for you will falsify your looks."

"Do you think she depends on my looks?"

"I have read in some book, _Looks are the lover's sole dependence_."

"I have no objection to her interpreting mine in her favour; but then for
the consequences she will have herself, and only herself, to blame."

"Oh! Heaven!"

"What makes you exclaim so vehemently?"

"A forcible idea of the bitterness of that calamity which inflicts self-
reproach! Oh, rather deceive her; leave her the consolation to reproach
_you_ rather than _herself_."

"My honour will not suffer me."

"Exert your honour, and never see her more."

"I cannot live without her."

"Then live with her by the laws of your country, and make her and
yourself both happy."

"Am I to make my father and my mother miserable? They would disown me
for such a step."

"Your mother, perhaps, might be offended, but your father could not.
Remember the sermon he preached but last Sunday, upon--_the shortness of
this life_--_contempt of all riches and worldly honours in balance with a
quiet conscience_; and the assurance he gave us, _that the greatest
happiness enjoyed upon earth was to be found under a humble roof_, _with
heaven in prospect_."

"My father is a very good man," said William; "and yet, instead of being
satisfied with a humble roof, he looks impatiently forward to a bishop's
palace."

"He is so very good, then," said Henry, "that perhaps, seeing the dangers
to which men in exalted stations are exposed, he has such extreme
philanthropy, and so little self-love, he would rather that _himself_
should brave those perils incidental to wealth and grandeur than any
other person."

"You are not yet civilised," said William; "and to argue with you is but
to instruct, without gaining instruction."

"I know, sir," replied Henry, "that you are studying the law most
assiduously, and indulge flattering hopes of rising to eminence in your
profession: but let me hint to you--that though you may be perfect in the
knowledge how to administer the commandments of men, unless you keep in
view the precepts of God, your judgment, like mine, will be fallible."

CHAPTER XXII.

The dean's family passed this first summer at the new-purchased estate so
pleasantly, that they left it with regret when winter called them to
their house in town.

But if some felt concern in quitting the village of Anfield, others who
were left behind felt the deepest anguish. Those were not the