her charm, and our precious hero again succumbed to it. But he resumed his visits to Scholastica after an interval of neglect not long enough to be unpardonable; the only difference was that now they were not so frequent.
My story draws to a close, for I am afraid you have already lost patience with our young man's eternal comings and goings. Another year ran its course, and the Professor's manuscripts were arranged in great piles, and almost ready for the printer. Benvolio had had a constant hand in the work, and had found it exceedingly interesting; it involved inquiries and researches of the most stimulating and profitable kind. Scholastica was very happy. Her friend was often absent for many days, during which she knew he was leading the great world's life; but she had learned that if she patiently waited, the pendulum would swing back and he would reappear and bury himself in their books and papers and talk. And it was not all work and no play between them either; they talked of everything that came into their heads, and Benvolio by no means forbade himself to descant on those things touching which this sacred vow of personal ignorance had been taken for his companion. He took her wholly into his poetic confidence, and read her everything he had written since his return from Italy. The more he worked the more he desired to work; and
