“DEAREST DORCAS,—­I feel and I know what you may possibly think of me by this time,—­that you may possibly imagine me false to the vows which “——­

It will be perceived that Swan had improved in rhetoric, since the day he parted from his lady-love.  Still he could not satisfy himself in a letter.  In short, he felt that expression outran the reality, however modestly and moderately chosen.  Some vividness, some fervency, he must have, of course.  But how in the world to get up the requisite definition even to the words he could conscientiously use?  The second attempt followed the first.

Swan Day is not the first man who has found himself mistaken in matters of importance.  In his return to his native country, and the scenes of his early life, he had taken for granted the evergreen condition of his sentiments.  Like the reviving patient in epilepsy, who declares he has never for an instant lost his consciousness, while the bystanders have witnessed the dead fall, and taken note of the long interval,—­so this sojourner of fifteen years in strange lands felt the returning pulse of youth, without thought of the lapsing time that bridges over all gulfs of emotion, however deep.

In fact, that part of his nature which had been in most violent action fifteen years before had been lying as torpid under Indian suns as if it had been dead indeed; and his sense of returning vitality was mixed with curious speculations about his own sensations.

He dropped the pen, and placed his feet on the top of the high stuffed easy-chair which adorned the room.  This inverted personal condition relieved his mystification somewhat, or perhaps brought his whole nature more into harmony.

“Dorcas!—­hm! hm!—­fifteen years! so it is!—­ah! she must be sadly changed indeed!  At thirty, a woman is no longer a wood-nymph.  Even more than thirty she must be.”

He removed his feet from their elevation, and carefully arranged a different scaffolding out of the materials before him, by placing a cricket on the table, and his feet on the cricket.  To do this effectually and properly required the removal of the four pies, and the displacement of the cold turkey.

But Swan was mentally removing far greater and more serious difficulties.  By the time he had asked himself one or two questions, and had answered them, such as, “Whether, all the conditions being changed, I am to be held to my promise?” and the like, he had placed one foot carefully up.  Then, before conscience had time to trip him up, the other foot followed, and he found himself firmly posted.

“I will write a note to-morrow,—­put it into the post-office——­No, that won’t do; in these places, nobody goes to the post-office once a week;—­I’ll send a note to the house.”

Here he warmed up.

“A note, asking her to meet me under the great pear-tree, as we met——­It is, by Jove! just fifteen years to-morrow night since I left Walton!  That’s good! it will help on some”——­