nature of Pownal to feel. He was sensible of the full force of
the difficulties he had to encounter; to his modesty they seemed
insuperable, and he determined to drive from his heart a sentiment
that, in his despondency, he blamed himself for allowing to find a
place there.

It took him some days to form the resolution, and after it was formed,
it was not easy to carry it into effect. More than once he had been
on the point of returning thanks for the kindness he had received,
and avowing his intention to depart, but it seemed as if the veriest
trifle were sufficient to divert him from his purpose. If Mr. Bernard
spoke of the satisfaction he derived from his company, if Mrs. Bernard
declared she should miss him when he left; or if Anne's radiant
face looked thanks for his reading aloud, they were all so many
solicitations to delay his departure. The treacherous heart readily
listened to the seduction, however much the judgment might disapprove.
But, as we have seen, a time had come when the voice of prudence could
no longer be silenced, and, however unwillingly, must be obeyed. He,
therefore, took occasion, one morning, at the breakfast table, to
announce his intended departure.

"Had I been a son," he said, in conclusion, "you could not have
lavished more kindness upon me, and I shall never forget it."

"What! what!" cried the Judge, "I am not sure that the shooting one's
self is a bailable offence, and I shall be obliged to examine the
authorities, before I discharge you from custody, Master Thomas."

"To think," said Mrs. Bernard, "it does not seem a week since you
came, and we have all been so happy. I declare, Mr. Pownal, I shall
not know how to do without you."

"The dearest friends must part--but we shall always be glad to see
you, Tom," said William Bernard.

"I do not see the necessity for your going," said the Judge. "Our
house is large enough for all; your attacks at table are not yet very
formidable; and I have not taught you whist perfectly. Would it not
be better to substitute a _curia vult avisare_ in place of a decision?
But, Anne, have you nothing to say? Is this your gratitude for all
Thomas's martyrdoms of readings of I know not what unimaginable
nonsense; and holdings of skeins of silk, more difficult to unwind
than the labyrinth through which Ariadne's thread conducted Theseus;
and pickings up of whatever your feminine carelessness chose to drop
on the carpet; and endurance of all the legions