s, cutting
and venomous. The poor flowers would never see another summer; better
give up at once!

Even the books which met the eye on every side, wore a deserted air. Not
that they were dusty, for the chambermaid did her duty, if Bressant
failed in his; but there was something in the heavy, methodical manner
of their sleeping upon one another, such as they could never have
settled into had they been recently disturbed or opened. The outside of
a book is often as eloquent, in its way, as any part of the contents.

Bressant's arms were folded, and the perpendicular line up from between
the eyebrows was quite in harmony with the rest of his appearance. He
was weary, harassed, and divided against himself. Insincerity made him
uncomfortable; it compelled continual exertion, and of a paltry and
degrading kind; and it gave neither a sense of security, nor a prospect
of future advantage. Five days from now he was to be married; the duties
of a parish minister were to be undertaken, and he felt himself neither
mentally nor morally fitted or inclined for the office. Five days from
now the professor would expect from him that gift at which he had hinted
during their drive; and he had done nothing, either in act or purpose,
to fulfil his promise concerning it.

He was cut off from all sympathy. How could he confide to Sophie the
very wrong he meditated against herself--the very deception he was
practising upon her father? And what other person in the world was there
to whom he might venture to betake himself? Cornelia?--not yet! he dared
not yet yield himself to the influence he felt she was exercising over
him; the surrender implied too much; matters had not gone far enough.
But did there not lurk, in the bottom of his heart, a presentiment that
it was to her alone he would hereafter be able to look for countenance
and comfort? And would he avail himself of the refuge? When those whom
their friends--whether justly or not--have abandoned, chance to stumble
upon some oasis of unconditional affection, they are not squeamish about
its source or orthodoxy; if the sentiment be sincere and hearty, that
is enough. In the present case, moreover, Cornelia, as a last resort,
was by no means so uninviting an object as she might have been.

But since the question lay between his fortune and Falsehood on one
side, and a wife and Truth on the other, how was it possible for him to
pause in his decision? Undoubtedly, had the young man once fai