f seeing me with his sightless eyes. "But understand that I like
you far better for owning up. There are men--there is a clergyman in
our neighbourhood for one--capable of pretending a knowledge of Latin
which they don't possess."

"Doesn't Mr. Whitmore know Latin?" I asked.

"Hey? Who told you I was speaking of Whitmore?"

I glanced at Isabel, for her eyes drew me. They were fixed on me
almost in terror.

"I have heard him talk it, sir."

"Excuse me: you may have heard him pretending."

"But, papa--" Isabel put forth a hand as if in protest, and I noted
that it trembled and that the ring was missing which she had worn
overnight. "You never told me that he--that Mr. Whitmore--"

"Was an impostor? My dear, had you any occasion to seek my opinion
of him, or had I any occasion to give it? None, I think: and but
for Master Revel's incomprehensible guess you had not discovered it
now. I have been betrayed into gossip."

He turned abruptly and, feeling with his hand over the surface of the
summer-house table, picked up a small volume lying there. It struck
me that his temper for the moment was not under perfect control.

Isabel cast at me a look which I could not interpret, and went slowly
back to the house.

"The meaning of my catechism just now," said her father, addressing
me after listening for awhile to her retreating footsteps, "may be
the plainer when I tell you that I am translating the works of the
Roman poet Virgil, line for line, into English verse, and have just
reached the beginning of the Fourth Georgic. He is, I may tell you,
a poet, and the most marvellous that ever lived; so marvellous, that
the middle ages mistook him for a magician. That any age is likely
to mistake me--his translator--for a conjuror I think improbable.
Nevertheless I do my best. And while translating I hold this book in
my hand, not that I can see to read a line of it, but because the
mere touch of it, my companion on many campaigns, seems to unloose my
memory. Except in handling this small volume, I have none of the
delicate gift of touch with which blind men are usually credited.
But this is page 106, is it not?" He held out the open book towards
me, and added, with sudden apprehension, "You can read, I trust?"

I assured him that I could.

"And write? Good again! Come in--you will find pen, ink, and paper
on the side-drum in the corner. Bring them over to the table and
seat yourself. Ready? Now begin, a