XXXI
And thus we came ourselves to a new place, though I took but little note
of all we passed, for my mind was bent inward upon itself and upon
Cynthia. The place was a great solid stone building, in many courts,
with fine tree-shaded fields all about; a school, it seemed to me, with
boys and girls going in and out, playing games together. Amroth told me
that children were bestowed here who had been of naturally fine and
frank dispositions, but who had lived their life on earth under foul and
cramped conditions, by which they had been fretted rather than tainted.
It seemed a very happy and busy place. Amroth took me into a great room
that seemed a sort of library or common-room. There was no one there,
and I was glad to sit and rest; when suddenly the door opened, and a man
came in with outstretched hands and a smile of welcome. I looked up,
and it was none but the oldest and dearest friend of my last life, who
had died before me. He had been a teacher, a man of the simplest and
most guileless life, whose whole energy and delight was given to
teaching and loving the young. The surprising thing about him had always
been that he could meet one, after a long silence or a suspension of
intercourse, as simply and easily as if one had but left him the day
before; and it was just the same here.
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