nd at
last the dark, bitter, cynical nature gave way, and the young man fell
sobbing at my feet and cried aloud, "Spare me, spare me! I see it all
now, wretch that I have been!"

CHAPTER VIII.

On leaving Vivian I did not presume to promise him Roland's immediate
pardon. I did not urge him to attempt to see his father. I felt the time
was not come for either pardon or interview. I contented myself with the
victory I had already gained. I judged it right that thought, solitude,
and suffering should imprint more deeply the lesson, and prepare the way
to the steadfast resolution of reform. I left him seated by the stream,
and with the promise to inform him at the small hostelry, where he took
up his lodging, how Roland struggled through his illness.

On returning to the inn I was uneasy to see how long a time had elapsed
since I had left my uncle. But on coming into his room, to my surprise
and relief I found him up and dressed, and with a serene, though
fatigued, expression of countenance. He asked me no questions where I
had been,--perhaps from sympathy with my feelings in parting with Miss
Trevanion; perhaps from conjecture that the indulgence of those feelings
had not wholly engrossed my time.

But he said simply, "I think I understood from you that you had sent for
Austin,--is it so?"

"Yes, sir; but I named--, as the nearest point to the Tower, for the
place of meeting."

"Then let us go hence forthwith,--nay, I shall be better for the change.
And here there must be curiosity, conjecture, torture!" said he, locking
his hands tightly together. "Order the horses at once!"

I left the room accordingly; and while they were getting ready the
horses, I ran to the place where I had left Vivian. He was still there,
in the same attitude, covering his face with his hands, as if to
shut out the sun. I told him hastily of Roland's improvement, of our
approaching departure, and asked him an address in London at which I
could find him. He gave me as his direction the same lodging at which
I had so often visited him. "If there be no vacancy there for me," said
he, "I shall leave word where I am to be found. But I would gladly be
where I was before--" He did not finish the sentence. I pressed his
hand, and left him.

CHAPTER IX.

Some days have elapsed: we are in London, my father with us; and Roland
has permitted Austin to tell me his tale, and received through Austin
all that Vivian's narrative to me sugges