So she might have walked until she had lost all knowledge of her way, had it not been for the interruption of a tree, which, although it did not grow across her path, stopped her as effectively as if the branches had struck her in the face.  It was an ordinary tree, but to her it appeared so strange that it might have been the only tree in the world.  Dark was the trunk in the middle, and the branches sprang here and there, leaving jagged intervals of light between them as distinctly as if it had but that second risen from the ground.  Having seen a sight that would last her for a lifetime, and for a lifetime would preserve that second, the tree once more sank into the ordinary ranks of trees, and she was able to seat herself in its shade and to pick the red flowers with the thin green leaves which were growing beneath it.  She laid them side by side, flower to flower and stalk to stalk, caressing them for walking alone.  Flowers and even pebbles in the earth had their own life and disposition, and brought back the feelings of a child to whom they were companions.  Looking up, her eye was caught by the line of the mountains flying out energetically across the sky like the lash of a curling whip.  She looked at the pale distant sky, and the high bare places on the mountain-tops lying exposed to the sun.  When she sat down she had dropped her books on to the earth at her feet, and now she looked down on them lying there, so square in the grass, a tall stem bending over and tickling the smooth brown cover of Gibbon, while the mottled blue Balzac lay naked in the sun.  With a feeling that to open and read would certainly be a surprising experience, she turned the historian’s page and read that—­

His generals, in the early part of his reign, attempted the reduction of Aethiopia and Arabia Felix.  They marched near a thousand miles to the south of the tropic; but the heat of the climate soon repelled the invaders and protected the unwarlike natives of those sequestered regions. . . .  The northern countries of Europe scarcely deserved the expense and labour of conquest.  The forests and morasses of Germany were filled with a hardy race of barbarians, who despised life when it was separated from freedom.

Never had any words been so vivid and so beautiful—­Arabia Felix—­Aethiopia.  But those were not more noble than the others, hardy barbarians, forests, and morasses.  They seemed to drive roads back to the very beginning of the world, on either side of which the populations of all times and countries stood in avenues, and by passing down them all knowledge would be hers, and the book of the world turned back to the very first page.  Such was her excitement at the possibilities of knowledge now opening before her that she ceased to read, and a breeze turning the page, the covers of Gibbon gently ruffled and closed together.  She then rose again and walked on.  Slowly her mind became less confused and sought the origins of her exaltation, which were twofold and