Philimore, in order that it might speak for itself, delivered the letter to his friend, who, after its perusal, expressed his regret. "This letter of yours," added he, "conveys a hint to myself which I shall profit by:—the accustomed season is approaching when I renew my parochial duties in London; and, therefore, I shall avail myself of your going hence to enjoy your company on the journey."
There now remained to Philimore but an interval of short duration to pass near the mistress of his affections. He had mutually agreed with the Doctor, it being the last evening of their stay, to spend it at the Bower; impatient to be there, Philimore started on his walk at an earlier hour than his friend; the thoughts which occupied him gave celerity to his motions, and he soon found himself within the precincts of that beautiful cottage, containing all that his soul held most dear. He stopped to contemplate it,—the thought rushed into his mind that perhaps he did so for the last time in his life! His eyes might never again range over that enchanting spot, to which he was soon to bid adieu, perhaps for ever!
Thus impressed, and fearing to meet the eye of some inquisitive or roving stranger who might intrude upon his reflections, he left the open path to
