er
knew the full extent of the feeling until now that I was about to leave
her, perhaps for ever. My heart sank when Mr Drummond left the room--a
bitter pang passed through it as the form of Mrs Drummond vanished from
my sight; but now was to be the bitterest of all. I felt it, and I
remained with the handle of the door in my hand, gasping for breath--
blinded with the tears that coursed each other rapidly down my cheeks.
I remained a minute in this state, when I felt that Sarah touched my
other listless hand.

"Jacob!" she would have said, but before half my name was out she burst
into tears, and sobbed on my shoulder. My heart was too much surcharged
not to take the infection--my grief found vent, and I mingled my sobs
with those of the affectionate girl. When we were more composed, I
recounted to her all that had passed, and one, at least, in the world
acknowledged that I had been treated unjustly. I had but just finished,
when the servant interrupted us with a message to Sarah, that her mother
desired her presence. She threw herself into my arms, and bade me
farewell. I released her, she hastened to obey her mother, but
perceiving the money still upon the table, she pointed to it. "Your
money, Jacob!"

"No Sarah, I will not accept it. I would accept of anything from those
who treat me kindly, and feel more and more grateful to them; but that I
will not accept--I cannot, and you must not let it be left here. Say
that I could not take it."

Sarah would have remonstrated, but perceiving that I was firm, and at
the same time, perhaps, entering into my feelings, she again bade me
farewell, and hastened away.

The reader may easy imagine that I did not put off my departure. I
hastened to pack up my clothes, and in less than ten minutes after Sarah
had quitted me, I was on board the lighter, with old Tom and his son,
who were then going to supper. They knew a part of what had happened,
and I narrated the rest.

"Well," replied old Tom, after I had finished my story, "I didn't know
that I have done you any harm, Jacob, and I'm sorry that Mr Drummond
should suppose so. I'm fond of a drop, that's true; but I appeals to
you, whether I ever force it on you--and whether I don't check that boy
as much as I can; but then, d'ye see, although I preach, I don't
practise, that's the worst of it; and I know I've to answer for making
Tom so fond of grog; and though I never says anything about it, I often
think to mys