She was to let him know when she also had found her 'great philosopher.' Sarah was like a fish on a bank, taking gasps at the marvel of it all; she blushed the pale pink of her complexion, and murmured of 'happiness.' Gower had gone headlong into happiness, where philosophers are smirkers and mouthers of ordinary stuff.

His brightest remark was to put the question to his father: 'The three good things of the Isle of Britain ?' and treble the name of Madge Woodseer for a richer triad than the Glamorgan man could summon.

Pardonably foolish; but mindful of a past condition of indiscipline, Nature's philosopher said to the old minister: 'Your example saved me for this day at a turn of my road, sir.' Nature's poor wild scholar paid that tribute to the regimental sectarian.

Enough for proud philosophy to have done the thing demonstrably right, Gower's look at his Madge and the world said.

That 'European rose of the coal-black order,' as one of his numerous pictures of her painted the girl, was a torch in a cavern for dusky redness at her cheeks.