现在再回过头来说说汤姆和贝基参加野餐的情况。他们跟伙伴们一起穿行在黑暗的通道 里，游览那些熟悉的洞中奇观——人们给它们起了些过于夸张的名子，诸如什么“客厅”、 “大教堂”、“阿拉丁宫殿”等等。在这之后，他们开始玩捉迷藏游戏，玩得极其投入，一 直玩到都有点厌烦了为止；然后他俩高举蜡烛，顺着一条弯曲的小路往前逛，边走边念着用 蜡烛烟油刻写在石壁上面的名字、年月、通讯地址和格言之类的东西。他俩仍然边走边谈 着，不知不觉地来到了另一个山洞。这里的墙上没有刻写字迹。在一块突出的岩石上面，他 俩熏上自己名字后继续往前走去。不久，他们来到一个地方，那里有股溪流从突出的岩层上 流下来，水里有石灰石沉渣，经年累月形成了瀑布一般的景观。它四周好像嵌着边，起伏不 平，水中的石头晶莹闪亮，永不消失。汤姆挤到后边，好让贝基借着他的灯光看个够。他发 现后面狭缝中有条陡峭的天然台阶，汤姆一下心血来潮，要去继续探险。贝基听他的，于是 俩人熏了个记号，作为以后引路标志，就开始了探险。他俩一时这边走，一时那边走，就这 样蜿蜒着进了以前没有人到过的洞中最深处，作了个记号后，又沿着叉道走下去以便出去后 有新鲜事儿好跟人说。在一处，他们发现一个宽敞的石窟，上面垂下来一些人腿大小的钟乳 石，他们在里面转了一圈，惊叹不已，然后从其中的一个出口离开了。不久他们就到了一个 美妙的泉水旁，水底下石头形似雪花状玲珑剔透，泉水位于石窟中间，四周石壁全由形状奇 特的柱子撑着，这些石柱是大钟乳石和大石笋相连而构成的，是千万年来水滴不息的结果。 石窟上聚集着成群结队的蝙蝠，每一群都有上千上万只。灯光一照，数以千计的蝙蝠飞下 来，尖叫着向蜡烛猛扑过去。汤姆知道它们的习惯和危险性，他拉着她钻到最近的一个通道 里。这一招做得真好，因为贝基往外走时，手里的蜡烛正巧被一只蝙蝠给扑灭了。蝙蝠把他 俩追出老远的一段距离。两个逃亡者只要看到通道就往里钻，最后终于摆脱了险境，把它们 抛在后面。不久汤姆发现了地下湖，它渐渐地伸展，最后消失在黑暗中，他打算沿着岸去探 个究竟，可转而一想还是坐下来先歇一会为妙。这时，平生第一次两个孩子感到这寂静的山 洞里好像有冰冷的魔掌攫取了他俩的灵魂。贝基说： “对了，我倒没留意。不过好像很长时间都没听到别的同伴的声音了。” “想想看，贝基，我们现在离他们很远，钻到洞下面来了。我也不知道向北还是向南、 向东或是什么方向跑了多远，我们在这个地方听不见他们。” 贝基开始担心起来。 “我不知道我们呆在这里有多久了，汤姆，我们还是回去吧！” “对，我也是这样想的，也许还是回去的好。” “你认识路，汤姆？这里弯弯曲曲，乱七八糟。” “我想我能认识路——可是那些蝙蝠很讨厌。要是它们把我俩的蜡烛扑灭，那就更糟 了。我们不妨从别的路走，避开那个地方。” “行是行，不过但愿别再迷了路。真是要命！”小姑娘一想到前途未卜，不禁打了个寒 颤。 他们钻进一条长廊，不声不响地走了老远，边走边看新出口，看看跟进来时的是否一 样。可是没一个出口是原来的。汤姆每次认真查看新洞口，贝基就望着他的脸看是否有希望 的表情，汤姆则愉快地说： “噢，没什么大不了的，这不是的，不过我们会找到出口。”可是一次又一次的失败使 汤姆感到希望越来越渺茫，随后他干脆见到出口就钻，拼命希望能找到来时的那个出口，嘴 上仍说着“没什么大不了的，”心情却十分沉重，连说出来的话都失去了响声，听上去好像 是“没救了！”贝基极度痛苦地紧跟在汤姆身旁，竭力想止住眼泪，可是眼泪还是流出来。 她终于说： “对了，汤姆，别管那些蝙蝠吧，还回到那条路上去！看样子，我们越走越不对劲。” 汤姆停住脚步。 “听！”他说。 周围万籁俱寂，静得连他们的喘息声都能听见，汤姆放开喉咙大叫。叫声回荡在通道 里，渐渐远去，直至最后隐约听上去像是阵阵笑声一样消失在通道深处。 “喂，汤姆，别喊了，听起来怪吓人的。”贝基说。 “是吓人，但我最好还是喊，贝基，说不准他们能听见我们。”说完他又大喊起来。 “说不准”三个字比那阵阵笑声更可怕，它表明希望正在消失，两个孩子静静地站在那里听 着，可什么也没听见。汤姆立即按原路返回，步伐很快。可没多久，他表现出举棋不定的样 子。贝基感到十分害怕，汤姆居然连往回走的路也找不着了。 “喂，汤姆，你怎么什么记号也没做！” “贝基，我真笨！一个大笨蛋！我根本没想到还会顺原路返回！是的，我们现在迷路 了。