of Tremore, he wished them both good-by, telling Griselda she should hear from him as soon as he could get the necessary papers arranged. Griselda, with a heavy heart, walked on till she came to Princes street. Here she had to part with her companion. She felt grateful to him for his attention; but she could not feign a satisfaction she did not feel. "You will come and see us soon, Florian?" "I hope so," he answered, though he began to entertain misgivings how Millicent might receive him. "You will, before you leave?" The pressure of her hand was a warm entreaty, though not much regarded. So they parted, not to meet again for months, and then under circumstances to wring the hearts of both. CHAPTER VII. Are there not, Festus, are there not, dear Michael, One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge? BROWNING. THE young teacher, who had obtained leave of absence for the day, employed his time till evening in making calls on the few persons he knew, to announce the probability of his speedy departure. As it was dark when he entered his garret in the dingy inn, he did not for a moment perceive that there was a person seated in it. But when his eyes got accustomed to the gloom, he recognised the stranger, who was reclining back in the old well-worn leather chair which was the only article of luxury in his apartment. The scholar attempted an expression of regret that he should have kept his visiter waiting; but the stranger interrupted him by saying "I have not many minutes to give to you. Let me know if your mind holds the same resolve as when I saw you last." The subject had that afternoon long exercised Florian's thoughts. The forlorn condition of the young girls, who looked up to him as the only friend their sad fate had left them, had excited his pity, and he determined, should he see the stranger again, to plead for the privilege of at least relieving their necessities with the wealth entrusted to him. He answered, therefore "My desires are not at all changed. But will you allow me to say, that in one respect I think your proposal hard, and that I am unwilling to accede to it." "I allow you to say whatever you think proper. I command you to do so." 66 Separation from my friends for a year would be nothing, even if I had dearer friends than I have. But, if you entrust me with wealth, why may I not use it secretly for their benefit ?" "I have answered you when I say, because it is not my pleasure. Have you any poor friends?" "Yes-that is, I have friends I wish very much to assist." "I will not bind you too hardly. Such relief as they might expect to receive from a wealthy stranger I allow you to give them; only recollect your assistance must be of a temporary, not a permanent, character. The latter would destroy my design. Are you now content?” "I submit myself to your pleasure, Sir, and thank you for your condescension. I dare say you can understand how impatient I am to quit this place." "Better than I can why you should be so," said the stranger, in a voice toned with solemn feeling. "What in reason can you wish more than you have here? I have marked the books on your shelves. Few as they are, there is the treasured genius of ages in them. You have employment, a noble employment, young man, if you understood the dignity of teaching. You have time for study here. In this room wisdom might find all that is necessary for peace and happiness. You have a pure mind—why not a contented one?" "Perhaps," the scholar said, awed by the superiority the stranger assumed, "I might be more contented with my station if I had more experience of others. Can you not 1 imagine, Sir, how dull this place must be in the absence of all those pleasures which a higher state of life affords?" The stranger mused, as he repeated:— "The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a hell of heaven, a heaven of hell." "No one has better right to say so than I," he added, mournfully. Then, advancing to the casement, he threw it open and looked out. All business in the inn was over; the outer gates were shut, and complete silence reigned in the court-yard. The moon had not long risen; the air was still; and the few trees, and the patch of verdure enclosed by the iron railing, gleamed cheerfully in the soft light. "How say you?" exclaimed Cavendish, as he traversed the narrow room with hasty steps; "no pleasures! Do you count for nothing a pure heart and peaceful brain? Is there no pleasure in existence untainted by guilt, and cheered by honest toil? Are health and intellect, and hope and freedom, and God's pure air and light, such poor possessions? Young man, I do not tell you that the world is before you-that you can |