not the present moment, but the duration of life,
that it regards; it seeks to proceed with a sure foot. And at this
crisis, in the midst of all this irresolution, that was unspeakably
vexatious to a man of his firm nature, Brand demanded of himself his
utmost power of self-control. He would not imperil the happiness of his
life by a hasty, importunate appeal. When at length he sat down,
determined not to rise until he had sent her this message, he forced
himself to write--at the beginning, at least--in a roundabout and
indifferent fashion, so that she should not be alarmed. He began by
excusing his writing to her, saying he had scarcely ever had a chance of
talking to her, and that he wished to tell her something of what had
happened to him since the memorable evening on which he had first met
her at her father's house. And he went on to speak to her of a friend of
his, who used to amuse himself with the notion that he would like to
enter himself at a public school and go through his school life all over
again. There he had spent the happiest of his days; why should he not
repeat them? If only the boys would agree to treat him as one of
themselves, why should he not be hail-fellow-well-met with them, and
once more enjoy the fun of uproarious pillow-battles and have smuggled
tarts and lemonade at night, and tame rabbits where no rabbits should
be, and a profound hero-worship for the captain of the school Eleven,
and excursions out of bounds, when his excess of pocket-money would
enable him to stand treat all round? "Why not?" this friend of his used
to say. "Was it so very impossible for one to get back the cares and
interests, the ambitions, the amusements, the high spirits of one's
boyhood?" And if he now were to tell her that a far greater miracle had
happened to himself? That at an age when he had fancied he had done and
seen most things worth doing and seeing, when the past seemed to
contain everything worth having, and there was nothing left but to try
how the tedious hours could be got over; when a listless _ennui_ was
eating his very heart out--that he should be presented, as it were, with
a new lease of life, with stirring hopes and interests, with a new and
beautiful faith, with a work that was a joy in itself, whether any
reward was to be or no? And surely he could not fail to express to Lord
Evelyn and to herself his gratitude for this strange thing.

These are but the harsh outlines of what, so far, he wrot