真是糟糕透顶。” “汤姆，汤姆，我们迷了路！找不着路了！永远也走不出这个鬼地方了！真是的，我们 当时干吗不和别的伙伴一起走呢！” 说完，她一下子瘫在地上，大哭起来，这下子吓坏了汤姆，他以为她快要死了，要不然 就是要发疯了。他坐在她旁边搂着她。她紧紧地挨着汤姆，脸贴在他怀里，一古脑地诉说她 的恐惧，连后悔都来不及了，这声音传到远处变成了嘲笑，回荡在通道里。汤姆求她再打起 精神来，可她说不能。于是汤姆开始了自责，骂自己不该把她弄到这种不幸的地步。这一骂 倒有了好效果。她表示要努力抱定希望，只要汤姆不再说这种话，她愿意跟汤姆一起闯关， 因为要说谁有错的话，她自己也不例外。 这样他俩又开始往前走，漫无目标地胡乱走——他们现在能做的就是往前走，不断地往 前走。不久，希望又开始复苏——它没有什么理由，很简单，只是因为希望的源泉还没有因 时间和失败而消失时，它自然而然地要复苏。 过了一会工夫，汤姆把贝基的蜡烛拿来吹灭，这种节约意味深长，言辞是多余的，不用 多解释，贝基就明白了其中的含义，她的希望又破灭了。她知道汤姆口袋里还有一根整蜡烛 和几个蜡烛头——但他必须节约着用。 又过了一会，疲乏开始袭上心头，可两个孩子尽力想置之不理，因为现在时间就是生 命。他们连想坐下来休息一下都不敢想。只要往前走，往一个方向或者无论是往哪边走都算 是前进，有可能会有结果；但千万不能坐下来，否则等于坐以待毙，好让死神降临得快些。 到后来，贝基柔弱的四肢再也支撑不住，她一步也走不动了。她坐在地上，汤姆也坐下 来陪她休息。两人谈到家、那里的朋友、家里舒服的床铺，尤其是那灯光！贝基哭起来，汤 姆想另换话题来安慰她，可是她已不止一次听到他这样鼓励，现在这些鼓励的话听起来倒像 是在挖苦她。贝基实在疲乏极了，她昏昏欲睡，汤姆见此很高兴，他坐在那里盯着她看，只 见她在甜蜜的睡梦中脸上的表情逐渐由绷紧状态变得舒展了，笑容也慢慢地露出来。那平静 的脸庞给汤姆的心灵也带来了些慰籍。于是，他的心思转到了过去的时光和梦一般的回忆上 去了，他陷入沉思时，贝基在一阵爽快的微笑中醒来，可是笑容突然中止，接着就是一阵呻 吟声。 “唉，我怎么睡着了呢！要是一觉睡过去那该有多好啊！不！不！汤姆，我不是这么想 的！不要这样看！我不说了。” “贝基，你睡了一觉，这很好；你会觉得休息好了，我们会找到出去的路。” “我们可以试试，汤姆。可我在梦中见到了一个美丽的国家，我想我们正是在去那儿的 路上。” “不一定，不一定。贝基，打起精神来！我们再去试它一试。” 他们站起身，手拉着手向前走去，可心里无数。他俩想合计出呆在洞里有多久了，可是 他们只知道好像是过了许多天，有好几个星期，可是这不可能，因为蜡烛还没有用光。此后 很长一段时间，他们都说不准在洞里到底呆了多久——汤姆说他们必须轻轻地走路，听听哪 儿有滴水声——他们必须找到泉水处。不久他俩果真发现了一处泉水，汤姆又说这回该休息 休息了。两人累得够呛，可是贝基却说她还能再走一会。汤姆不同意，这让贝基大吃一惊， 不能理解。他们坐下来，汤姆用粘土把蜡烛粘在前面的石壁上。两人各想各的心思，谁也没 说一句话。过了一段时间，还是贝基先开了口： “汤姆，我很饿！” 汤姆从口袋里掏出点什么东西。 “还记得这个吗？”他问贝基。 她差点笑起来。 “是我俩的结婚喜糕啊，汤姆。” “对了，现在就剩下这点东西了，它要是有方桶那么大就好了。” “这还是我野餐时留下的，做个想头，汤姆，大人们的结婚喜糕不也是这样的吗？—— 不过这将是我俩的——” 她话只说了半截，汤姆就动手分喜糕。贝基大口大口地吃着，汤姆自己却一点一点、地 尝着他那份。最后，他俩又饱饱地喝了一通凉水，结束了这顿“宴席”。这时贝基又开始建 议继续往前走。汤姆先沉默了一会，然后说： “贝基，如果我告诉你，你受得了吗？” 贝基的脸色发白，可她觉得她能受得了。 “是这样的，贝基，我们得呆在这里，这里有水喝，我们的蜡烛也只有这么一小截了！” 贝基放声大哭，汤姆尽全力来安慰她，可是一点用也没有。最后贝基说： “汤姆！” “我在这里，贝基，有什么要说的吗？” “他们会想我俩，找我们的！” “说得对，他们会的，一定会的！” “说不定，现在正在找呢，汤姆。” “当然喽，我想他们也许正在找，我希望如此。” “汤姆，不知道他们什么时候会发现我们丢了？” “大概是上船回去时吧。” “汤姆，那可是天要黑的时候，他们会注意到我们没回去吗？” “这，我就说不准了，不过他们一到家，你妈妈见不着你，一定会想你的。” 