t from Hugh's point of view
was that he was a singularly frank, accessible, and lively person, full
of ideas and enthusiasms. Hugh was at one time a good deal in his
company, and used to feel that the charm of conversation with him was,
not that they discussed things, or argued, or had common interests, but
that it was like setting a sluice open between two pools; their two
minds, like moving waters, seemed to draw near, to intermingle, to
linger in a subtle contact. His friend, Sheldon by name, was a great
reader of books; but he read, Hugh thought, in the same way that he
himself read, not that he might master subjects, annex and explore
mental provinces, and classify the movement of thought, but rather that
he might lean out into a misty haunted prospect, where mysterious
groves concealed the windings of uncertain paths, and the turrets of
guarded strongholds peered over the woodland. Hugh indeed guessed
dimly that his friend had a whole range of interests of which he knew
nothing, and this was confirmed by a conversation they had when they
had walked one day together into the deep country. They took a road
that seemed upon the map to lead to a secluded village, and then to
lose itself among the fields, and soon came to the hamlet, a cluster of
old-fashioned houses that stood very prettily on a low scarped gravel
hill that pushed out into the fen. They betook themselves to the
churchyard, where they found a little ancient conduit that gushed out
at the foot of the hill. This they learned had once been a well much
visited by pilgrims for its supposed healing qualities. It ran out of
an arched recess into a shallow pool, fringed with sedge, and filled
with white-flowered cresses and forget-me-not. Below their feet lay a
great stretch of rich water-meadows, the wooded hills opposite looming
dimly through the haze. Here they sat for a while, listening to the
pleasant trickle of the spring, and the conversation turned on the life
of villages, the lack of amusement, the dulness of field-labour, the
steady drift of the young men to the towns. Hugh regretted this and
said that he wished the country clergy would try to counteract the
tendency; he spoke of village clubs and natural-history classes.
Sheldon laughed quietly at his remarks, and said, "My dear Neville, it
is quite refreshing to hear you talk. It is not for nothing that you
bear the name of Neville; you are a mediaeval aristocrat at heart.
These opinions