ccident that she could have books in
plenty, and of the kind she required, from the Free Library at Slane.
Dan never troubled himself to consult her taste in books, but he was
in the habit of bringing home three-volume novels for himself from the
library, a form of literature he greatly enjoyed in spite of his
strictures. He made Beth read them aloud to him in the evening, one
after the other--an endless succession--while he smoked, and drank
whiskies-and-sodas. He brought them home himself at first, but soon
found it a trouble to go for them, and so sent her; and then it was
she discovered that there were other books in the library. The
librarian, an educated and intelligent man, helped her often in the
choice of books. They had long talks together, during which he made
many suggestions, and gave Beth many a hint and piece of information
that was of value to her. He was her only congenial friend in Slane,
and her long conversations with him often took her out of herself and
raised her spirits. He little suspected what a help he was to the
lonely little soul. For the most part she took less interest in the
books themselves than in the people who wrote them; biographies,
autobiographies, and any scrap of anecdote about authors and their
methods she eagerly devoured. Life as they had lived it, not as they
had observed and imagined it, seemed all-important to her; and as she
read and thought, sitting alone in the charmed solitude of her secret
chamber, her self-respect grew. Her mind, which had run riot,
fancy-fed with languorous dreams in the days when it was unoccupied
and undisciplined, came steadily more and more under control, and grew
gradually stronger as she exercised it. She ceased to rage and worry
about her domestic difficulties, ceased to expect her husband to add
to her happiness in any way, ceased to sorrow for the slights and
neglects that had so wounded and perplexed her during the first year
of her life in Slane; and learnt by degrees to possess her soul in
dignified silence so long as silence was best, feeling in herself
_that_ something which should bring her up out of all this and set her
apart eventually in another sphere, among the elect--feeling this
through her further faculty to her comfort, although unable as yet to
give it any sort of definite expression. As she read of those who had
gone before, she felt a strange kindred with them; she entered into
their sorrows, understood their difficulties, w