be a
happier man for what I now behold."

"It is well," said my companion, "that you did not make the
acquaintance of our hills during the bleak winter, when their charms
were hidden in the snow, and they had nothing better to offer their
worshipper than rain and sleet and nipping winds. They would have
lost your praise then."

"Do you think so? Imprisoned as I have been, and kept a stranger to
the noblest works of Providence, my enjoyment is excessive, and I
dare scarcely trust myself to feel it as I would. I could gaze on
yonder sweet hillock, with its wild-flowers and its own blue patch
of sky, until I wept."

"Yes, this is a lovely scene in truth!" exclaimed Miss Fairman
pensively.

"Do you remember, Miss Fairman, our first spring walk? For an hour
we went on, and that little green clump, as it appears from here,
was not for a moment out of my sight. My eyes were riveted upon it,
and I watched the clouds shifting across it, changing its hue, now
darkening, now lighting it up, until it became fixed in my
remembrance, never to depart from it. We have many fair visions
around us, but that is to me the fairest. It is connected with our
evening walk. Neither can be forgotten whilst I live."

It was well that we reached the parsonage gate before another word
was spoken. In spite of the firmest of resolutions, the smallest
self-indulgence brought me to the very verge of transgression.

In the evening I sat alone, and began a letter to the minister. I
wrote a few lines expressive of my gratitude and deep sense of
obligation. They did not read well, and I destroyed them. I
recommenced. I reproached myself for presumption and temerity, and
confessed that I had taken advantage of his confidence by attempting
to gain the affections of his only child. I regretted the fault, and
desired to be dismissed. The terms which I employed, on reperusal,
looked too harsh, and did not certainly do justice to the motives by
which throughout I had been actuated; for, however violent had been
my passion, _principle_ had still protected and restrained me. I had
not coldly and _deliberately_ betrayed myself. The second writing,
not more satisfactory than the first, was, in its turn, expunged. I
attempted a third epistle, and failed. Then I put down the pen and
considered. I pondered until I concluded that I had ever been too
hasty and too violent. Miss Fairman would certainly take no notice
of what had happened, and if I were guarded--