t had dissipated
all the dreams of his youth. One word had dissolved the airy castle.
Henceforth he was Trevethlan. So sudden a change, brought about in
such a manner, could not but cause great agitation, yet in the midst
of all his tumultuous reflections Randolph felt a secret satisfaction.
He exulted in the resumption of his name; he felt an energy developing
itself within him, very opposite in character to the irresolution
which for some time had paralyzed his will. Yet he was saddened by the
thought of the sister who had cheered his way, and encouraged his
progress. Happy, say we with the good chaplain of Trevethlan Castle,
happy is the man who, in the days of his apprenticeship to the world,
after he has quitted the home of his youth, and before he has founded
a home of his own, has a sister to share his dwelling, and save him
from the miserable existence of a young bachelor. Happy is he who has
a smile ever ready to welcome him to his fireside, to cheer his
evening, and protect him from himself. What talents had not been
squandered, what evil had been averted, what ruin prevented, by such
companionship! No one cause, perhaps, has wrecked so many fair hopes
and promises as the want of a home.

Helen saw a marked change in her brother's countenance when they met
for breakfast. The anxiety she had long noticed with regret had
vanished, and was succeeded by an air of grave determination. She
asked him a few questions concerning the party, but finding him absent
and taciturn, soon desisted. Pleasure gleamed in her eyes, however,
when, in answer to Mr. Peach, who put his head in at the door to
inquire if Randolph would accompany him to town, the latter thanked
him, and declined.

"And quite right, my good sir," said Cornelius, advancing into the
room. "What saith Marsilius Ficinus, one of old Burton's quaint
physicians? 'Other men look to their tools; a painter will wash his
pencils, a smith take heed to his forge, and a husband-man to his
plough; a falconer and a huntsman care for their hawks and hounds;
only scholars neglect that instrument--their brain and spirits, I
mean--which they daily use, and by which they range over all the
world, but which by much study is consumed.' But I protest--I beg
pardon--and hark! there's the stage. Good-morning, Miss
Morton--good-morning."

And with several bows he bustled out of the little parlour.

"A kind-hearted creature," observed Randolph, "as ever breathed. I
should like