aid, very miserable, and was deadly pale.

"I do so despise myself--to see you bearing all so sweetly, Louis. I
should have been different, perhaps, if I had known you before--I love,
I admire you, as much as I hate myself."

"Are you coming with the candle there?" cried a voice from above:
"Louis Mortimer and William Ferrers in deep confabulation--wonders
will never cease."

Ferrers jumped up and ran up stairs with his candle, and Louis followed
more leisurely to his own room, nor could any thing induce him that
night to tell a story. How long and earnest was his prayer for one
who had injured him so cruelly, but towards whom he now, instead of
resentment, felt only pity and interest!

Ferrers, after tossing from side to side, and trying all schemes for
several hours, in vain, to drown his remorse in sleep, at last, at
daybreak, sank into an uneasy slumber. The image of Louis, and his
mute expression of patient sorrow that evening, haunted him, and he
felt an indefinable longing to be like him, and a horror of himself
in comparison with him. He remembered Louis' words, "Pray to God;"
and one murmured petition was whispered in the stillness of the night,
"Lord have mercy on a great sinner."

Since his disgrace, Louis generally had his brother for a companion
during their walks; but the next morning Ferrers joined him, and asked
Louis to walk with him to the downs. They were both naturally silent
for the beginning of the walk; but on Louis making some remark, Ferrers
said, "I can't think of any thing just now, Louis; I have done every
thing wrong to-day. My only satisfaction is in telling you how much
I feel your goodness. I can't think how you can endure me."

"Oh, Ferrers!" said Louis, "what am I that I should not bear you? and
if you are really sorry, and wish to be better, I think I may some day
love you."

"_That_ you can never do, Louis,--you must hate and despise me."

"No, I do not," said Louis, kindly; "I am very sorry for you."

"You must have felt very angry."

"I did feel very unkind and shocked at first," replied Louis; "but by
God's grace I learned afterwards to feel very differently, and you can't
think how often I have pitied you since."

"Pitied _me_!" said Ferrers.

"Oh yes," replied Louis, sweetly; "because I am sure you must have been
very unhappy with the knowledge of sin in your heart--I don't think there
is any thing so hard as remorse to bear."

"I did not feel much sorrow till you