贝基的脸上露出害怕的神情，汤姆这才意识到他犯了个大错误。贝基说好那天晚上不回 家。两个孩子沉默不语，各自思忖着，突然一阵悲痛袭上贝基心头，汤姆发现，他想的事情 和她的一样——那就是星期天撒切尔夫人发现贝基不在哈帕夫人家时，已经是中午时分。孩 子们眼睛盯着那截小蜡烛头，看着它一点一点、无情地烧掉，最后剩下半英寸长的烛心，那 软弱的烛光忽高忽低，顺着细长的烟柱往上爬，爬到顶部徘徊了一会，接着恐怖的黑暗完全 笼罩了一切。 也不知过了多久，贝基才慢慢意识到她趴在汤姆怀里哭。他俩只知道好像经过一段很长 的时间后，两人从昏睡中醒来，再度一筹莫展。汤姆说现在可能是星期天，要么就是星期 一。他尽力想让贝基说话，可是她十分悲伤，所有的希望全都泡了汤。汤姆说他们老早就走 失了，毫无疑问，人们正在找他俩，他要叫喊，有许多人听见会来的。他叫了几声，可是黑 暗中，回声听起来十分可怕，他只好停下来，不再叫喊。 时间一分一秒地逝去。现在饥饿又开始折磨这两个小家伙。汤姆拿出从他那份中留出来 的一小块喜糕分给贝基吃，可是他们越吃越觉得饿得慌。那块小的可怜的喜糕反而激起了他 们的食欲。 过了一会，汤姆说： “嘘，你听见了吗？” 两人屏住呼吸静心听着，远处传来一阵模糊不清的喊叫声。汤姆立即搭上腔，拉着贝基 的手，顺着声音传来的方向，摸索着进入通道里。他马上又听了听，声音又传过来，这次明 显地近了。 “是他们！”汤姆说，“他们来了！快来贝基——我们现在有救了！” 两个被困在山洞里的“囚犯”高兴得几乎发狂。不过他俩走得很慢，因为脚下不时会碰 到坑坑洼洼，必须小心点才行。说着说着，他们就碰到一个坑洼。他俩停下脚步。那坑大约 有三英尺深，也许是一百英尺——不管怎么说是跨不过去的。汤姆趴在地上，尽量伸手去 摸，可是根本摸不到坑底。他仍必须呆在这里，等待搜寻的人过来。他俩听着，很显然本来 就很遥远的喊叫声，现在听起来更远了。一会工夫后，声音一点也听不到了。真是倒霉透 顶！汤姆直喊得嗓子都哑了也无济于事。他充满希望地和贝基谈着，可过了一段令人焦虑的 时刻后，再也没有听见那远去的喊叫声。孩子们摸索着重新回到泉水旁。时间慢慢地过去 了，令人乏味。他们又睡了一觉，等醒来后饥肠辘辘，痛苦不堪，汤姆坚信今天一定是星期 二。 汤姆突然想出个主意。附近有许多叉路口，与其在这里闲等着急人，不如去闯几条碰碰 运气。他从口袋里掏出一根风筝线，把它系在一块突出的石头上，然后和贝基一起上了路。 汤姆头里走，边走边放线。大约走出有二十步远，通道往下到了尽头。汤姆跪了下来，往下 摸着，顺手摸到拐角处，他又使劲尽量往左边一点摸。这时，不到二十码的地方，有只手， 拿着蜡烛，从石头后面出来了。汤姆大喝一声，那只手的主人——印第安·乔的身体立即露 了出来。汤姆吓瘫了，他动弹不得。紧接着就见那西班牙人拔腿就跑，转眼就不见了，真是 谢天谢地。汤姆在想乔没听出他是谁，否则会过来杀了他，以报他在法庭上作证之仇。山洞 里的回音让人无法辨出谁是谁。毫无疑问这就是乔没能认出他的原因，汤姆这样合计着。汤 姆被吓得浑身无力。他自言自语道，他要是还有气力回到泉水边，一定呆在那里，无论怎 样，都不想再去冒险，碰上印第安·乔就完蛋了。他很谨慎，不想对贝基说出看到了什么。 他讲他大喝一声只是为了碰碰运气。 可是从长远的角度来说害怕是次要的，主要的问题是饥饿和疲乏。他俩在泉水旁又度过 了一个漫长而又乏味的夜晚，这给他俩带来了转机，孩子们醒来时，饥饿难忍。汤姆坚信日 子到了星期三或是星期四，说不定是星期五、星期六都有可能，现在大伙们一定不再寻找他 俩了，他提议重找一条出路。他现在觉得就是遇到印第安·乔和什么别的危险也不怕。问题 是贝基虚弱得很。她陷入了麻木状态，唤不醒她的精神。她说她就原地呆着等待死亡——这 不会太久。她对汤姆说，如果他愿意的话他自己可以顺着风筝线去找出路，但要求他时不时 地回来好和她说说话，她还让他保证在最后时刻来临时，一定要守在她身旁，握着她的手， 这样一直握下去。 汤姆吻了她，嗓子里却有种哽噎的感觉，表面上还装出信心十足的样子；别人一定会找 来救他俩出洞。然后他手里拿着风筝线爬进一个通道。饥饿令他沮丧，尤其是一想到死到临 头更令他感到悲伤。

