uffered him to pass me. In a moment the full idea of who he
was rushed upon my mind; I ran; I called with an impetuous voice; I was
unable to restrain the vehemence of my emotions.

The ardour of my feelings disguised my usual tone of speaking, which
otherwise Mr. Collins would infallibly have recognised. His sight was
already dim; he pulled up his horse till I should overtake him; and then
said, "Who are you? I do not know you."

"My father!" exclaimed I, embracing one of his knees with fervour and
delight, "I am your son; once your little Caleb, whom you a thousand
times loaded with your kindness!"

The unexpected repetition of my name gave a kind of shuddering emotion
to my friend, which was however checked by his age, and the calm and
benevolent philosophy that formed one of his most conspicuous habits.

"I did not expect to see you!" replied he: "I did not wish it!"

"My best, my oldest friend!" answered I, respect blending itself with my
impatience, "do not say so! I have not a friend any where in the whole
world but you! In you at least let me find sympathy and reciprocal
affection! If you knew how anxiously I have thought of you during the
whole period of your absence, you would not thus grievously disappoint
me in your return!"

"How is it," said Mr. Collins, gravely, "that you have been reduced to
this forlorn condition? Was it not the inevitable consequence of your
own actions?"

"The actions of others, not mine! Does not your heart tell you that I am
innocent?"

"No. My observation of your early character taught me that you would be
extraordinary; but, unhappily, all extraordinary men are not good men:
that seems to be a lottery, dependent on circumstances apparently the
most trivial."

"Will you hear my justification? I am as sure as I am of my existence,
that I can convince you of my purity."

"Certainly, if you require it, I will hear you. But that must not be
just now. I could have been glad to decline it wholly. At my age I am
not fit for the storm; and I am not so sanguine as you in my expectation
of the result. Of what would you convince me? That Mr. Falkland is a
suborner and murderer?"

I made no answer. My silence was an affirmative to the question.

"And what benefit will result from this conviction? I have known you a
promising boy, whose character might turn to one side or the other as
events should decide. I have known Mr. Falkland in his maturer years,
and have always admired hi