"You are trembling," she exclaimed; "this
is not merely illness. You have some sorrow
on your mind that haunts you. Tell me what
it is that ails you; perhaps I may be able to
console you. I have not so much experience
as you; but sometimes a young mind can
advise the oldest and the most experienced.
Perhaps, too, you magnify your trouble by
brooding over it; you think upon it till your
mind is clouded, and you cannot see the
remedy, which I, looking at it for the first
time, might see directly. Besides," she said,
seeing me hesitate, "if you do not tell me, I
shall always be unhappy—imagining a hundred
evils, each, perhaps, more serious than the
truth."

"No, Lucy," said I, "I am unwell; I have
felt thus for some time, and to-night I feel
worse. I must go to bed; I shall be better
after a night's rest."

I lighted a candle, and, bidding her good
night, left her and stole up to bed—afraid to
stay longer, lest I should be tempted to reveal
my secret. Oh, how could I endure the
thought of her kind words, more painful to
me than the coldest scorn! She had said she
loved me as a father. In the midst of all her
kindness, she had spoken of my age and my
experience. Did I, then, look so old as that? Yes.
I knew that it was not my years which made
me old; it was my staid manners, my grave
and thoughtful face, which made me look an
old man, even in my prune. Bitterly I
complained of my father, who had shut me out
from the knowledge of all that makes life
beautiful; who had biassed me to a belief that
such a life as his was best, by hiding from
me all comparison; till now, when I perceived
my error, it was too late to repair it.
I surveyed my antiquated garments with
disgust; my huge cravat; the very hair of my
head, by long training, become old-fashioned
beyond all reclaiming. My whole appearance
was that of a man who had slept for half a
century, except that I was without a speck or
soil. I believe they would have admitted me
to a masquerade in such a dress, without a
single alteration, and think that I had hired
it for the occasion. But a new hope sprang
up within me. I would change my way of
life—I would try to be more cheerful; I
would wear more modern clothes, and
endeavour, at least, not to make myself look
older than I was.

I had known nothing like the peace of
mind which these thoughts brought me, for
many days. I wondered that what was so
obvious had not occurred to me before. I
had gone about dreaming in my absent way,
brooding unprofitably over my troubles,
instead of devising something practical and
useful. But I would act differently—I would
not despair. Five-and-forty years was, after
all, no great age. I recalled to my mind many
instances of men marrying long after that
time with women younger than themselves,
and living afterwards very happily. I
remembered one of our Wardens who married
at sixty a young and very beautiful woman,
and every one saw how happy they were, and
how she loved her husband for years, till a
rascal, by slow and artful steps, won over her
affections, and she ran away with him. But
Lucy would not do that; I knew too well the
goodness of her nature to have any fear of
such a result. Then I thought how kind I
would be to her—studying every way that
could amuse and please a youthful mind; till
she, seeing how all my life was devoted to
her, would come to love me in the end. I
planned out minutely our way of life. I would
invite more friends to visit us, arid we would
go out and visit others. We would play at
our old game of draughts together in the
winter evenings, and sometimes I would take
her to the theatre. In the summer we would
go into the country—lingering all day long in
quiet shady places, and returning about dusk.
Sweet thoughts, that held my mind until I
slept, and lingered, breeding pleasant dreams!

The next day I visited my tailor, who took
my orders with evident astonishment. My
clothes were brought home in a few days, and
I threw off my knee-breeches, as I thought,
for ever. I felt a little uneasy in my new
attire—my legs had been so long used to feel
cool and unrestrained, that the trousers were
irksome. However, I supposed I should soon
become accustomed to them; and they really
made me look some years younger. What
would my father have said if he had visited the
earth that day and seen me? My hair,
however, was less manageable—in vain I parted
it on the right side, and brushed it sideways,
instead of backward, as I had hitherto done.
For five-and-forty years it had been brushed
in one direction, and it seemed as if nothing
but five-and-forty years' daily brushing in the
other, could ever reverse it. I descended my
room, trying to look unconscious of anything
unusual in my appearance. It was court-day:
the Warden and Assistants stared at me, and
would have laughed, no doubt, if most of
them had not left off laughing for many years.
Some of them, however, coughed; and one
addressed to me some simple questions,
evidently intended to test my sanity. I felt a
little vexed; for I thought it was no concern
of theirs, if I chose to adopt some alterations
in my dress. However, I said nothing, but
went quietly through my duties. Tom Lawton
was there. It should have been a joyful day
for him; for they increased his salary at that
court. But he looked at me compassionately,
and evidently thought, like the rest, that I
was going mad. I was, however, amply
consoled—for Lucy was pleased to see the change
in my dress and manners. I laughed and
chatted with her, and she read to me, and
sang, as she had promised. Thus I went on
for some time; when something of my old
restlessness came back. I saw how little she
suspected that I loved her more than as a
friend; and fearing still to let her know the