ern him altogether.
A passion, too, as obstinate as either of them, was determined to
dispute their power. The domestic affections softened his heart; but
love, which ambition left for dead, was only stunned; it rose again, and
finding a favorable position, set its seal to his feelings.

Denis himself, some days before that appointed for his departure, became
perfectly conscious that his affections were strongly fixed upon Susan
Connor. The nature of their last interview filled him with shame; nay,
more, it inspired him with pity for the fair, artless girl whom he
had so unfeelingly insulted. The manner in which he had won her young
affections; the many tender interviews that had passed between them; the
sacred promises of unchangeable love they had made to each other: all
crowded to his imagination with a power which reduced his spiritual
ambition and ecclesiastical pride, at least to the possession only of a
divided empire. He had, therefore, with his book in his hand as
usual, taken many solitary walks for the preceding few days, with the
expectation of meeting Susan. He heard that for the last month or six
weeks she had looked ill, been in low spirits, and lost her health. The
cause of this change, though a secret to the world, was known to him. He
knew, indeed, that an interview between them was indispensable; but had
it not been so, we question whether he would have been able to leave
home without seeing her.

His evening strolls, however, up until the day before his setting out
for college, were fruitless. Susan, who heretofore had been in the habit
of walking in the evenings among the green dells around her father's
house, was ever since their last meeting almost invisible. In the
meantime, as the day before that of his leaving the neighborhood had
arrived, and as an interview with her was, in a religious point of view,
essentially necessary, he took his book in the course of the evening,
and by a path slightly circuitous, descended the valley that ran between
his father's house and hers. With solemn strides he perambulated it in
every direction--north, south, east, and west; not a natural bower in
the glen was unexplored; not a green, quiet nook unsearched; not a shady
tree unexam-ined; but all to no purpose. Yet, although he failed in
meeting herself, a thousand objects brought her to his heart. Every
dell, natural bower, and shady tree, presented him with a history of
their past affections. Here was the spot