MY home, then,- when I at last find a home,- is a cottage; a little room with whitewashed walls and a sanded floor, containing four painted chairs and a table, a clock, a cupboard, with two or three plates and dishes, and a set of tea-things in delf. Above, a chamber of the same dimensions as the kitchen, with a deal bedstead and chest of drawers; small, yet too large to be filled with my scanty wardrobe: though the kindness of my gentle and generous friends has increased that, by a modest stock of such things as are necessary.

It is evening. I have dismissed, with the fee of an orange, the little orphan who serves me as a handmaid. I am sitting alone on the hearth. This morning, the village school opened. I had twenty scholars. But three of the number can read: none write or cipher.

Several knit, and a few sew a little. They speak with the broadest accent of the district. At present, they and I have a difficulty in understanding each other's language. Some of them are unmannered, rough, intractable, as well as ignorant; but others are docile, have a wish to learn, and evince a disposition that pleases me. I must not forget that these coarsely-clad little peasants are of flesh and blood as good as the scions of gentlest genealogy; and that the germs of native excellence, refinement, intelligence, kind feeling, are as likely to exist in their hearts as in those of the best-born. My duty will be to develop these germs: surely I shall find some happiness in discharging that office. Much enjoyment I do not expect in the life opening before me: yet it will, doubtless, if I regulate my mind, and exert my powers as I ought, yield me enough to live on from day to day.

