gh to bear the beating of its wings. I am as a man bound and
imprisoned through long years: behold him brought to speech of his
fellow and his limbs set free: he weeps, he totters, the joy within him
threatens to break and overthrow the tabernacle of flesh."

"You must not speak too much in this evening air," said Deronda,
feeling Mordecai's words of reliance like so many cords binding him
painfully. "Cover your mouth with the woolen scarf. We are going to the
_Hand and Banner_, I suppose, and shall be in private there?"

"No, that is my trouble that you did not come yesterday. For this is
the evening of the club I spoke of, and we might not have any minutes
alone until late, when all the rest are gone. Perhaps we had better
seek another place. But I am used to that only. In new places the outer
world presses on me and narrows the inward vision. And the people there
are familiar with my face."

"I don't mind the club if I am allowed to go in," said Deronda. "It is
enough that you like this place best. If we have not enough time I will
come again. What sort of club is it?"

"It is called 'The Philosophers.' They are few--like the cedars of
Lebanon--poor men given to thought. But none so poor as I am: and
sometimes visitors of higher worldly rank have been brought. We are
allowed to introduce a friend, who is interested in our topics. Each
orders beer or some other kind of drink, in payment for the room. Most
of them smoke. I have gone when I could, for there are other men of my
race who come, and sometimes I have broken silence. I have pleased
myself with a faint likeness between these poor philosophers and the
Masters who handed down the thought of our race--the great
Transmitters, who labored with their hands for scant bread, but
preserved and enlarged for us the heritage of memory, and saved the
soul of Israel alive as a seed among the tombs. The heart pleases
itself with faint resemblances."

"I shall be very glad to go and sit among them, if that will suit you.
It is a sort of meeting I should like to join in," said Deronda, not
without relief in the prospect of an interval before he went through
the strain of his next private conversation with Mordecai.

In three minutes they had opened the glazed door with the red curtain,
and were in the little parlor, hardly much more than fifteen feet
square, where the gaslight shone through a slight haze of smoke on what
to Deronda was a new and striking scene. Half-a-do