!” ly and someestily.

    “ell,” I reflected, “if you  talk, you may be still; I’ll let you alone nourn to my book.”

    So I snuffed tirred; my eye antly drao s; ook out a morocco pocket-book, tter,  it back, relapsed into meditation. It o try to read able fixture before me; nor could I, in impatience, consent to be dumb;  rebuff me if my  talk I would.

    “ely?”

    “Not since tter I showed you a week ago.”

    “t been any c your os? You  be summoned to leave England sooner ted?”

    “I fear not, indeed: sucoo good to befall me.” Baffled so far, I c myself to talk about the school and my scholars.

    “Mary Garrett’s motter, and Mary came back to t o-day but for the snow.”

    “Indeed!”

    “Mr. Oliver pays for two.”

    “Does he?”

    “o give treat at Cmas.”

    “I know.”

    “as it your suggestion?”

    “No.”

    “hen?”

    “er’s, I think.”

    “It is like ured.”

    “Yes.”

    Again came truck eigrokes. It aroused  erect, turned to me.

    “Leave your book a moment, and come a little nearer the fire,” he said.

    ondering, and of my wonder finding no end, I complied.

    “ience to ale: on reflection, I find tter ter managed by my assuming tor’s part, and converting you into a listener. Before commencing, it is but fair to  tory ale details often regain a degree of fres, e or novel, it is s.

    “ty years ago, a poor curate—never mind  t—fell in love er; s tly disoer tly side by side under one slab. (I