“Do you remember, Miss Fairman, our first spring walk?  For an hour we went on, and that little green clump, as it appears from here, was not for a moment out of my sight.  My eyes were riveted upon it, and I watched the clouds shifting across it, changing its hue, now darkening, now lighting it up, until it became fixed in my remembrance, never to depart from it.  We have many fair visions around us, but that is to me the fairest.  It is connected with our evening walk.  Neither can be forgotten whilst I live.”

It was well that we reached the parsonage gate before another word was spoken.  In spite of the firmest of resolutions, the smallest self-indulgence brought me to the very verge of transgression.

In the evening I sat alone, and began a letter to the minister.  I wrote a few lines expressive of my gratitude and deep sense of obligation.  They did not read well, and I destroyed them.  I recommenced.  I reproached myself for presumption and temerity, and confessed that I had taken advantage of his confidence by attempting to gain the affections of his only child.  I regretted the fault, and desired to be dismissed.  The terms which I employed, on reperusal, looked too harsh, and did not certainly do justice to the motives by which throughout I had been actuated; for, however violent had been my passion, principle had still protected and restrained me.  I had not coldly and deliberately betrayed myself.  The second writing, not more satisfactory than the first, was, in its turn, expunged.  I attempted a third epistle, and failed.  Then I put down the pen and considered.  I pondered until I concluded that I had ever been too hasty and too violent.  Miss Fairman would certainly take no notice of what had happened, and if I were guarded—­silent—­and determined for the future, all would still be well.  It was madness to indulge a passion which could only lead to my expulsion from the parsonage, and end in misery.  Had I found it so easy to obtain a home and quiet, that both were to be so recklessly and shamefully abandoned?  Surely it was time to dwell soberly and seriously upon the affairs of life.  I had numbered years and undergone trial sufficient to be acquainted with true policy and the line of duty.  Both bade me instantly reject the new solicitation, and pursue, with singleness of purpose, the occupation which fortune had mercifully vouchsafed to me.  All this was specious and most just, and sounded well to the understanding that was not less able to look temperately and calmly upon the argument in consequence of the previous overflow of feeling.  Reason is never so plausible and prevailing as when it takes the place of gratified passion.  Never are we so firmly resolved upon good, as in the moment that follows instantly the doing of evil.  Never is conscience louder in her complaints than when she rises from a temporary overthrow.  I had discovered every thing to Miss Fairman.  I had fatally committed