was sure to get a canter or a gallop; or, if there was one of the draught
horses within an available distance, he was treated to a steady ride upon
that, which served his turn almost as well; but his mother would always
follow and trudge beside him--not so much, I believe, to ensure his safe
conduct, as to see that I instilled no objectionable notions into his
infant mind, for she was ever on the watch, and never would allow him to
be taken out of her sight. What pleased her best of all was to see him
romping and racing with Sancho, while I walked by her side--not, I fear,
for love of my company (though I sometimes deluded myself with that
idea), so much as for the delight she took in seeing her son thus happily
engaged in the enjoyment of those active sports so invigorating to his
tender frame, yet so seldom exercised for want of playmates suited to his
years: and, perhaps, her pleasure was sweetened not a little by the fact
of my being with her instead of with him, and therefore incapable of
doing him any injury directly or indirectly, designedly or otherwise,
small thanks to her for that same.

But sometimes, I believe, she really had some little gratification in
conversing with me; and one bright February morning, during twenty
minutes' stroll along the moor, she laid aside her usual asperity and
reserve, and fairly entered into conversation with me, discoursing with
so much eloquence and depth of thought and feeling on a subject happily
coinciding with my own ideas, and looking so beautiful withal, that I
went home enchanted; and on the way (morally) started to find myself
thinking that, after all, it would, perhaps, be better to spend one's
days with such a woman than with Eliza Millward; and then I
(figuratively) blushed for my inconstancy.

On entering the parlour I found Eliza there with Rose, and no one else.
The surprise was not altogether so agreeable as it ought to have been.
We chatted together a long time, but I found her rather frivolous, and
even a little insipid, compared with the more mature and earnest Mrs.
Graham. Alas, for human constancy!

'However,' thought I, 'I ought not to marry Eliza, since my mother so
strongly objects to it, and I ought not to delude the girl with the idea
that I intended to do so. Now, if this mood continue, I shall have less
difficulty in emancipating my affections from her soft yet unrelenting
sway; and, though Mrs. Graham might be equally objectionable, I may be
p