I remember that at the time when Sir Neil Eccles expressed how much he was liberated by the intelligence of the grieved father, I was struck with a pang as if a sudden infection of some unpleasant fear had tainted my mind, and I observed by the look he cast at me, that he had noticed its effect on my countenance. He was faithful, but his love was gone: I must, however, continue the story.

“The old man, when Miss Eglesham returned, immediately retired. In the interval, she had dressed herself with her wonted neatness, but there was a calm solemnity in her eyes that silently told of heartfelt resolution. She spoke first. ‘Let us not,’ she said, ‘waste words: this is the most important hour in the lives of both, and perhaps calls for our utmost fortitude. You, Neil, were surprised at something different about me from what you had expected. Alas! Neil, I was no less at the change which has taken place in you. We have long looked forward with anxiety for this meeting—at least I have—and your faithfulness to your promise with this early visit, is an assurance that you have done so too. But—’ and her lips quivered, and her eyes glistened with tears as she added, ‘it is a meeting to part—Yes, to part! My retired way of life, a village recluse, I have undergone no variation, save that of time. But your active and grand pursuits have made you a different man: I can no longer be fit, under so great a change, to be what I once thought.’