CHAPTER IV.

THE NEXT MORNINGTHE COTTAGE BY DAY-BREAK

J

SISTER SOPHY-ANOTHER PARTING.

T so often happens with man and boykind, that the dawn of another day imparts a new colour

to their ideas and a different tone to their reflections, that Guy Rivers would not have been the first by many thousands if, on awakening next morning, he had completely changed his mind and resolved to stay where he was, rather than seek unknown troubles.

The hushed calm of evening is so favourable to the play of fancy-the semi-obscurity which veils surrounding objects, so conceals their asperities and makes the roughest path seem smooth, that most people are inclined, beneath their united influence, to form the boldest projects and conceive the most difficult tasks. But with the broad light of morning vanish half these grand resolves, and they even wonder, as they reflect upon them in the sunshine, how they could under any circumstances have ever given them serious entertainment.

If Guy's determination remained unaltered as he sprang from his bed at day break, there were two great reasons for his fixedness of purpose.

One was a certain firmness, not to say obstinacy of disposition imparted to him by nature, that made him very unwilling to forego any idea that he had once conceived. The other was the having come to his resolution by such slow degrees, that it had grown out of events like a fruit advancing to maturity; and its fulfilment could no more now be cast back or delayed than it would have been possible to make the ripe fruit return once again to its green and imperfect state.

He therefore hurried on his clothes with no faltering purpose. He laced his boots with no trembling hand. He examined his little fortune, and put it back into the silk purse which his sister Mary-the sister who came next himself in age-had worked for him on his last birth-day. He secured it carefully in his pocket, having taken out a shilling for the day's expenses, and gathered into a handkerchief the few extra articles of clothing which his mother had advised his taking with him. And having done all this, and given a last glance at the room he was leaving, perhaps for ever, he gently opened his door, and, with his bundle in his hand, crept softly down the stairs.

His mother had told him she would put upon the table of the living-room, a loaf of bread and some butter, so that he might not leave the house without a little support wherewith to commence his journey; and true enough, the food was there, ready to his hand.

Close beside the tray was his mother's prayerbook. It was evidently so placed that it should attract his attention. He opened it, when he perceived upon the fly-leaf beneath his mother's name, -written some years before in Mr Rivers' hand, when things were at their happiest,—these words in pencil, "For my darling boy, with his mother's love and blessing."

He was touched by this fresh proof of her affection, and, as he pressed the book to his lips, would have given much to be able to bestow on its donor one more kiss before quitting home. "Perhaps, however," he thought, while a sigh escaped him, "it would only make my going still more difficult!"

This idea made him quicken his departure. Having secured his present, he cut off from the loaf two tremendous slices of bread and butter, which he laid together like a sandwich, and, putting them into his pocket, walked on tiptoe towards a small back door which led from the kitchen into the garden, being afraid that the drawing the bolts and the noise of the key in the lock of the principal door might arouse the family.

He was surprised on reaching the kitchen to find the door only on the latch; but supposing that it had been so left by accident over night, he stepped out and quickly closed it behind him.

He walked straight down the path leading to the gate by which he had entered the garden the night before, without turning his head to the right or to

the left, although his ears were ever on the alert in the expectation of hearing himself called back angrily by his father's voice. But no sounds, except those of numerous early birds, saluted him, and it was evident that the family were not yet astir.

He turned round at a point of the pathway near the gate, where he knew a full prospect of the cottage was to be obtained, and stopped a few moments to examine each casement in turn.

There stood the little house in all its quiet beauty, as if it, too, were sleeping, and would still wait a while longer ere rousing itself for the day. Its eyes

-the windows, - were as yet fast closed, with the blinds, like eyelids, firmly shut. Its mouth,-the door-over the porch of which the rose and honeysuckle clambered in rivalry of each other, was likewise closed, and gave at present, no sign of awakening life.

As Guy's looks wandered from window to window, he figured to himself the beings whom he supposed to be lying within the rooms they lighted.

That large one in the centre was his parents' chamber. His father was doubtless sleeping heavily, as he was apt to do after these nights of drinking. But Guy could not believe but that his mother was lying there awake thinking of him, and perhaps listening for his footsteps as he stole away from home.

The little lattice on the right was Willy's room,a slip, connected with the principal chamber; and

that other on the left, gave light to the apartment occupied by Mary and Kate, the younger sisters.

His own window and that of his eldest sister, Sophy, were on the other side of the cottage, and although he wished to give a last peep at both, he feared to make a longer delay by going out of his road to look at them.

"It cannot, however, take me a moment," he argued, and was on the point of walking round, when a step behind roused him with a start from his reverie.

He turned hastily to see who it was that could be thus early astir, and his surprise was great indeed to observe his sister Sophy, dressed, with hat complete, as though prepared for walking.

He thought at first she had got up thus betimes with the mere intention of taking a little turn, to enjoy the soft, fresh air before her breakfast; and Guy had already in his mind invented an excuse for his own early rising, so as to disguise his project from his sister, for fear she might in some way endeavour to oppose it.

But the first look at her face told him he had nothing to conceal from her. Her eyes were red as if from weeping or want of sleep; and as she kissed him, she pressed his hand with a convulsive grasp, as if striving to control her feelings.

"I know all, dear Guy," she said- "I know all. Dear mother came into my room last night, after she left you, and told me everything. And so, I