was made either to the shire or village.  In what way, then, could it be so intimately connected with her brother—­whence was the origin of the hold which this one word had taken of his shattered brain?  I could not guess.  But, on the other hand, it was true that I was ignorant of his history subsequently to the fearful death of his most sinful father.  How could I tell what new events had arisen, what fresh relations might have sprung up, to attach and bind him to one particular spot of ground?  Urged by curiosity to discover all that yet remained to know of his career, and more by a natural and strong desire to serve the youth—­not to desert him in the hour of his extremity—­I resolved, with the first hint of the doctor, to become myself the fellow traveller of his protege.  I told him so, and the doctor shook me by the hand, and thanked me heartily.

That very evening we were on our road, for our preparations were not extensive.  My instructions were to carry him direct to Belton, to ascertain, if possible, from his movements the extent of his acquaintance with the village, and to present him at all places of resort, in the hope of having him identified.  Two days were granted for our stay.  If he should be unknown, we were then to return, and Doctor Mayhew would at once resign him to the parish.  These were his words at parting.  We had no opposition in the idiot.  His happiness was perfect whilst I remained with him.  He followed me eagerly whithersoever I went, and was willing to be led, so long as I continued guide.  I took my seat in the coach, and he placed himself at my side, trembling with joyousness, and laughing convulsively.  Once seated, he grasped my hand as usual, and did not, through the livelong night, relinquish it altogether.  A hundred affectionate indications escaped him, and in the hour of darkness and of quiet, it would have been easy to suppose that an innocent child was nestling near me, homeward bound, and, in the fulness of its expectant bliss, lavish of its young heartfelt endearments.  Yes, it would have been, but for other thoughts, blacker than the night itself—­how much more fearful!—­which rendered every sign of fondness a hollow, cold, and dismal mockery.  Innocence!  Alas, poor parricide!

In the morning the sun streamed into the coach, of which we were the only inside passengers.  Dancing and playing came the light, now here, now there, skipping along the seat, and settling nowhere—­cheerful visitant, and to the idiot something more, for he gazed upon it, and followed its fairy motion, lost in wonder and delight.  He looked from the coach-window, and beheld the far-spreading fields of beauty with an eye awakened from long lethargy and inaction.  He could not gaze enough.  And the voice of nature made giddy the sense of hearing that drank intoxication from the notes of birds, the gurgling of a brook, the rustling of a thousand leaves.  His feeble powers, taken by surprise, were vanquished by the