I consulted with Alice about leaving the Academy.  She approved my plan, but begged me not to leave her.  I said nothing of my determination to that effect, feeling a strange disinclination toward owning it, though I persisted in repeating it to myself.  I applied diligently to my reading, emulating Ben Somers in the regularity of my habits, and took long walks daily—­a mode of exercise I had adopted since I had ceased my rides with Charles.  The pale blue sky of spring over me, and the pale green grass under me, were charming perhaps; but there was the same monotony in them, as in other things.  I did not frequent our old promenade, Silver Street, but pushed my walks into the outskirts of Rosville, by farms bordered with woods.  My schoolmates, who were familiar with all the pleasant spots of the neighborhood, met me in groups.  “Are you really taking walks like the rest of us?” they asked.  “Only alone,” I answered.

I bade farewell at last to Miss Prior.  We parted with all friendliness and respect; from the fact, possibly, that we parted ignorant of each other.  It was the most rational relation that I had ever held with any one.  We parted without emotion or regret, and I started on my usual walk.

As I was returning I met Ben Somers.  When he saw me he threw his cap into the air, with the information that he had done with his plans, and had ordered an indigestible supper, in honor of his resolve.  As people had truly remarked, he could afford to be eccentric.  He was tired of it; he had money enough to do without law.  “Not as much as your cousin Morgeson, who can do without the Gospel, too.”

This was the first time that he had referred to Charles since that memorable night.  Trifling as his words were, they broke into the foundations of my stagnant will, and set the tide flowing once more.

“You went to Surrey.”

“I was there a few hours.  Your father was not at home.  He asked me there, you remember.  I introduced myself, therefore, and was politely received by your mother, who sent for Veronica.  She came in with an occupied air, her hands full of what I thought were herbs; but they were grasses, which she had been re-arranging, she said.

“‘You know my sister?’ she asked, coming close, and looking at me with the most singular eyes that were ever on earth.”  He stopped a moment.  “Not like yours, in the least,” he continued. “’Cassandra is very handsome now, is she?’

“‘Why, Veronica,’ said your mother, ‘you astonish Mr. Somers.’

“‘You are not astonished,’ she said with vehemence, ’you are embarrassed.’

“‘Upon my soul I am,’ I replied, feeling at ease as soon as I had said so.

“’Tell me, what has Cassandra been taught?  Is Rosville suited to her?  We are not.’

“‘Veronica!’ said your mother again.

“’Mother,” and she shook the grasses, and made a little snow fall round her; ’what shall I say then?  I am sure he knows Cassandra.  What did you come here for?’ turning to me again.