Was I very gleeful, settled, content, during the hours I passed in yonder bare, humble schoolroom this morning and afternoon? Not to deceive myself, I must reply- No: I felt desolate to a degree. I felt- yes, idiot that I am- I felt degraded. I doubted I had taken a step which sank instead of raising me in the scale of social existence. I was weakly dismayed at the ignorance, the poverty, the coarseness of all I heard and saw round me. But let me not hate and despise myself too much for these feelings; I know them to be wrong- that is a great step gained; I shall strive to overcome them. To-morrow, I trust, I shall get the better of them partially; and in a few weeks, perhaps, they will be quite subdued. In a few months, it is possible, the happiness of seeing progress, and a change for the better in my scholars may substitute gratification for disgust.

Meantime, let me ask myself one question- Which is better?- To have surrendered to temptation; listened to passion; made no painful effort- no struggle;- but to have sunk down in the silken snare; fallen asleep on the flowers covering it; wakened in a southern clime, amongst the luxuries of a pleasure villa: to have been now living in France, Mr. Rochester's mistress; delirious with his love half my time- for he would- oh, yes, he would have loved me well for a while. He did love me- no one will ever love me so again. I shall never more know the sweet homage given to beauty, youth, and grace- for never to any one else shall I seem to possess these charms. He was fond and proud of me- it is what no man besides will ever be.- But where am I wandering, and what am I saying, and above all, feeling?

Whether is it better, I ask, to be a slave in a fool's paradise at Marseilles- fevered with delusive bliss one hour- suffocating with the bitterest tears of remorse and shame the next- or to be a village-schoolmistress, free and honest, in a breezy mountain nook in the healthy heart of England?

Yes; I feel now that I was right when I adhered to principle and law, and scorned and crushed the insane promptings of a frenzied moment. God directed me to a correct choice: I thank His providence for the guidance!

Having brought my eventide musings to this point, I rose, went to my door, and looked at the sunset of the harvest-day, and at the quiet fields before my cottage, which, with the school, was distant half a mile from the village. The birds were singing their last strains- 'The air was mild, the dew was balm.'

While I looked, I thought myself happy, and was surprised to find myself ere long weeping- and why? For the doom which had reft me from adhesion to my master: for him I was no more to see; for the desperate grief and fatal fury- consequences of my departure- which might now, perhaps, be dragging him from the path of right, too far to leave hope of ultimate restoration thither. At this thought, I turned my face aside from the lovely sky of eve and lonely vale of Morton- I say lonely, for in that bend of it visible to me there was no building apparent save the church and the parsonage, half-hid in trees, and, quite at the extremity, the roof of Vale Hall, where the rich Mr. Oliver and his daughter lived. I hid my eyes, and leant my head against the stone frame of my door; but soon a slight noise near the wicket which shut in my tiny garden from the meadow beyond it made me look up. A dog- old Carlo, Mr. Rivers' pointer, as I saw in a moment- was pushing the gate with his nose, and St. John himself leant upon it with folded arms; his brow knit, his gaze, grave almost to displeasure, fixed on me. I asked him to come in.

'No, I cannot stay; I have only brought you a little parcel My sisters left for you. I think it contains a colour-box, pencils, and paper.'

I approached to take it: a welcome gift it was. He examined my face, I thought, with austerity, as I came near: the traces of tears were doubtless very visible upon it.

'Have you found your first day's work harder than you expected?' he asked.

'Oh, no! On the contrary, I think in time I shall get on with my scholars very well.'

'But perhaps your accommodations- your cottage- your furniture- have disappointed your expectations? They are, in truth, scanty enough; but-' I interrupted-

'My cottage is clean and weather-proof; my furniture sufficient and commodious. All I see has made me thankful, not despondent. I am not absolutely such a fool and sensualist as to regret the absence of a carpet, a sofa, and silver plate; besides, five weeks ago I had nothing- I was an outcast, a beggar, a vagrant; now I have acquaintance, a home, a business. I wonder at the goodness of God; the generosity of my friends; the bounty of my lot. I do not repine.'

'But you feel solitude an oppression? The little house there behind you is dark and empty.'

