fied
with having done as much as discretion warranted in the discharge of his
delicate commission, gladly assented to the proposition.

But in such cases it is easier to disbelieve than to forget; and it
is among the countless perversenesses of the human mind, to retain
most tenaciously, and recur most pertinaciously to, that which the
will professes most peremptorily to dismiss. Walter's disbelief was
spontaneous and sincere. So was his immediate protest against ever
recurring, even in thought, to a subject so contemptible. But, like the
little black box that haunted the merchant Abudah, it lodged itself,
spite of all opposition, in a corner of his memory, from which not all
his efforts could expel it at all times; though the most successful
exorcism (the never-failing _pro tempore_) was a reperusal of those
precious letters, in every one of which he found evidence of the lovely
writer's ingenuousness and truth, worthy to outweigh, in her lover's
heart, a world's witness against her. But from the hour of Seldon's
communication, Walter's impatience to be at St Hilaire became so
ungovernable, that finding his friend (Mr ---- was again to be the
companion of his journey) not unwilling to accompany him immediately, he
obtained the necessary furlough, although it yet wanted nearly three
weeks of the prescribed year's expiration; and although he had just
despatched a letter to the lady of his love, full of anticipation,
relating only to that period, he was on his way to the place of
embarkation before that letter had reached French ground, and arrived
at Caen (though travelling, to accommodate his friend, by a circuitous
route) but a few days after its reception at St Hilaire.

The travellers reached their place of destination so early in the day,
that, after a friendly greeting with Mr and Mrs Charles Seldon (though
not without a degree of embarrassment on either side, from recollection
of a certain proscribed topic), Walter excused himself from partaking
their late dinner, and with a beating heart (in which, truth to tell,
some undefinable fear mingled with delightful expectation) took his
impatient way along the well-remembered footpaths that led through
pleasant fields and orchards, by a short cut, to the Chateau de St
Hilaire. He stopped for a moment at the old mill, near the entrance-gate
of the domain, to exchange a friendly greeting with the miller's wife,
who was standing at her door, and dropt him a curtsy of reco