e title of 'Lynwood's Heritage.'

I had heard nothing of his for the last four years, and was amazed at
the gigantic stride he had made in the interval. For, spite of a certain
crudeness, it seemed to me a most powerful story; it rushed straight to
the point with no wavering, no beating about the bush; it flung itself
into the problems of the day with a sort of sublime audacity; it took
hold of one; it whirled one along with its own inherent force, and drew
forth both laughter and tears, for Derrick's power of pathos had always
been his strongest point.

All at once he stopped reading.

"Go on!" I cried impatiently.

"That is all," he said, gathering the sheets together.

"You stopped in the middle of a sentence!" I cried in exasperation.

"Yes," he said quietly, "for six months."

"You provoking fellow! why, I wonder?"

"Because I didn't know the end."

"Good heavens! And do you know it now?"

He looked me full in the face, and there was an expression in his eyes
which puzzled me.

"I believe I do," he said; and, getting up, he crossed the room, put the
manuscript away in a drawer, and returning, sat down in the window-seat
again, looking out on the narrow, paved street below, and at the grey
buildings opposite.

I knew very well that he would never ask me what I thought of the
story--that was not his way.

"Derrick!" I exclaimed, watching his impassive face, "I believe after
all you are a genius."

I hardly know why I said "after all," but till that moment it had
never struck me that Derrick was particularly gifted. He had so far got
through his Oxford career creditably, but then he had worked hard; his
talents were not of a showy order. I had never expected that he would
set the Thames on fire. Even now it seemed to me that he was too dreamy,
too quiet, too devoid of the pushing faculty to succeed in the world.

My remark made him laugh incredulously.

"Define a genius," he said.

For answer I pulled down his beloved Imperial Dictionary and read
him the following quotation from De Quincey: 'Genius is that mode of
intellectual power which moves in alliance with the genial nature, i.e.,
with the capacities of pleasure and pain; whereas talent has no
vestige of such an alliance, and is perfectly independent of all human
sensibilities.'

"Let me think! You can certainly enjoy things a hundred times more than
I can--and as for suffering, why you were always a great hand at that.
Now listen to the g