“You will come to us, Caleb,” answered Mr Fairman mildly.

“Sir!” said I, doubting if I heard aright.

“Has Dr Mayhew said nothing then?” he asked.

I trembled in every limb.

“Nothing, sir,” I answered.  “Oh, yes!  I recollect—­he did—­he has—­but what have I—­I have no wish—­no business”——­

The door opened, and Dr Mayhew himself joined us, rubbing his hands, and smiling, in the best of good tempers.  In his rear followed the faithful Williams.  Before a word of explanation could be offered, the latter functionary announced “dinner,” and summoned us away.  The presence of the servants during the meal interfered with the gratification of my unutterable curiosity.  Mr Fairman spoke most affably on different matters, but did not once revert to the previous subject of discourse.  I was on thorns.  I could not eat.  I could not look at the minister without anxiety and shame, and whenever my eye caught that of the doctor, I was abashed by a look of meaning and good-humoured cunning, that was half intelligible and half obscure.  Rays of hope penetrated to my heart’s core, and illuminated my existence.  The presence of Mr Fairman could not be without a purpose.  What was it, then?  Oh, I dared not trust myself to ask the question!  The answer bred intoxication and delight, too sweet for earth.  What meant that wicked smile upon the doctor’s cheek?  He was too generous and good to laugh at my calamity.  He could not do it.  Yet the undisturbed demeanour of the minister confounded me.  If there had been connected with this visit so important an object as that which I longed to believe was linked with it, there surely would have been some evidence in his speech and manner, and he continued as cheerful and undisturbed as if his mind were free from every care and weighty thought.  “What can it mean?” I asked myself, again and again.  “How can he coolly bid me to his house, after what has passed, after his fearful anxiety to get me out of it?  Will he hazard another meeting with his beloved daughter?—­Ah, I see it!” I suddenly and mentally exclaimed; “it is clear enough—­she is absent—­she is away.  He wishes to evince his friendly disposition at parting, and now he can do it without risk or cost.”  It was a plain elucidation of the mystery—­it was enough, and all my airy castles tumbled to the earth, and left me there in wretchedness.  Glad was I when the dinner was concluded, and eager to withdraw.  I had resolved to decline, at the first opportunity, the invitation of the incumbent.  I did not wish to grieve my heart in feasting my eyes upon a scene crowded with fond associations, to revoke feelings in which it would be folly to indulge again, and which it were well to annihilate and forget.  I was about to beg permission to leave the table, when Dr Mayhew rose; he looked archly at me when I followed his example, and requested me not to be in haste; “he had business to transact, and would rejoin