After the expiration of a fortnight, Pownal could find no excuses to satisfy even himself with remaining longer at Judge Bernard’s.  The visit had been, indeed, one of great enjoyment, and gladly would he have availed himself of the pressing invitation of his host to prolong it, could he have conjured up any reason for doing so.  Lightly would he have esteemed and cheerfully welcomed another wound like that from which he was recovering, could the pleasure have been thus purchased.  The truth is that within a few days he had been conscious of a feeling of which he had never before suspected himself, and it was this feeling that made him so reluctant to depart.  And yet, when, in the silence of his chamber, and away from the blue eyes of Anne Bernard, he reflected upon his position, he was obliged to confess, with a sigh, that prudence required he should leave a society as dangerous as it was sweet.  To be in the same house with her, to breathe the same air, to read the same books, to hear her voice was a luxury it was hard to forego, but in proportion to the difficulty was the necessity.  Besides he could not avoid fancying that young Bernard, though not cold, was hardly as cordial as formerly, and that he would regard with satisfaction a separation from his sister.  Nor had he reason to suppose that she looked upon him with feelings other than those which she entertained for any other acquaintance standing to her in the same relation as himself.  Beyond the ordinary compliments and little attentions which the manners of the day permitted, nothing had passed between them, and though satisfied he was not an object of aversion, he knew as well that she had never betrayed any partiality for him.  Meanwhile, his own feelings were becoming interested, beyond, perhaps, the power of control, the sooner, therefore, he weaned himself from the delightful fascination, the better for his peace of mind.

Thomas Pownal was comparatively a stranger in the neighborhood, only two or three months having elapsed since he had been sent by the mercantile firm of Bloodgood, Pownal, & Co., of New York, to take charge of a branch of their business at Hillsdale.  Even in that short space of time, by his affable manners and attention to business he had won his way to the respect and esteem of the good people of the town, and was looked upon as one likely to succeed in the lottery of life.  No one was more welcome, by reason of his amiable character, to those of his own age, while his steadiness recommended him to his elders.  But his family was unknown, though he was supposed to be a distant relation of the second member of the firm, nor had he any visible means of subsistence except the very respectable salary, which, as a confidential clerk, he received from his employers, on whom his prospects of success depended.  The chasm, therefore, betwixt the only daughter of the wealthy Mr. Bernard and himself, was wide—­wide enough to check even an overweening confidence.  But such it was not in the nature of Pownal to feel.  He was sensible of the full force of the difficulties he had to encounter; to his modesty they seemed insuperable, and he determined to drive from his heart a sentiment that, in his despondency, he blamed himself for allowing to find a place there.