To Richard Eleanor carried from her neat bookcases, volume after volume.
"How many books you have!"
"My mother gives them to me, and Dr. Green has given me a great many."
"Your mother and Dr. Green have good taste," said Richard.
Together they read the "Blessed Damozel," together "Love among the Ruins," together "Staff and Scrip." Then in an instant the old, common miracle was wrought. Life was short and troubled and often tragic—one must have companionship to make it endurable. Looking up they met each other's eyes.
Richard's hands trembled, a solemn thrill was succeeded by a warm wave of emotion, all emotions which seemed to gather themselves into one. He could not look long into the bright eyes so near him, he could say nothing, he must rise and go away, even though Eleanor begged, trembling, "Oh, do not go!" He had not reckoned upon anything like this, was not prepared for it.
"I have forgotten something. I will come to-morrow."
Richard went home and sat by his window and looked out over the campus with its deep shadows, a broad shadow here by the chapel, a lesser shadow by the Scott house. He heard in a daze his mother's voice and his father's footstep, and when all was quiet once more he gave to his youthful fancy, still clean and fresh, free rein. He leaned his head against the window frame, then, hiding his eyes, he laid his cheek on his folded arms. The night seemed to excite while it blessed him.
He began to be sorry that he had left her. What was she doing now? Had she thought him rude? Did she think of him at all when he was not with her? She seemed far above him, she had been more conscientious about college work, she knew more than he did. But he would work, there should be no limit to his working. If only he had his clavier now! He would have at least the noblest profession in the world. He began to count the years before he could amount to anything. And she was already complete, already perfect!
When he thought of Thomasina, it was to bless her for setting his feet in the right way and for guarding him and guiding him. He thought of his mother with a slight feeling of uneasiness about her opinion of Eleanor. She had never even invited Eleanor to the house. But that should not worry him. His mother loved him, wished him to be happy; she would not deny him that which would be the most blessed source of happiness. He would tell her about Eleanor to-morrow. It should be a casual sentence at first, a word or two about the pretty house or the magnificent piano or the many books.