'I have hardly had time yet to enjoy a sense of tranquillity, much less to grow impatient under one of loneliness.'

'Very well; I hope you feel the content you express: at any rate, your good sense will tell you that it is too soon yet to yield to the vacillating fears of Lot's wife. What you had left before I saw you, of course I do not know; but I counsel you to resist firmly every temptation which would incline you to look back: pursue your present career steadily, for some months at least.'

'It is what I mean to do,' I answered. St. John continued-

'It is hard work to control the workings of inclination and turn the bent of nature; but that it may be done, I know from experience.

God has given us, in a measure, the power to make our own fate; and when our energies seem to demand a sustenance they cannot get- when our will strains after a path we may not follow- we need neither starve from inanition, nor stand still in despair: we have but to seek another nourishment for the mind, as strong as the forbidden food it longed to taste- and perhaps purer; and to hew out for the adventurous foot a road as direct and broad as the one Fortune has blocked up against us, if rougher than it.

'A year ago I was myself intensely miserable, because I thought I had made a mistake in entering the ministry: its uniform duties wearied me to death. I burnt for the more active life of the world- for the more exciting toils of a literary career- for the destiny of an artist, author, orator; anything rather than that of a priest: yes, the heart of a politician, of a soldier, of a votary of glory, a lover of renown, a luster after power, beat under my curate's surplice. I considered; my life was so wretched, it must be changed, or I must die. After a season of darkness and struggling, light broke and relief fell: my cramped existence all at once spread out to a plain without bounds- my powers heard a call from heaven to rise, gather their full strength, spread their wings, and mount beyond ken. God had an errand for me; to bear which afar, to deliver it well, skill and strength, courage and eloquence, the best qualifications of soldier, statesman, and orator, were all needed: for these all centre in the good missionary.

'A missionary I resolved to be. From that moment my state of mind changed; the fetters dissolved and dropped from every faculty, leaving nothing of bondage but its galling soreness- which time only can heal.

My father, indeed, opposed the determination, but since his death, I have not a legitimate obstacle to contend with; some affairs settled, a successor for Morton provided, an entanglement or two of the feelings broken through or cut asunder- a last conflict with human weakness, in which I know I shall overcome, because I have vowed that I will overcome- and I leave Europe for the East.'

He said this, in his peculiar, subdued, yet emphatic voice; looking, when he had ceased speaking, not at me, but at the setting sun, at which I looked too. Both he and I had our backs towards the path leading up the field to the wicket. We had heard no step on the grass-grown track; the water running in the vale was the one lulling sound of the hour and scene; we might well then start when a gay voice, sweet as a silver bell, exclaimed-

'Good evening, Mr. Rivers. And good evening, old Carlo. Your dog is quicker to recognise his friends than you are, sir; he pricked his ears and wagged his tail when I was at the bottom of the field, and you have your back towards me now.'

It was true. Though Mr. Rivers had started at the first of those musical accents, as if a thunderbolt had split a cloud over his head, he stood yet, at the close of the sentence, in the same attitude in which the speaker had surprised him- his arm resting on the gate, his face directed towards the west. He turned at last, with measured deliberation. A vision, as it seemed to me, had risen at his side.

There appeared, within three feet of him, a form clad in pure white-a youthful, graceful form: full, yet fine in contour; and when, after bending to caress Carlo, it lifted up its head, and threw back a long veil, there bloomed under his glance a face of perfect beauty. Perfect beauty is a strong expression; but I do not retrace or qualify it: as sweet features as ever the temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure hues of rose and lily as ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened, justified, in this instance, the term. No charm was wanting, no defect was perceptible; the young girl had regular and delicate lineaments; eyes shaped and coloured as we see them in lovely pictures, large, and dark, and full; the long and shadowy eyelash which encircles a fine eye with so soft a fascination; the pencilled brow which gives such clearness; the white smooth forehead, which adds such repose to the livelier beauties of tint and ray; the cheek oval, fresh, and smooth; the lips, fresh too, ruddy, healthy, sweetly formed; the even and gleaming teeth without flaw; the small dimpled chin; the ornament of rich, plenteous tresses- all advantages, in short, which, combined, realise the ideal of beauty, were fully hers. I wondered, as I looked at this fair creature: I admired her with my whole heart.

