Eugene departed with a gloom upon his feelings certainly, yet not with hopelessness. He proceeded at once to call on the bishop, from whom he hoped to obtain tidings of Ellen; but the bishop was gone to Rome, and M. Bertolot with him, and they were not expected back till the spring. It was dull work spending that winter alone, for to return to Cambridge was not to be thought of. At last the spring advanced, and the buoyancy of youth restored hope to his spirit; he resolved to take a pedestrian tour through Wales while waiting the bishop's return. Several months had passed since he left his home. His mother often wrote to him, but no invitation to return came with her letters. Young, and desirous of knowledge, his projected expedition would have been acceptable to him but for this circumstance of domestic estrangement. However, he wandered on, with what courage he might, and found himself already on foot, with knapsack on his back, pursuing his travels. The rage for making tours was not at that time what it has since become. The scenes were comparatively untrodden and undescribed, so that the pleasure and the charms of novelty at least were Eugene's. He wandered on for some days, delighted with the picturesque scenery, and gathering health and vigor from his primitive mode of travelling.
One fine morning he rose particularly early, and had gone some miles, when he began to feel the need of some refreshment. He had neglected to inquire where this could be obtained, and began to wonder where he was likely to obtain any breakfast. Feeling somewhat impatient at the length of the road, he climbed a high bank on the right hand side, to gain a view of the country, and gladly perceived that immediately below lay a scattered village. It was the first of May, and children were carrying garlands from house to house. The morning was lovely, and every thing wore the aspect of happiness. Our traveller sprang down the bank, and made his way over fences into the village. He stopped at the first cottage he came to; it was the picture of neatness; the honey-suckle and sweet-brier climbed over the porch, and the little garden-plot in front was the very embodiment of beauty. All the early flowers were grouped in beds, most elegantly arranged. A dark-eyed boy stood in the porch, watching the garlands which the children were displaying. He caught sight of Eugene standing at the gate, and came forward. His open-heartedness was painted on his countenance.
"Can I serve you, sir?" said the boy. "You appear to be a stranger here."
"I am a stranger," replied Eugene, "that is, I am a traveller. Can you tell me where I may find rest and a breakfast?"
The boy opened the gate, and conducted Eugene into the porch, He then went to call his mother.
A middle-aged woman of superior manners came forward, and bade him welcome:
"You will find no inn, sir, nearer this than a mile or two; pray walk is and partake of such fare as our cottage affords."
Good tea, eggs, bread and butter were produced, and Eugene did them ample justice; but during the meal and after it was over, he could not help being struck with the air of both mother and son, and the appearance of the place altogether. The walls were only whitewashed, and the floor uncarpeted, but on the said walls hung paintings of a high order, and in a small recess stood a beautiful marble statuette of our Blessed Lady. The features of the boy, too, seemed those of a face familiar to him. A thought glanced through his mind as he gazed on the finely formed face. "Thank you warmly for your hospitality, young sir," said he, taking the boy's hand and drawing him nearer to him. "Now, please to tell me by what name I M to remember you?"