aspirations spring up unchecked by the too, liked being amongst the lime-trees. boundaries of space or doctrine. Do you He told his young friends what a priviknow, I am becoming sufficiently human lege it was to get a little closer to nature. to realize that this place gives me all the "When we are nearing the end of our more pleasure because it has given pleas- lives," he said, "we begin to realize how ure and comfort to thousands of my fellow-much we have missed. Now I have been beings? It is lovely to think of this spot being so near the great city, and within reach of all those who need that soothing balm which only nature can give. I wonder how many tired, disappointed workers have sat here, and watched the sunset, and have gone on their way again, less weary and less disappointed?" They used to watch the children playing games on the grass, and hide-and-seek behind the great trees. "How the trees must love the children!" Elkin said. "How they must love to feel the touch of those little hands, and how they must love to hear the music of those voices day by day through the spring, the summer, and the autumn!" They used to see the same people time after time, and they amused themselves by making up stories about them all. There was one white-haired old man, who came regularly and sat on the bench which they generally occupied. He was much crippled with gout, but managed to crawl along, and to be very good-tempered in spite of the gout. They christened him "The Professor." One evening he said to them : "Do you mind me sitting here with you? I know lovers like to be alone, as a rule; and I suppose you are lovers? When I was young, if an old buffer like myself had come and sat by me when I was with my sweetheart, I should have sent him flying, gout or no gout." "Do not move," said Elkin Annerley, smiling. "It is we who are the new-comers to Judge's Walk, and I dare say we have taken possession of your particular bench." "I see you very often," said the old man. "I suppose you are lovers?" Elkin Annerley shook his head. "I am dying," he answered casually, "and my companion is going in for an examination." "Ah!" said the old man. But although he seemed disappointed with the information, he continued to take an interest in them, and always smiled his greeting and welcome when they came to sit on his bench. He did not often speak to them, but when he did choose to speak, they were always delighted with what he said. He had studied a great deal, and spoke eloquently of the books he loved. He, so much shut up in books all my life that I have missed fresh air. Fresh air is better than books." "That is just what I feel," Elkin Annerley answered. 'I, too, have missed so much." "You have The old man laughed. plenty of time," he said. 66 "A few months at the most," was the answer. "Then it is a damned shame!" said the old man, stamping on the ground with his bad foot. "What does it all mean, I wonder? A worthless old fool like myself lingers on, and I assure you I have no particular wish for a prolonged existence. I have done my work, had my fun, and am ready to go. Every one ought to be allowed his chance. I call it damnable !" After that, he appeared to take a great fancy to the two companions; and once he told Gertrude Hurst in confidence that he would see that the young man did not need for companionship when she was not able to be with him in Judge's Walk. I suppose you would have been lovers under other circumstances?" he asked, almost entreatingly. He seemed to have set his heart on that. Gertrude smiled, and the old man looked at her face and read in the smile what he wanted to know. "That is enough, my dear," he said kindly; "you have answered my question, and I am satisfied." Her high-school work prevented her from coming to Hampstead in the mornings, but she never failed to come some time during each day, until at last the distance told on her, and so she took lodgings for herself close by, and transferred herself and her shabby white cat from Marylebone to Hampstead. Even then she found the distance to the high school very trying in all the heat; but she assured Elkin that the fresh air more than restored her, and he was content. He was always thinking of her comfort, and always anxious when she looked tired; and sometimes when they walked together up and down Judge's Walk, he would notice that her step dragged, and he would say: "Ah! I was walking too fast for you. Why, I believe I have more strength than you have!" Then she would say: "I believe you have." And he would never guess that her pace had been altered to suit his failing steps; for she pretended now not to notice his weakness and his shortness of breath. She never offered him the help of her arm; she walked by his side, a bright, cheery companion, her arms folded tightly together, according to her custom. When they were tired of walking, they would find their old particular bench, just under the sweet-scented limes, and they were happy though perhaps they never spoke a word. One evening when they were watching the sunset, and taking pleasure in the beauty all around, the old white-haired man came and sat near them. "Well," he said cheerily, "my news is that my gout is better. And pray, what is your news, young people?" "Our news," said Elkin Annerley, "is that Miss Hurst is going to come out splendidly in her examination, which takes place on the 21st of July that is to say, in about three weeks' time." "And yourself?" asked the old man kindly. "Oh, I am quite sure I shall live to hear of her success," said Elkin brightly. "That is all I ask; it is little enough, is it not?" IV. THUS time sped on, and when Gertrude had finished her high-school work, she would