it　on　an　occasion　that　seemed　to　me　of　small　moment；　namely；　my　weekly　visit　to　Morton　school；　and　still　more　was　I　puzzled　when；　if　the　day　was　unfavourable；　if　there　was　snow；　or　rain；　or　high　wind；　and　his　sisters　urged　me　not　to　go；　he　would　invariably　make　light　of　their　solicitude；　and　encourage　me　to　acplish　the　task　without　regard　to　the　elements。

“Jane　is　not　such　a　weakling　as　you　would　make　her；”　he　would　say：　“she　can　bear　a　mountain　blast；　or　a　shower；　or　a　few　flakes　of　snow；　as　well　as　any　of　us。　Her　constitution　is　both　sound　and　elastic；—better　calculated　to　endure　variations　of　climate　than　many　more　robust。”

And　when　I　returned；　sometimes　a　good　deal　tired；　and　not　a　little　weather…beaten；　I　never　dared　plain；　because　I　saw　that　to　murmur　would　be　to　vex　him：　on　all　occasions　fortitude　pleased　him；　the　reverse　was　a　special　annoyance。

One　afternoon；　however；　I　got　leave　to　stay　at　home；　because　I　really　had　a　cold。　His　sisters　were　gone　to　Morton　in　my　stead：　I　sat　reading　Schiller；　he；　deciphering　his　crabbed　Oriental　scrolls。　As　I　exchanged　a　translation　for　an　exercise；　I　happened　to　look　his　way：　there　I　found　myself　under　the　influence　of　the　ever…watchful　blue　eye。　How　long　it　had　been　searching　me　through　and　through；　and　over　and　over；　I　cannot　tell：　so　keen　was　it；　and　yet　so　cold；　I　felt　for　the　moment　superstitious—as　if　I　were　sitting　in　the　room　with　something　uncanny。

“Jane；　what　are　you　doing？”

“Learning