of the Empire's decay, the struggle of Roman order
and of German freedom, of Roman luxury and of German hardness; above
all, the war of orthodoxy and heresy, with its strange political
complications. And then, discontented still, as though the heart of the
matter were still untouched, he went on, restlessly wandering the while,
with his long arms linked behind him, 'throwing out' words at an object
in his mind, trying to grasp and analyse that strange sense which haunts
the student of Rome's decline as it once overshadowed the infancy of
Europe, that sense of a slowly departing majesty, of a great presence
just withdrawn, and still incalculably potent, traceable throughout in
that humbling consciousness of Goth or Frank that they were but
'beggars hutting in a palace--the place had harboured greater men than
they!'

'There is one thing,' Langham said presently, in his slow nonchalant
voice, when the tide of Robert's ardour ebbed for a moment, 'that
doesn't seem to have touched you yet. But you will come to it. To my
mind, it makes almost the chief interest of history. It is just this.
History depends on _testimony_. What is the nature and the value of
testimony at given times? In other words, did the man of the third
century understand, or report, or interpret facts in the same way as the
man of the sixteenth or the nineteenth? And if not, what are the
differences, and what are the deductions to be made from them, if any?'
He fixed his keen look on Robert, who was now lounging against the
books, as though his harangue had taken it out of him a little.

'Ah, well,' said the rector, smiling, 'I am only just coming to that. As
I told you, I am only now beginning to dig for myself. Till now it has
all been work at second hand. I have been getting a general survey of
the ground as quickly as I could with the help of other men's labours.
Now I must go to work inch by inch, and find out what the ground is made
of. I won't forget your point. It is enormously important, I
grant--enormously,' he repeated reflectively.

'I should think it is,' said Langham to himself as he rose; 'the whole
of orthodox Christianity is in it, for instance!'

There was not much more to be seen. A little wooden staircase led from
the second library to the upper rooms, curious old rooms, which had been
annexed one by one as the squire wanted them, and in which there was
nothing at all--neither chair, nor table, nor carpet--but books only.
All the