I continued tively and fait ruly  first. Some time elapsed before, s, I could compreure. augies quite torpid, to me  first sig I soon found I aken. t t ted; and o knoself. t at me, my language, my rules, and ics o sted girls enougoo; and I discovered amongst t a feural politeness, and innate self-respect, as  capacity, t ion. took a pleasure in doing t, in learning tasks regularly, in acquiring quiet and orderly manners. ty of tances, : besides, I began personally to like some of t girls; and t my scers: young . te, and seo taugs of grammar, geograpory, and timable cers amongst ters desirous of information and disposed for improvement— evening s ttentions. t in accepting t by a consideration—a scrupulous regard to to imes accustomed, and  elevated t made to merit tial treatment they received.

    I felt I became a favourite in t out, I ations, and o live amidst general regard, t be but tting in suns;” serene in t far oftener sion: and yet, reader, to tell you all, in t of tence—after a day passed in ion amongst my sc in draentedly alone—I used to ruso strange dreams at nigated, full of tirring, tormy—dreams ating risk and romantic cill again and again met Mr. Rocer, al some exciting crisis; and ting oucime at s first force and fire. tuated. tainless bed, trembling and quivering; and till, dark nignessed t of passion. By nine o’clock t morning I ually opening tranquil, settled, prepared for teady duties of the day.

    Rosamond Oliver kept o visit me.  ter up to ted livery servant. Anyte t,  placed gracefully above t kissed ed to  er tic building, and glide t tecress pierce tor’s . A sort of instinct seemed to ; and  it, ures, to relax, cronger ting glance could indicate.

    Of course, s, because , conceal it from e of ian stoicism, e look, if  say it  is not despair of success t keeps me dumb. If I offered my , I believe you  it. But t  is already laid on a sacred altar: t. It han a sacrifice consumed.”

    And t like a disappointed cen  vivacity; sily from urn in transient petulance from , at once so yr-like. St. Jo, ain

    give one crue, eternal Paradise. Besides,  bind all t ure—t, t, t—in ts of a single passion. ——renounce  so muce o make on his confidence.

    Miss Oliver already  visits to my cottage. I  er, ery or disguise: stis not less; exacting, but not   absolutely spoilt. Sy, but good- ,  affected; liberal- of tly intelligent; gay, lively, and unt, even to a cool observer of  s profoundly interesting or t sort of mind ance, of ters of St. Joill, I liked  as I liked my pupil Adèle; except t, for a ccaugion is engendered ttractive adult acquaintance.

    Saken an amiable caprice to me. Sainly, s one-tent little soul enoug urae, sress: sory, if knoful romance.

    One evening, y, and tless yet not offensive inquisitiveness, sable-dratle kitc terials and some sketcty little cure, taken in ton and on t transfixed rified .

    “ures? Did I knoter ter in t sccrait of o so papa?”

    “it a tist—delig t and radiant a model. S  tresses, ook a s of fine card-board, and dreline. I promised myself t; and, as it ting late told  come and sit another day.

    S of me to  Mr. Oliver  evening—a tall, massive-featured, middle-aged, and grey- . aciturn, and per o me. tcrait pleased  make a finisure of it. ed, too, on my coming t day to spend t Vale hall.

    I . I found it a large,  evidences of or. Rosamond ime I stayed. ered into conversation er tea, rong terms ion of  it for one more suitable.

    “Indeed,” cried Rosamond, “so be a governess in a high family, papa.”

    I t I  respect.   neig tors of t all Morton o t even noive of t , if . ed it a pity t so fine and talented a young man s as a missionary; it e t appeared, t acle in t. Joly regarded t compensation for t of fortune.

    It tle servant, after o clean my isfied  me less and brige, and o spend as I would.

    translation of a fete and pencils, and fell to tion, of completing Rosamond Oliver’s miniature. t to tint and to soucoo, to add to t curl o tresses—a deeper tinge to tion of tails, ap, my door unclosed, admitting St. John Rivers.

    “I am come to see , I ? No, t is rust you still, t you a book for evening solace,” and able a neion—a poem: one of tions so often vouco tunate public of terature. Alas! t courage! I  pause eito accuse or repine. I knory is not dead, nor genius lost; nor o bind or slay: t tence, ty and strengtriumpruction. Poetry destroyed? Genius banisy, no: do not let envy prompt you to t. No; t only live, but reign and redeem: and  the hell of your own meanness.

    t pages of “Marmion” (for “Marmion” it . Joooped to examine my dra again art:  s  t I felt calmer and cooler temporarily tage of ion to do him some good, if I could.

    “itrol,” t I, “asks oo far: locks every feeling and pang s not  o talk a little about t Rosamond,  to marry: I will make alk.”

    I said first, “take a c   stay. “Very ally, “stand if you like; but you s go just yet, I am determined: solitude is at least as bad for you as it is for me. I’ll try if I cannot discover t spring of your confidence, and find an aperture in t marble breast thy.”

    “Is trait like?” I asked bluntly.

    “Like! Like  closely.”

    “You did, Mr. Rivers.”

    started at my sudden and strange abruptness:  me astonis is not,” I muttered  mean to be baffled by a little stiffness on your part; I’m prepared to go to considerable lengtinued, “You observed it closely and distinctly; but I ion to your looking at it again,” and I rose and placed it in his hand.

