losopher
spoke. "The old heathen, Socrates, did actually believe
that--there can be no question about it;" he thought, "Has not
the testimony of the best men through these two thousand years
borne witness that he was right--that he did not believe a lie?
That was what we were told. Surely I don't mistake! Were we not
told, too, or did I dream it, that what was true for him was true
for every man--for me? That there is a spirit dwelling in me,
striving with me, ready to lead me into all truth if I will
submit to his guidance?"

"Ay! submit, submit, there's the rub! Give yourself up to his
guidance! Throw up the reins, and say you've made a mess of it.
Well, why not? Haven't I made a mess of it? Am I fit to hold the
reins?"

"Not I"--he got up and began walking about his rooms--"I give it
up."

"Give it up!" he went on presently; "yes, but to whom? Not to the
daemon spirit, whatever it was, who took up abode in the old
Athenian--at least, so he said, and so I believe. No, no! Two
thousand years and all that they have seen have not passed over
the world to leave us just where he was left. We want no daemons
or spirits. And yet the old heathen was guided right, and what
can a man want more? and who ever wanted guidance more than I
now--here--in this room--at this minute? I give up the reins; who
will take them?" And so there came on him one of those seasons
when a man's thoughts cannot be followed in words. A sense of awe
came on him, and over him, and wrapped him round; awe at a
presence of which he was becoming suddenly conscious, into which
he seemed to have wandered, and yet which he felt must have been
there around him, in his own heart and soul, though he knew it
not. There was hope and longing in his heart, mingling with the
fear of that presence, but withal the old reckless and daring
feeling which he knew so well, still bubbling up untamed,
untamable it seemed to him.

The room stifled him now; so he threw on his cap and gown, and
hurried down into the quadrangle. It was very quiet; probably
there was not a dozen men in college. He walked across to the
low, dark entrance of the passage which led to Hardy's rooms, and
there paused. Was he there by chance, or was he guided there?
Yes, this was the right way for him, he had no doubt now as to
that; down the dark passage and into the room he knew so
well--and what then? He took a short turn or two before the
entrance. How could he be sure that Hardy was alone?