Only to ask him how he set up in business
for himself. He was, I believe, little older than I am now."

"Just twenty-one."

"And I shall be twenty-one next June."

"Are you thinking of setting up for yourself?"

"A likely matter!" and he laughed, rather bitterly, I thought--"when
every trade requires capital, and the only trade I thoroughly
understand, a very large one. No, no, Phineas; you'll not see me
setting up a rival tan-yard next year. My capital is NIL."

"Except youth, health, courage, honour, honesty, and a few other such
trifles."

"None of which I can coin into money, however. And your father has
expressly told me that without money a tanner can do nothing."

"Unless, as was his own case, he was taken into some partnership where
his services were so valuable as to be received instead of capital.
True, my father earned little at first, scarcely more than you earn
now; but he managed to live respectably, and, in course of time, to
marry."

I avoided looking at John as I said the last word. He made no answer,
but in a little time he came and leaned over my chair.

"Phineas, you are a wise counsellor--'a brother born for adversity.' I
have been vexing myself a good deal about my future, but now I will
take heart. Perhaps, some day, neither you nor any one else will be
ashamed of me."

"No one could, even now, seeing you as you really are."

"As John Halifax, not as the tanner's 'prentice boy? Oh! lad--there
the goad sticks. Here I forget everything unpleasant; I am my own free
natural self; but the minute I get back to Norton Bury--however, it is
a wrong, a wicked feeling, and must be kept down. Let us talk of
something else."

"Of Miss March? She has been greatly better all day."

"She? No, not her to-night!" he said, hurriedly. "Pah! I could almost
fancy the odour of these hides on my hands still. Give me a candle."

He went up-stairs, and only came down a few minutes before bed-time.

Next morning was Sunday. After the bells had done ringing we saw a
black-veiled figure pass our window. Poor girl!--going to church
alone. We followed--taking care that she should not see us, either
during service or afterwards. We did not see anything more of her that
day.

On Monday a message came, saying that Miss March would be glad to speak
with us both. Of course we went.

She was sitting quite alone, in our old parlour, very grave and pale,
but perfectly composed. A little more w