, and I am sure you have
not left it long. You have a very fresh air about you, as if you had
rested, and rested well."

"Yes, I have rested," I said; "but though I am content enough, there is
something unquiet in me, I am afraid!"

"Ah!" he said, "there is that in all of us, and it would not be well
with us if there were not. Will you tell me a little about yourself?
That is one of the pleasures of this life here, that we have no need to
be cautious, or to fear that we shall give ourselves away."

I told him my adventures, and he listened with serious attention.

"Ah, that is all very good," he said at last, "but you must not be in
any hurry; it is a great thing that ideas should dawn upon us
gradually--one gets the full truth of them so. It was the hurry of life
which was so bewildering--the shocks, the surprises, the ugly
reflections of one's conduct that one saw in other lives--the corners
one had to turn. Things, indeed, come suddenly even here, but one is led
up to them gently enough; allowed to enter the sea for oneself, not
soused and ducked in it. You will need all the strength you can store up
for what is before you, and I can see in your face that you are storing
up strength--but the weariness is not quite gone out of your mind."

He was silent for a little, musing, till I said, "Will you not tell me
some of your own adventures? I am sure from your look that you have
them; and you are a pilgrim, it seems. Where are you bound?"

"Oh," he said lightly, "I am not one of the people who have
adventures--just the journey and the talk beside the way."

"But," I said, "I have seen some others like you, and I am puzzled about
it. You seem, if I may say so--I do not mean anything disrespectful or
impertinent--to be like the gipsies whom one meets in quiet country
places, with a secret knowledge of their own, a pride too great to be
worth expressing, not anxious about life, not weary or dissatisfied,
caring not for localities or possessions, but with a sort of eager
pleasure in freedom and movement."

He laughed. "Yes," he said, "you are right! I am no doubt a sort of
nomad, as you say, detached from life perhaps. I don't know that it is
desirable; there is a great deal to be said for living in the same place
and loving the same things. Most people are happier so, and learn what
they have to learn in that manner."

"Yes," I said, "that is true and beautiful--the same old house, the same
trees and pastures, the