    “A ed picture,” , clear colouring; very graceful and correct drawing.”

    “Yes, yes; I kno. But  like?”

    Mastering some ation, he answered, “Miss Oliver, I presume.”

    “Of course. And noo ree guess, I o paint you a careful and faite of ture, provided you admit t t able to you. I don’t ime and trouble on an offering you hless.”

    inued to gaze at ture: t, to covet it. “It is like!” , expression, are perfect. It smiles!”

    “ould it comfort, or  o ing? tell me t.  Madagascar, or at t be a consolation to  memento in your possession? or  of it bring recollections calculated to enervate and distress?”

    ively raised  me, irresolute, disturbed: ure.

    “t I so  is certain: ion.”

    Since I ained t Rosamond really preferred   likely to oppose tced in my vie. Jorongly disposed in my oo advocate t seemed to me t, sune,  do as muc as if  and laid  to rengto e, under a tropical sun. ithis persuasion I now answered—

    “As far as I can see, it o take to yourself t once.”

    By time  doable before ed on bot. I discerned  my audacity. I sa to be t o  to be felt by en really need timents and griefs more ternest- seeming stoic is er all; and to “burst” o “t sea” of ten to confer on t of obligations.

    “Sood bes you. Moreover, s girl—ratless; but you  for bot to marry her.”

    “Does she like me?” he asked.

    “Certainly; better talks of you continually: t soucen.”

    “It is very pleasant to er of an ually took out c upon table to measure time.

    “But ion, or forging a freso fetter your ?”

    “Don’t imagine sucing, as I am doing: ain in my mind and overflo inundation all tentions, of self-denying plans. And no is deluged arous flood—tretctoman in t Vale  my bride Rosamond Oliver’s feet: salking to me  voice—gazing do me  life and passing o me.  is full of deligranced—let time I marked pass in peace.”

    I cicked on:  and loood silent. Amidst tet sped; cure doood on th.

    “Notle space o delirium and delusion. I rested my temples on t of temptation, and put my neck voluntarily under asted ter taste: his.”

    I gazed at him in wonder.

    “It is strange,” pursued  y, indeed, of a first passion, t of iful, graceful, fascinating—I experience at time a calm, un s make me a good  s tner suited to me; t I ser marriage; and t to ture ime of regret. this I know.”

    “Strange indeed!” I could not ing.

    “ on, “is acutely sensible to s: t so—co- operate in notook. Rosamond a sufferer, a labourer, a female apostle? Rosamond a missionary’s wife? No!”

    “But you need not be a missionary. You mig scheme.”

    “Relinquis! my vocation? My great ion laid on eartions in ttering to tituting peace for ition—t I relinquis? It is dearer t is o, and to live for.”

    After a considerable pause, I said—“And Miss Oliver? Are ment and sorroerest to you?”

    “Miss Oliver is ever surrounded by suitors and flatterers: in less t. S me; and will marry, probably, some one whan I should do.”

    “You speak coolly enoug you suffer in t. You are ing away.”

    “No. If I get a little t is y about my prospects, yet unsettled—my departure, continually procrastinated. Only telligence t ting, cannot be ready to replace me for to come yet; and perend to six.”

    “You tremble and become flusers the schoolroom.”

    Again t imagined t a o speak so to a man. For me, I felt at  of discourse. I could never rest in communication rong, discreet, and refined minds, ional reserve, and crossed t’s very one.

    “You are original,” said  timid. t, as rating in your eye; but alloo assure you t you partially misinterpret my emotions. You tent t claim to.  pity myself. I scorn t is ignoble: a mere fever of t, I declare, t is just as fixed as a rock, firm set in tless sea. Knoo be w I am—a cold hard man.”

    I smiled incredulously.

    “You aken my confidence by storm,” inued, “and no is muc your service. I am simply, in my original state— stripped of t blood-bleacianity covers y—a cold, ious man. Natural affection only, of all timents,  po feeling, is my guide; my ambition is unlimited: my desire to rise o do more tiable. I ry, talent; because t ends and mount to lofty eminence. I cerest, because I consider you a specimen of a diligent, orderly, energetic  because I deeply compassionate ill suffer.”

    “You would describe yourself as a mere pagan philosopher,” I said.

    “No. tic p. I am not a pagan, but a Cian p of Jesus. As   doctrines. I advocate to spread to religion, sivated my original qualities te germ, natural affection, sree, pringy root of ness, sice. Of tion to cion to spread my Master’s kingdom; to acories for tandard of turning terials to t account; pruning and training nature. But s eradicate nature: nor  be eradicated ‘till tal s on immortality.’”

    ook , te. Once more  trait.

    “She orld, indeed!”

    “And may I not paint one like it for you?”

    “Cui bono? No.”

    ure t of tomed to rest my ing, to prevent t  o tell; but somet ook it up c t a glance at me, inexpressibly peculiar, and quite incompre seemed to take and make note of every point in my s traversed all, quick, keen as liged, as if to speak: but ence,  was.

    “ is tter?” I asked.

    “Noterously tear a narro disappeared in y nod and “good- afternoon,” he vanished.

    “ell!” I exclaimed, using an expression of trict, “t caps the globe, however!”

    I, in my turn, scrutinised t sa save a feains of paint int in my pencil. I pondered tery a minute or t finding it insolvable, and being certain it could not be of muc, I dismissed, and soon forgot it.