ong established love of
jesting, his intense appreciation of a joke, practical or otherwise, I
had yet to learn. In few men are united, as happily as they were in him,
a steady application to the business of the world, and an almost
unrestrained indulgence in its harmless pleasantries. The grave doctor
was a boy at his fireside. I spent my last day in preparing for my
removal, and in rambling for some hours amongst the hills, with which I
had become too familiar to separate without a pang. Long was our
leave-taking. I lingered and hovered from nook to nook, until I had
expended the latest moment which it was mine to give. With a burdened
spirit I returned to the house, as my thoughts shifted to the less
pleasing prospect afforded by my new position. I shuddered to think of
London, and the fresh vicissitudes that awaited me.

It wanted but a few minutes to dinner when I stepped into the
drawing-room. The doctor had just reached home, after being absent on
professional duty since the morning. The visitor had already arrived; I
had heard his knock whilst I was dressing. Having lost all interest in
the doings of the place, I had not even cared to enquire his name. What
was it to me? What difference could the chance visitor of a night make
to me, who was on the eve of exile? None. I walked despondingly into the
room, and advanced with distant civility towards the stranger. His face
was from me, but he turned instantly upon hearing my step, and I
beheld----Mr Fairman. I could scarcely trust my eyes. I started, and
retreated. My reverend friend, however, betrayed neither surprise nor
discomposure. He smiled kindly, held out his hand, and spoke as he was
wont in the days of cordiality and confidence. What did it mean?

"It is a lovely afternoon, Stukely," began the minister, "worthy of the
ripe summer in which it is born."

"It is, sir," I replied; "but I shall see no more of them," I added
_instantly_, anxious to assure him that I was not lurking with sinister
design so near the parsonage--that I was on the eve of flight. "I quit
our friend to-morrow, and must travel many miles away."

"You will come to us, Caleb," answered Mr Fairman mildly.

"Sir!" said I, doubting if I heard aright.

"Has Dr Mayhew said nothing then?" he asked.

I trembled in every limb.

"Nothing, sir," I answered. "Oh, yes! I recollect--he did--he has--but
what have I--I have no wish--no business"----

The door opened, and Dr Mayhew himself join