and affable air, as though she were enriching
every one near her, that each of the
performers made her an especial bow, and seemed
to be rendered intensely happy by her notice.

But Salome? She sat there, but with a
mask on,—the same mask that had veiled
her features, and stolen the light and
happiness from her eyes when she mentioned
her cousin's name to me. She looked so
cold, stern, and unimpressionable, that I
could hardly have believed it to be the same
countenance that had bent so kindly over me
as I sat at her feet but two short hours
before, had I not seen the same change,
though in a lesser degree, when she was
with me. This change did not trouble
me so much then as afterwards, when I had
leisure to muse over the slightest circumstance;
but let me muse as I might, I could
never understand it. For the present, it was
happiness enough to gaze on her, and to feel
that she was near.

When the performance was over, I
struggled into an obscure corner near the
door, by which I knew they would have to
come. They came at last.

"How ungallant you are to-night, Edward!"
said Mrs. Chinfeather, as they passed me.
"You might almost as well have no arms
for any use that you make of them."

"Je suis ennuyé," he replied, with a slight
yawn, but offering, as he spoke, one arm to
his mother, and the other to his cousin.
Mrs. Chinfeather accepted the proffered aid;
but Salome merely made a slight movement
with her head; and, drawing her shawl
closer around her, passed on without a word.
A coach from the hotel was in waiting for
them. They entered it, and were driven away.

About two months after Salome's visit,
Mr. Carnforth suddenly died. I was elected
master in his place, though not without
strong opposition on the part of one member
of the committee, a grocer of the name of
Basinglee. He wanted the situation for a
nephew whom he was desirous of setting up
in the world. My friends, however, carried
the day; and, from that time, I became a
mark for Mr. Basinglee's bitter hostility.

Mr. Carnforth generously left me the whole
of his books, his household furniture, and
fifty pounds in money. The rest of his
property was divided among several poor
relations. His was a noble heart; and in him
I lost my best friend.

Through all the long years that had passed
since my grandmother's death, I had never
once forgotten that I was a felon's son. The
blasting consciousness was ever with me:
burnt branded indelibly into my heart; and
now that I had reached a position which
satisfied, for a time at least, my humble
ambition, I could forget it less than ever.

I had carefully read the evidence given
on the trial, as reported in the newspapers;
and I felt a secret consciousness that my
father was guilty of the crime with which he
was charged, and that it was hopeless ever
to expect his return. Still I never for a
single day forgot him. Dreary pictures
presented themselves unbidden before me,
and would not be put on one side. I seemed
ever to see a wasted figure, one of a chained
gang, working on a blinding highway, beneath
the fierce noonday sun: or the same
figure tending sheep in the lonely wilderness
with never a soul to comfort him.
Judging from my mother's letters, he must
have been a loveable man; and, taking
them as my foundation, I gradually came
to persuade myself that there must be that
in his disposition which I could both love
and honour. I longed for his presence with
that deep longing which they who have never
known a parent's love alone can feel.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

THE days and weeks passed slowly on,
and I awaited in quiet impatience the return
of my darling. I went mechanically through
my daily labours, longing for the evening to
come, when I should have nothing to do but
muse and brood over my love, and dwell in
anticipation on the delight of seeing her
again. But weeks merged slowly into
months, and still she came not; till gradually
the conviction dawned on my mind that I
should not see her again. I wrestled with it
for a long time, and nourished hope in
despair of itself; but when Christmas came
and went, and brought her not, nor any sign
or token of her remembrance of me, then
indeed, I felt that all my golden visions were
baseless as a dream. All through that
winter the struggle lasted; but spring brought
peace with healing on its wings. I loved her
so fondly that it seemed very hard at first to
have to give her up for ever; but slowly the
troubled clouds parted, and the star of duty,
serene and beautiful, shone once more into
my heart; and I knew that though the
happiness I had fondly dreamt of could never
be mine, yet that my life need be none the
less useful on that account. There were a
thousand things to do; duties to perform;
labours to achieve; let me, then, go on with
a manful heart, knowing that all things
would be made straight at last. I have
mentioned before that I was fond of
antiquarian studies. How or when the idea
first possessed me I know not, that it would
be no unwise thing to write a history of the
antiquities of Howthwaite and its neighbourhood.
neighbourhood. The project slowly took form
and consistency, till at length it became the
fixed thought of my mind.

The country for miles round our little
town was particularly rich in antiquarian
objects. Nowhere were the foot-prints of
the ancient masters of the soil more abundant
and interesting. My mode of life for years
back fitted me peculiarly for the task I
proposed to myself. I had abundant materials
to begin with ready to my hand: and as