And so Harry was.  And Euphra, through means of Harry, began to gain a little of what is better than most kinds of happiness, because it is nearest to the best happiness —­ I mean peace.  This foretaste of rest came to her from the devotedness with which she now applied herself to aid the intellect, which she had unconsciously repressed and stunted before.  She took Harry’s books when he had gone to bed; and read over all his lessons, that she might be able to assist him in preparing them; venturing thus into some regions of labour into which ladies are too seldom conducted by those who instruct them.  This produced in her quite new experiences.  One of these was, that in proportion as she laboured for Harry, hope grew for herself.  It was likewise of the greatest immediate benefit that the intervals of thought, instead of lying vacant to melancholy, or the vapours that sprung from the foregoing strife of the spiritual elements, should be occupied by healthy mental exercise.

Still, however, she was subject to great vicissitudes of feeling.  A kind of peevishness, to which she had formerly been a stranger, was but too ready to appear, even when she was most anxious, in her converse with Harry, to behave well to him.  But the pure forgiveness of the boy was wonderful.  Instead of plaguing himself to find out the cause of her behaviour, or resenting it in the least, he only laboured, by increased attention and submission, to remove it; and seemed perfectly satisfied when it was followed by a kind word, which to him was repentance, apology, amends, and betterment, all in one.  When he had thus driven away the evil spirit, there was Euphra her own self.  So perfectly did she see, and so thoroughly appreciate this kindness and love of Harry, that he began to look to her like an angel of forgiveness come to live a boy’s life, that he might do an angel’s work.

Her health continued very poor.  She suffered constantly from more or less headache, and at times from faintings.  But she had not for some time discovered any signs of somnambulism.

Of this peculiarity her friends were entirely ignorant.  The occasions, indeed, on which it had manifested itself to an excessive degree, had been but few.

CHAPTER IX.

The new pupils.

Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? 
Have I not in my time heard lions roar?

And do you tell me of a woman’s tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to hear,
As will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire? 
Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs.

Taming of the Shrew.

During the whole of his first interview with Falconer, which lasted so long that he had been glad to make a bed of Falconer’s sofa, Hugh never once referred to the object for which he had accepted MacPherson’s proffered introduction; nor did Falconer ask him any questions.  Hugh was too much interested and saddened by the scenes through which Falconer led him, not to shrink from speaking of anything less important; and with Falconer it was a rule, a principle almost, never to expedite utterance of any sort.