er the doorway--that will be answer enough."

To say that these melancholy lines brought the tears into my eyes is
only to acknowledge that I had sympathies which could be touched. When I
had in some degree recovered my composure, the impulse which urged me to
write to Miss Dunross was too strong to be resisted. I did not trouble
her with a long letter; I only entreated her to reconsider her decision
with all the art of persuasion which I could summon to help me. The
answer was brought back by the servant who waited on Miss Dunross, in
four resolute words: "It can not be." This time the woman spoke out
before she left me. "If you have any regard for my mistress," she said
sternly, "don't make her write to you again." She looked at me with a
last lowering frown, and left the room.

It is needless to say that the faithful servant's words only increased
my anxiety to see Miss Dunross once more before we parted--perhaps
forever. My one last hope of success in attaining this object lay in
approaching her indirectly through the intercession of her father.

I sent Peter to inquire if I might be permitted to pay my respects to
his master that evening. My messenger returned with an answer that was a
new disappointment to me. Mr. Dunross begged that I would excuse him,
if he deferred the proposed interview until the next morning. The next
morning was the morning of my departure. Did the message mean that he
had no wish to see me again until the time had come to take leave of
him? I inquired of Peter whether his master was particularly occupied
that evening. He was unable to tell me. "The Master of Books" was not in
his study, as usual. When he sent his message to me, he was sitting by
the sofa in his daughter's room.

Having answered in those terms, the man left me by myself until the next
morning. I do not wish my bitterest enemy a sadder time in his life
than the time I passed during the last night of my residence under Mr.
Dunross's roof.

After walking to and fro in the room until I was weary, I thought of
trying to divert my mind from the sad thoughts that oppressed it by
reading. The one candle which I had lighted failed to sufficiently
illuminate the room. Advancing to the mantel-piece to light the second
candle which stood there, I noticed the unfinished letter to my mother
lying where I had placed it, when Miss Dunross's servant first presented
herself before me. Having lighted the second candle, I took up the
let