not be my worst enemy now. It is for me to obey you; but it is for
you to think well before you drive me to despair."

And the poor womanish heart leaned his head on the table, and began to
sorrow over his hard fate.

Mrs. Gatty soothed him. "It need not be done all in a moment. It must be
done kindly, but firmly. I will give you as much time as you like."

This bait took; the weak love to temporize.

It is doubtful whether he honestly intended to part with Christie
Johnstone; but to pacify his mother he promised to begin and gradually
untie the knot.

"My mother will go," whispered his deceitful heart, "and, when she is
away, perhaps I shall find out that in spite of every effort I cannot
resign my treasure."

He gave a sort of half-promise for the sake of peace.

His mother instantly sent to the inn for her boxes.

"There is a room in this same house," said she, "I will take it; I will
not hurry you, but until it is done, I stay here, if it is a twelvemonth
about."

He turned pale.

"And now hear the good news I have brought you from Newcastle."

Oh! these little iron wills, how is a great artist to fight three
hundred and sixty-five days against such an antagonist?

Every day saw a repetition of these dialogues, in which genius made
gallant bursts into the air, and strong, hard sense caught him on his
descent, and dabbed glue on his gauzy wings.

Old age and youth see life so differently. To youth, it is a story-book,
in which we are to command the incidents, and be the bright exceptions
to one rule after another.

To age it is an almanac, in which everything will happen just as it has
happened so many times.

To youth, it is a path through a sunny meadow.

To age, a hard turnpike:

Whose travelers must be all sweat and dust, when they are not in mud and
drenched:

Which wants mending in many places, and is mended with sharp stones.

Gatty would not yield to go down to Newhaven and take a step against his
love, but he yielded so far as to remain passive, and see whether this
creature was necessary to his existence or not. Mrs. G. scouted the
idea. "He was to work, and he would soon forget her." Poor boy! he
wanted to work; his debt weighed on him; a week's resolute labor might
finish his first picture and satisfy his creditor. The subject was
an interior. He set to work, he stuck to work, he glued to work, his
body--but his heart?

Ah, my poor fellow, a much slower horse than Gatty will go