Huntington noticed a new light in Hamlen's eyes as he greeted them at the villa. The man was more reserved in the presence of a third person, but Huntington was relieved to find that the fact of Merry's coming did not throw his host back into that restrained att.i.tude which he manifested when first they met.

"I have brought you another congenial soul," Huntington explained.

"Can there be such--for me?" Hamlen demanded, but his guest continued as if he had not heard.

"Quite accidentally I find that Miss Merry has been a pupil of Cobden-Sanderson's, and I want her to see what you have done in this miniature island press of yours."

"I should be so interested," Merry exclaimed eagerly.

"How can it interest any one but me?" Hamlen asked incredulously. "I am parading my inmost self in public, and it seems indecent."

"I should not wish to intrude--" the girl began but Hamlen held up a deprecating hand, and the expression on his face refuted the apparent lack of courtesy.

"I am sure you won't misunderstand, Miss Thatcher, being, as Mr.

Huntington says, a congenial soul. It is I who am apologizing. To have any one show interest in what I do is a new experience, and I hesitate for fear I may be indelicate. And yet I want to show you what I've done!"

"Of course I understand," Merry replied cordially; "I'm proud to be among the first to see your work."

"Before we go indoors, may I not take you around the grounds?" he turned to Huntington. "Perhaps you are in the mood for it to-day?"

"By all means," his guest responded. "It will give us exactly the right atmosphere for what is to follow."

Huntington rejoiced to see Hamlen's att.i.tude. For an hour they wandered from one point to another, Merry in a state of ecstasy from the superb beauty of it all, Hamlen supremely happy in this sympathetic companionship of which he knew so little, and Huntington contentedly watching the life-drama enacting before his eyes. On the stage such a sudden change from tragedy to comedy would have been considered crude, for who could write lines of such delicacy as to portray the yearning of a human soul, or what actors are there so great that they could mimic the birth of hope? "G.o.d is the master-dramatist, after all," Huntington murmured to himself as he studied the changes which made the tortured derelict of a few days before into the contained and self-respecting host.

They returned to the house, and Hamlen took them to his press and bindery. Huntington purposely kept in the background, asking a question now and then, adding a word only where it was necessary, and giving his host the opportunity of explaining the finer points of the work to the responsive and comprehending mind of the girl. Little by little he could see the real Hamlen emerge from his manufactured self under the influences around him.

But his interest was not wholly centered in Hamlen. Until to-day Huntington had observed Merry only in her relation to others; now he felt a personal pride in the way she carried herself, in her quick understanding, her sympathetic responsiveness. He felt unconsciously for these brief moments a pleasurable sense of possession which added to his enjoyment.

"Now take us to your library," he said to Hamlen at length. "You told me that you had there some examples of the old master-printers at which you had scarcely looked. I want to see them; perhaps they may show us the influences which unconsciously affected your work."

"Most of them belonged to my father," Hamlen explained, as he opened the door for his guests to pa.s.s through into the larger room.

"He was a collector, then?"

"In a small way. As I look back, he must have known a good deal about old books; but I had no interest then, so they made little impression."

Huntington glanced around at the shelves critically.

"Cla.s.sics, cla.s.sics, cla.s.sics!" he cried. "Good heavens, man, do you mean to tell me that you haven't any modern books at all?"

Hamlen flushed. "There are many of these which I don't know well yet,"

was his reply. "Until then why should I accept counterfeits?"

Huntington had already found the shelf which held the _incunabula_ and the later examples of printing.

"Jenson, Aldus--ah, here is the 'Hypnerotomachia Poliphili,' and a splendid copy! That is the only ill.u.s.trated volume Aldus ever issued,"

he explained to Merry as he turned the pages. "Here is where you found that half-diamond formation of the type," he added, speaking to Hamlen, and pointing to the printed page.

Hamlen bent forward. "I didn't even remember that it had ever been used," he said. "I simply felt the necessity of filling out my page."

"So did Aldus," Huntington answered significantly. "Here is one of etienne's Greek books. Splendid work, isn't it? And yet, after giving France the crown of typographical supremacy which Italy had lost, he had to flee for his life because he wouldn't let his books be censored!"

"My father had a fine copy of Plantin's 'Polyglot Bible.'" Hamlen drew one of the ma.s.sive volumes from the shelf.

"Yes," Huntington replied, glancing critically at it and then at several of the other books; "your father must have known his subject well, for these examples follow the supremacy of printing from Italy down to modern times. See, starting with Aldus, you have one of etienne's, then one of Plantin's, representing the period when Belgium s.n.a.t.c.hed the prestige from France, then here is a 'Terence' of Elzevir's, printed when Holland was supreme; then Baskerville's 'Vergil,' which gave England the crown in the eighteenth century--"

"Where does Caxton come in?" Merry asked.

"He belongs to the period of Aldus, but his work was distinctly inferior to that of his Italian rival.--I say, Hamlen, where did your father go, after Baskerville?"

Huntington, continuing his examination of the volumes, answered his own question. "Here it is,--a beautiful example of Didot's 'Racine,' printed in that type which he and Bodoni cut together. Splendid judgment your father showed! This explains everything: you come naturally by your genius. What you have called instinct is really inheritance. Now the next; what is it?" Huntington became impatient in his eagerness.

"That is as late as my father's collection went."

"But surely you have a Kelmscott 'Chaucer'?"

"Yes; I bought one when I was in England."

"Put it up here just after the 'Racine.' There you are: except for Gutenberg's 'Mazzarine Bible,' which you may be excused for not possessing because of its rarity, you have a complete set representing the best printing which has been done in each epoch."

"You see how little I realized it," Hamlen apologized.

"You expressed your realization in the most tangible way possible, my dear fellow! You produced examples which are worthy to stand on the same shelf with those masterpieces. We won't put any living printer's work there yet, until Time has placed its value upon it, but I'll wager that when the next selection is made the books of Philip Hamlen will receive consideration."

"I wish I might believe that," Hamlen said with deep feeling; "it would mean everything to me."

"You must believe it. When you come to Boston, and find out how other collectors regard your work, you'll think my praise is tame. Until then, believe what I tell you, and take out of it the gratification which belongs to you.--I want you to go back to Boston with me, Hamlen, and pay me a visit. Will you do it?"

The change in subject was so abrupt that it took his host entirely unawares.

"Do you mean that, Huntington?" he asked.

"Of course I mean it. In fact, I insist upon it. I want to take you home to exhibit to my jealous friends as my own discovery.--Then it's all agreed."

"I couldn't leave here," Hamlen said soberly.

"I'll wait for you," Huntington replied. "I'm really in no hurry at all."

Hamlen laughed, and it was the first time Huntington had seen his reserve break down. He could not help contrasting it with the burst of emotion which had preceded his departure only the day before.

"You are a hard man to resist," Hamlen said lightly; "but that is something for the future. Let me have it to look forward to."

"Well, I haven't left Bermuda yet, and I don't want to go without you.--Now, Miss Merry, I must get you safely back to the hotel. Do you feel equal to another walk?"

"I'm eager for it," she replied.