This silence damped me.  I thought perhaps the alterations had disturbed some old associations he valued.  I inquired whether this was the case:  no doubt in a somewhat crest-fallen tone.

“Not at all; he had, on the contrary, remarked that I had scrupulously respected every association:  he feared, indeed, I must have bestowed more thought on the matter than it was worth.  How many minutes, for instance, had I devoted to studying the arrangement of this very room? —­ By-the-bye, could I tell him where such a book was?”

I showed him the volume on the shelf:  he took it down, and withdrawing to his accustomed window recess, he began to read it.

Now, I did not like this, reader.  St. John was a good man; but I began to feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold.  The humanities and amenities of life had no attraction for him —­ its peaceful enjoyments no charm.  Literally, he lived only to aspire —­ after what was good and great, certainly; but still he would never rest, nor approve of others resting round him.  As I looked at his lofty forehead, still and pale as a white stone —­ at his fine lineaments fixed in study —­ I comprehended all at once that he would hardly make a good husband:  that it would be a trying thing to be his wife.  I understood, as by inspiration, the nature of his love for Miss Oliver; I agreed with him that it was but a love of the senses.  I comprehended how he should despise himself for the feverish influence it exercised over him; how he should wish to stifle and destroy it; how he should mistrust its ever conducting permanently to his happiness or hers.  I saw he was of the material from which nature hews her heroes —­ Christian and Pagan —­ her lawgivers, her statesmen, her conquerors:  a steadfast bulwark for great interests to rest upon; but, at the fireside, too often a cold cumbrous column, gloomy and out of place.

“This parlour is not his sphere,” I reflected:  “the Himalayan ridge or Caffre bush, even the plague-cursed Guinea Coast swamp would suit him better.  Well may he eschew the calm of domestic life; it is not his element:  there his faculties stagnate —­ they cannot develop or appear to advantage.  It is in scenes of strife and danger —­ where courage is proved, and energy exercised, and fortitude tasked —­ that he will speak and move, the leader and superior.  A merry child would have the advantage of him on this hearth.  He is right to choose a missionary’s career —­ I see it now.”

“They are coming! they are coming!” cried Hannah, throwing open the parlour door.  At the same moment old Carlo barked joyfully.  Out I ran.  It was now dark; but a rumbling of wheels was audible.  Hannah soon had a lantern lit.  The vehicle had stopped at the wicket; the driver opened the door:  first one well-known form, then another, stepped out.  In a minute I had my face under their bonnets, in contact first with Mary’s soft cheek, then with Diana’s flowing curls.  They laughed —­ kissed me —­ then Hannah:  patted Carlo, who was half wild with delight; asked eagerly if all was well; and being assured in the affirmative, hastened into the house.