step over to Elkin's lodgings to hear how he was, and what news he had to give her, and to receive her mathematical lesson. "A procession of twelve coal-wagons passed by my window to-day," he said, "and the horses were the finest I have ever seen, capable of an infinite quantity of work." Or he would say, "I saw that young artist, and I had a talk with him. I like him, for he is a hard worker." come and sat by him, and had confided in him, seeing no doubt that he was a person to be trusted. She was about five years old. "When I was a baby," she had told him mysteriously, "I swallowed a tooth!" "Indeed!" he had answered sympathetically. Then, encouraged by his sympathy, she intrusted to him other confidences about her dolls, and about the brown collie Rufus, who was her constant companion. She belonged to one of the houses at the back of Judge's Walk, and she came out to play around the dear trees, as she called them, or to have a romp with Rufus. These were only little instances, it is true, but Gertrude Hurst listened with pleasure to all Elkin told her about his companions, and she learnt to like them too. But he enjoyed those times most when Gertrude was by his side; life was very lovely to him. It was so sad that he, this silent mathematical master, who was supposed to be interested in nothing but mathematics, should be entirely taken up with all things human, just as the end was approaching and it was too late. In the evenings he still gave her a lesson, though at times he was scarcely strong enough for the effort. She sat patiently by his side, showing him all the deference she would have shown him if he were lecturing at the New College. If he were a little irritable, she took his rebukes silently. But he praised her sometimes, and said she was beginning to have mixed mathematics at her finger-ends, and that she knew her book-work so well that she was bound to pass on that alone. At last the evening came when he was to give her the last lesson; for the examination began on Monday, July 21st, and they had settled between them that she should cease working some few days beforehand, and enjoy the quiet of Hampstead, of course doing her teaching at school in the mornings. "I am going to give you a very stiff problem in mixed mathematics," he said, "and if you do it elegantly and well, you will more than satisfy me.' She worked at it whilst he sat at the open window. When she showed it to him, he was delighted. That was the standard by which Elkin Annerley judged people - their enthusiasm for, and their capabilities of, work. He interested himself in the costermongers who passed by with their donkeycarts, and made particular friends with a certain fish-woman and her husband. He bought trifles from them, horrible, smelling kippers and haddocks, in order to have a few minutes' chat with them, and to help them along without patronizing them. "I have not come back from Australia Thus he amused himself when he was in vain," he said brightly. "Now I flatter alone; and when Gertrude came in, he myself that I have really drilled you into always had something to tell her how capital form; and if you are plucked this perhaps he had spoken to the old, white- time, I shall be inclined to behave as anxhaired man, or how he had begun a friend-ious and indignant mothers usually behave ship with a little gem of a child who had on these occasions, that is to say, go and storm the examiners in their own | strongholds and remonstrate with them! Ah! but there is no fear of failure this time." So the lessons had come to an end, and the two friends passed their time sitting on the bench in Judge's Walk, or strolling slowly up and down, or talking to Elkin's many acquaintances. The brown collie Rufus followed them deferentially, recognizing them to be the little golden-haired girl's friends. She herself ran out to see them sometimes, and the old, white-haired man had his usual kindly word or look of greeting for them. Once or twice they got as far as the horse-pond, where they watched the strong old wagon-horses enjoying their summer paddling, and the children sailing their little ships. Elkin's anxiety was lest the ships shouid get entangled in the wagon-wheels. "The children would be so hurt," he said anxiously. "Look after that ship!" he would cry with his weak voice to the wagoners. But the men always steered clear of the ships, and the horses lifted their great feet carefully, as though they well understood that the ships were not to be interfered with, nor the children's feelings hurt. These were Elkin Annerley's happiest days. He had never before come so near to love, to humanity, and to nature. Hyperbolæ, asymptotes, diameters, indices, permutations, logarithms, obtuse and acute angles, foci, and oblique cylinders were being shorn of their glory, and other things were gaining in loveliness, when it was too late. V. ON the 21st of July, Monday, Gertrude Hurst went in for her examination - viz., the Intermediate in Science of the London University. Naturally nervous over examinations, she summoned together all her courage, feeling that she must succeed this time. And as she sat in the room bending over her papers, the thought of Elkin Annerley helped her, and she looked at the men and women around her, and wondered whether they had such a stimulus to success as she had. One o'clock struck, and the interval between one and three was spent, as usual, in choking down some lunch, discussing the papers, and perhaps finding fault with the examiners, according, of course, as the candidate was satisfied or dissatisfied with the questions set. The following day, at one o'clock, Gertrude found Elkin Annerley waiting for her on the steps of