“Not my sorrow! Sorrow is a matter of time, and it may be consoled. But remorse is a thing of eternity, never to be comforted.”
“You seem to nourish this remorse as a matter of duty and conscience.”
“Yes, I do. I will not take comfort.”
“Tudor, my dear boy, there never was a case of insanity in either branch of your family. Their brains were too strong and too well balanced, else I should fear for you. But at any rate you really must go away from this place,” said the minister, very earnestly.
“Well, and if I should, it would be only to wander over the earth as aimlessly and drearily as the legendary Jew,” replied the young man.
Mr. Cave remained with him until nearly dark, and then went away, promising to come and see the solitary mourner in a very few days.
The next morning the invalid, with the assistance of the two men-servants, got downstairs and into the front piazza, where he sat in his favorite reclining-chair, with a little stand beside him.
He was still sitting there alone, gazing vacantly out upon the lovely summer scene of mountain, valley, woods and waters spread out before him, when the sound of a strange footstep, a firm and ringing footstep, fell upon his ear.
In another moment the figure of a young man, dressed as a gentleman, emerged from the footpath through the alder bushes, and came into view.
In that moment, with a start of surprise, Hereward recognized the form and face of Mr. Alfred Ancillon.