would be almost blasphemy in us
to talk as St. Paul talked. It is much easier to face the notion,
or the fact, of a daemon or spirit such as Socrates felt to be in
him, than to face what St. Paul seems to be meaning."

"Yes, much easier. The only question is whether we will be
heathens or not."

"How do you mean?" said Tom.

"Why, a spirit was speaking to Socrates, and guiding him. He
obeyed the guidance, but knew not whence it came. A spirit is
striving with us too, and trying to guide us--we feel that just
as much as he did. Do we know what spirit it is? whence it comes?
Will we obey it? If we can't name it--know no more of it then he
knew about his daemon, of course, we are in no better position
than he--in fact, heathens."

Tom made no answer, and after a slight turn or two more, Hardy
said, "Let us go in;" and they went to his rooms. When the
candles were lighted, Tom saw the array of books on the table,
several of them open, and remembered how near the examinations
were.

"I see you want to work," he said. "Well, good-night. I know how
fellows like you hate being thanked--there, you needn't wince;
I'm not going to try it on. The best way to thank you, I know, is
to go straight for the future. I'll do that, please God, this
time at any rate. Now what ought I to do, Hardy?"

"Well, it's very hard to say. I've thought about it a great deal
this last few days--since I felt you coming round--but I can't
make up my mind. How do you feel yourself? What's your own
instinct about it?"

"Of course, I must break it all off at once, completely," said
Tom, mournfully, and half hoping that Hardy might not agree with
him.

"Of course," answered Hardy, "but how?"

"In the way that will pain her least. I would sooner lose my hand
or bite my tongue off than that she should feel lowered, or lose
any self-respect, you know," said Tom, looking helplessly at his
friend.

"Yes, that's all right--you must take all you can on your own
shoulders. It must leave a sting though for both of you, manage
how you will."

"But I can't bear to let her think I don't care for her--I
needn't do that--I can't do that."

"I don't know what to advise. However, I believe I was wrong in
thinking she cared for you so much. She will be hurt, of
course--she can't help being hurt--but it won't be so bad as I
used to think."

Tom made no answer; in spite of all his good resolutions, he was
a little piqued at this last speech. Hardy went o