Burlington House. Some of his pupils hastened up, eager to shake his hand, and to hear how he was feeling after his voyage to Australia. They turned away sorrowfully when they saw the cruel change in his appearance. "You ought not to have come down," Gertrude whispered to him reprovingly. "I shall not come again," was the quiet answer. "I just wanted to see the whole scene for myself. You remember it has been my life for so long." At last, when Gertrude had done the mathematical papers, Elkin and she went carefully over them, and he was perfectly satisfied with her work. The teacher of biology at the New College thought that she had also succeeded with his subject, so that she had every reason to feel comforted. But however well one may feel one has done, it is scarcely safe to judge of possible success by feelings alone; and although Gertrude Hurst had vague hopes, she had also vague forebodings. Elkin laughed these forebodings away, and declared as usual that she was going to pass, and that he was going to live to hear of her success. But at times it seemed doubtful whether he could hold together much longer; the doctors had said that he lived on by mere pluck, and Gertrude knew well that he would not be able to withstand another hæmorrhage. He suf fered much from weakness and fever, and during these days of waiting to hear the result of the examination, he was not often able to go out. When Gertrude came to fetch him for a stroll on Judge's Walk, he usually said: "No, not to-day. But you go, and tell me how the trees look, and whether the limes are still fragrant, and whether the children still play about on the grass." One afternoon he did crawl out, and sat in his old accustomed place under his favorite lime-tree. The little goldenhaired girl and the dog Rufus ran up to greet him as usual, and the old, whitehaired man sat beside him. "You've not been out for some time," he said to Elkin. "I have missed you. How do you feel to-day?" Elkin looked up quickly, and made him understand by a sign that he did not wish to discuss the matter before Gertrude. So he merely answered: | But he soon became very tired, and the two friends strolled homewards. She saw how weak he was; but she did not dare offer him the help of her arm, fearing to hurt his feelings. She knew how he suffered mentally; she knew that the mental suffering was worse to him than the bodily suffering itself. He had been so independent all his life, and had asked so little of any one, and her heart bled to see him so young, so weak, and so helpless. "I am tired this afternoon," she said to him. "Will you let me have your arm?" He smiled brightly. "I am glad you asked me," he said, "for I noticed how tired you seemed. Your work has been too much for you. Why, I do believe I am stronger than you to-day." She took his arm; but it was he who had the support, and not she, and when they reached his lodgings, he sank back exhausted. "I can still smell the lime-trees," he said to himself, as he loosened his scarf. I am glad you persuaded me to go out with you, for it was pleasant to see the whole scene again. There is no cathedral more beautiful than that leafy cathedral which we have just left. I hope you will always be fond of it, if only for my sake." Suddenly he was seized with a fearful fit of coughing, and Gertrude bent over him anxiously, as he sat in his armchair by the open window. "Elkin, what can I do for you?" she asked sorrowfully. "What can I do to help you?" That was the first time she had called him Elkin. At the sound of her voice he looked up and smiled. "If you do not mind," he said, "bring that stool, and sit near me, and let me hold your hand." It was the first time he had ever asked anything of her. He was silent for some minutes, and seemed to be thinking. She sat near him, and held his right hand in her own. Then he spoke. "You are only a child, only a child," he said mournfully, "and life is so hard for the strongest amongst us. I wish I could have had a long, strong life, so that I might have helped you. You are only a child, for all your independence.' He rested her hand against his cheek. "It is some comfort to me," he said, after a pause, "that you will live on to work. It is splendid to think of you living and working. I have always had such a passion for work, and you know my great trouble has been that I have had to be idle. But you will do your share of work for me as well as for yourself, and that is my comfort." Her hand still rested against his cheek. She could not speak a word. "Life is hard for the strongest," he said again, "but you are gallant. I always thought you were gallant; I thought so the very first moment you came into my class-room at the New College. I have not spoken to you lately about ambition; but do you know, that of all ambitious men, I am by nature the most ambitious? One by one I have had to give these ambitions up, and one by one my heart-strings broke. But a broken heart is better than a bitter one. Will you remember that, child? Still, you know, one ambition does remain, and that is to live long enough to hear of your success. I have missed other things, but this one thing I am sure I shall not miss, for no one, not even the hardest taskmaster, would grudge me twenty-four more hours of life. You look very tired, child, and very anxious, but this time tomorrow you and I will both be smiling because of your success. You must take care of yourself. I want you to live long so that you may do much. As a teacher you have a great responsibility to fulfil. You have a broad, open mind yourself, therefore teach your pupils to take a wide view of life. Tell them that God, who, so they believe, made the open-lying