She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. "What is this?" she wanted to know. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. She was recalling the circumstances under which she had engaged herself to Manning, and trying to understand a curious development of the quality of this relationship. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy.
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