if the one blot were
overlooked, is there no other? His early habits and vices, his?--a
brother's--his unknown career terminating at any day, perhaps, in shame,
in crime, in exposure, in the gibbet,--will they overlook this?" As he
spoke, he groaned aloud, and, as if impatient to escape himself, spurred
on his horse and rested not till he reached the belt of trim and sober
evergreens that surrounded his hitherto happy home.

Leaving his horse to find its way to the stables, the young man passed
through rooms, which he found deserted, to the lawn on the other side,
which sloped to the smooth waters of the lake.

Here, seated under the one large tree that formed the pride of the lawn,
over which it cast its shadow broad and far, he perceived his guardian
poring idly over an oft-read book, one of those books of which literary
dreamers are apt to grow fanatically fond--books by the old English
writers, full of phrases and conceits half quaint and half sublime,
interspersed with praises of the country, imbued with a poetical rather
than orthodox religion, and adorned with a strange mixture of monastic
learning and aphorisms collected from the weary experience of actual
life.

To the left, by a greenhouse, built between the house and the lake,
might be seen the white dress and lean form of the eldest spinster
sister, to whom the care of the flowers--for she had been early crossed
in love--was consigned; at a little distance from her, the other two
were seated at work, and conversing in whispers, not to disturb their
studious brother, no doubt upon the nephew, who was their all in all. It
was the calmest hour of eve, and the quiet of the several forms,
their simple and harmless occupations--if occupations they might be
called--the breathless foliage rich in the depth of summer; behind, the
old-fashioned house, unpretending, not mean, its open doors and windows
giving glimpses of the comfortable repose within; before, the lake,
without a ripple and catching the gleam of the sunset clouds,--all made
a picture of that complete tranquillity and stillness, which sometimes
soothes and sometimes saddens us, according as we are in the temper to
woo CONTENT.

The young man glided to his guardian and touched his shoulder,--"Sir,
may I speak to you?--Hush! they need not see us now! it is only you I
would speak with."

The elder Spencer rose; and, with his book still in his hand, moved side
by side with his nephew under the shadow