downs, and the free sky, and the boundless ocean, and the spreading fields- tell them that God cannot wish our minds to be pent up in a nut-shell. As our eyes cry for light, so our minds should cry for space, always more space. Tell them this from me. I want you to have all the things which I have missed. I want you to live and love. And I want you to rejoice in the sunshine and in nature. Do not make yourself miserable with thought. There is a great brick wall against which we kick in vain - call it God, or Fate, or the First Cause. Just do your work well, and by adding to the store of work well done, you will help humanity, and you will earn your immortality, and your rest too." She rose and kissed him on the forehead. "You have been so good to me," she whispered, "but I cannot say much to you to-night, for everything seems to me so mournful. And I cannot bear for you to suffer. I would gladly give my life for yours. What does it all mean, I wonder? You are a rare spirit, and I am just a simple girl, with no originality in me. I can well be spared and you cannot. And yet it is you who have to leave your work. Sometimes when I look at you it seems to me all a dream that you are ill." "If I had been well," he answered, as he watched her put on her hat and scarf, "many things would have been different. Yes, many things would have been different." They stood there in the twilight, hand in hand, and there was silence between them for many minutes. "Who knows?" he said cheerily, "you may gain the gold medal in your examina tion. "Whatever I gain," she answered, "I shall owe to you.' "If you pass," he said, "there will be no more drudging, no more anxiety about stray lessons, but a good post and a good salary. Come straight home to me, directly you hear the news to-morrow afternoon, and take a hansom. Tell the man to drive quickly. Do not delay one single instant, for I shall be so anxious to hear the good news." As he held out his hand, she raised it to her lips and kissed it lovingly. "Goodnight," she said, "good-night, Elkin dear. God bless you." And as she spoke, the tears fell from her eyes, and he saw them. When he was left alone, there was a strangely beautiful smile on his face. He knew now that whatever else he had missed, he had not missed love. VI. some man, more chivalrous than the others, called out: "All right, Miss Hurst; 24 is on the list." He made way for her, and she saw for herself. She waited just long enough to congratulate some of her friends, and to press in kindly sympathy the hand of the middle-aged teacher whose number was not on the list. Then she hailed a hansom, and was just going to step into it when she told the man to wait a minute; and she ran back to have one more look at the list. "Just to be quite sure," she said to herself. She read all the numbers from the beginning, and then came 19, 20, and 24. She sprang lightly into the bansom, and her face was radiant with happiness. "It is through his help," she said to herself, "and I am so proud and glad to think that I owe my success to him. If it had not been for him I should have failed again in mathematics; all the biology and chemistry in the world would not have saved me." The weariness of the last few weeks seemed to have left her; her face, ordinarily so troubled, looked girlish and young again; her only thought was how pleased he would be to hear the good news, and what a cosy evening they would pass together now that this anxiety was removed. IT was about two o'clock on August 12th when Gertrude Hurst went down to Burlington Gardens to hear the verdict of the examiners. Her number was 24. The lists were not yet out when she arrived, and the hall was full of men and women, each one more anxious than the other, although, of course, there were some who pretended not to be anxious at all, and were talking on subjects which had nothing to do with examinations, but who nevertheless looked up eagerly, expecting to see the list, which was to set all doubts at rest. Gertrude Hurst found many of her men and women friends, and they all told her that there was no need for her to be anxious. She, in her turn, spoke many cheering words to a forlorn, middleaged teacher, who looked overworked and under-fed. Gertrude thought only of Elkin Annerley; all personal interest in the matter had passed away, and it was for his sake chiefly that she wished to see num-"I shall be back later on." ber 24 on the list. "Who knows?" she thought; "a great gladness often helps people to live, when doctors have given them up." At last she reached his lodgings, jumped out of the hansom, overpaid the cabman, and knocked loudly at the brass knocker. The door was opened by the old landlady. "I have such good news for Mr. Annerley," Gertrude said, smiling happily. Then she noticed a strange expression on the landlady's face. "Is anything wrong?" she asked, a sudden fear possessing her. "Oh, Miss Hurst," the old landlady said, "how can I tell you? He died this morning at two o'clock." At last the list was brought in, and there was a rush to the stand, and Gertrude could not get near enough to see. But Gertrude stood at the door speechless. In that brief moment she knew that the loveliest part of life had been taken from her. She went silently up to the room where Elkin Annerley lay, and there she stayed for full an hour. After that, they saw her standing on the door-step. "I am going for a walk," she told them. There were no tears in her eyes, and her face was almost expressionless. She walked up and down Judge's Walk, under the spreading branches, which cast their shadows on the path; the Hampstead bells were chiming a sweet melody; the lingering sun shone through the trees; the |
