terror of its fulfilment. For a long time indeed I vaguely looked for
the promised apparition. Even now there are days of depression, of
doubt, alarm, and loneliness, when I am forced to repel the intrusion
of that sad parting, though it was not fated to be the last.

When I crossed the yard by which we left, Lambert was at one of the
refectory windows to see me pass. By my request my mother obtained
leave for him to dine with us at the inn, and in the evening I
escorted him back to the fatal gate of the college. No lover and his
mistress ever shed more tears at parting.

"Well, good-bye; I shall be left alone in this desert!" said he,
pointing to the playground where two hundred boys were disporting
themselves and shouting. "When I come back half dead with fatigue from
my long excursions through the fields of thought, on whose heart can I
rest? I could tell you everything in a look. Who will understand me
now?--Good-bye! I could wish I had never met you; I should not know
all I am losing."

"And what is to become of me?" said I. "Is not my position a dreadful
one? _I_ have nothing here to uphold me!" and I slapped my forehead.

He shook his head with a gentle gesture, gracious and sad, and we
parted.

At that time Louis Lambert was about five feet five inches in height;
he grew no more. His countenance, which was full of expression,
revealed his sweet nature. Divine patience, developed by harsh usage,
and the constant concentration needed for his meditative life, had
bereft his eyes of the audacious pride which is so attractive in some