing； and； though thoroughly
unsuited by nature to this pastime； secured himself a place in his
College 'torpid。' At the end of a race he was usually supported from
his stretcher in a state of extreme extenuation； due to having pulled
the last quarter of the course entirely with his spirit。 The same
craving for self…discipline guided him in the choice of Schools； he
went out in 'Greats；' for which； owing to his indifferent mastery of
Greek and Latin； he was the least fitted。 With enormous labour he
took a very good degree。 He carried off besides； the highest
distinctions of the University for English Essays。 The ordinary
circles of College life knew nothing of him。 Not once in the whole
course of his University career； was he the better for wine。 He； did
not hunt； he never talked of women； and none talked of women in his
presence。 But now and then he was visited by those gusts which come
to the ascetic； when all life seemed suddenly caught up and devoured
by a flame burning night and day； and going out mercifully； he knew
not why； like a blown candle。 However unsocial in the proper sense
of the word； he by no means lacked company in these Oxford days。 He
knew many； both dons and undergraduates。 His long stride； and
determined absence of direction； had severely tried all those who
could stomach so slow a pastime as walking for the sake of talking。
The country knew himthough he never knew the countryfrom Abingdo