Nature had surely formed her in a partial mood; and, forgetting her usual stinted step-mother dole of gifts, had endowed this, her darling, with a grand-dame's bounty.

What did St. John Rivers think of this earthly angel? I naturally asked myself that question as I saw him turn to her and look at her; and, as naturally, I sought the answer to the inquiry in his countenance. He had already withdrawn his eye from the Peri, and was looking at a humble tuft of daisies which grew by the wicket.

'A lovely evening, but late for you to be out alone,' he said, as he crushed the snowy heads of the closed flowers with his foot.

town some twenty miles distant) 'this afternoon. Papa told me you had opened your school, and that the new mistress was come; and so I put on my bonnet after tea, and ran up the valley to see her: this is she?' pointing to me.

'It is,' said St. John.

'Do you think you shall like Morton?' she asked of me, with a direct and naive simplicity of tone and manner, pleasing, if child-like.

'I hope I shall. I have many inducements to do so.'

'Did you find your scholars as attentive as you expected?'

'Quite.'

'Do you like your house?'

'Very much.'

'Have I furnished it nicely?'

'Very nicely, indeed.'

'And made a good choice of an attendant for you in Alice Wood?'

'You have indeed. She is teachable and handy.' (This then, I thought, is Miss Oliver, the heiress; favoured, it seems, in the gifts of fortune, as well as in those of nature! What happy combination of the planets presided over her birth, I wonder?)

'I shall come up and help you to teach sometimes,' she added. 'It will be a change for me to visit you now and then; and I like a night, or rather this morning, I was dancing till two o'clock. The are the most agreeable men in the world: they put all our young knife-grinders and scissor merchants to shame.'

It seemed to me that Mr. St. John's under lip protruded, and his upper lip curled a moment. His mouth certainly looked a good deal compressed, and the lower part of his face unusually stern and square, as the laughing girl gave him this information. He lifted his gaze, too, from the daisies, and turned it on her. An unsmiling, a searching, a meaning gaze it was. She answered it with a second laugh, and laughter well became her youth, her roses, her dimples, her bright eyes.

As he stood, mute and grave, she again fell to caressing Carlo.

'Poor Carlo loves me,' said she. 'He is not stern and distant to his friends; and if he could speak, he would not be silent.'

As she patted the dog's head, bending with native grace before his young and austere master, I saw a glow rise to that master's face.

I saw his solemn eye melt with sudden fire, and flicker with resistless emotion. Flushed and kindled thus, he looked nearly as beautiful for a man as she for a woman. His chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary of despotic constriction, had expanded, despite the will, and made a vigorous bound for the attainment of liberty. But he curbed it, I think, as a resolute rider would curb a rearing steed.

He responded neither by word nor movement to the gentle advances made him.

'Papa says you never come to see us now,' continued Mis Oliver, looking up. 'You are quite a stranger at Vale Hall. He is alone this evening, and not very well: will you return with me and visit him?'

'It is not a seasonable hour to intrude on Mr. Oliver,' answered St. John.

'Not a seasonable hour! But I declare it is. It is just the hour when papa most wants company: when the works are closed and he has no business to occupy him. Now, Mr. Rivers, do come. Why are you so very shy, and so very sombre?' She filled up the hiatus his silence left by a reply of her own.

'I forgot!' she exclaimed, shaking her beautiful curled head, as if shocked at herself. 'I am so giddy and thoughtless! Do excuse me. It had slipped my memory that you have good reasons to be indisposed for joining in my chatter. Diana and Mary have left you, and Moor House is shut up, and you are so lonely. I am sure I pity you. Do come and see papa.'

'Not to-night, Miss Rosamond, not to-night.'

Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automaton: himself only knew the effort it cost him thus to refuse.

'Well, if you are so obstinate, I will leave you; for I dare not stay any longer: the dew begins to fall. Good evening!' She held out her hand. He just touched it. 'Good evening!' he repeated, in a voice low and hollow as an echo. She turned, but in a moment returned.

'Are you well?' she asked. Well might she put the question: his face was blanched as her gown.

'Quite well,' he enunciated; and, with a bow, he left the gate. She went one way; he another. She turned twice to gaze after him as she tripped fairy-like down the field; he, as he strode firmly across, never turned at all.

This spectacle of another's suffering and sacrifice rapt my thoughts from exclusive meditation on my own. Diana Rivers had designated her brother 'inexorable as death.' She had not exaggerated.