This ride, however, was rather of a gloomy tendency, as its influences were lost in the utterance and free exhibition to Ralph of the mental sufferings of his companion.  Naturally of a good spirit and temper, his heart, though strong of endurance and fearless of trial, had not been greatly hardened by the world’s circumstance.  The cold droppings of the bitter waters, however they might have worn into, had not altogether petrified it; and his feelings, coupled with and at all times acted upon by a southern fancy, did not fail to depict to his own sense, and in the most lively colors, the offence of which he had been guilty.

It was with a reproachful and troublesome consciousness, therefore, that he now addressed his more youthful companion on the subject so fearfully presented to his thought He had already, in their brief acquaintance, found in Ralph a firm and friendly adviser, and acknowledging in his person all the understood superiorities of polished manners and correct education, he did not scruple to come to him for advice in his present difficulties.  Ralph, fully comprehending his distress, and conscious how little of his fault had been premeditated,—­estimating, too, the many good qualities apparent in his character—­did not withhold his counsel.

“I can say little to you now, Forrester, in the way of advice, so long as you continue to herd with the men who have already led you into so much mischief.  You appear to me, and must appear to all men, while coupled with such associates, as voluntarily choosing your ground, and taking all the consequences of its position.  As there would seem no necessity for your dwelling longer among them, you certainly do make your choice in thus continuing their associate.”

“Not so much a matter of choice, now, ’squire, as you imagine.  It was, to be sure, choice at first, but then I did not know the people I had to deal with; and when I did, you see, the circumstances were altered.”

“How,—­by what means?”

“Why, then,’squire, you must know, and I see no reason to keep the thing from you, I took a liking, a short time after I came here, to a young woman, the daughter of one of our people, and she to me—­at least so she says, and I must confess I’m not unwilling to believe her; though it is difficult to say—­these women you know—­” and as he left the unfinished sentence, he glanced significantly to the youth’s face, with an expression which the latter thus interpreted—­

“Are not, you would say, at all times to be relied on.”

“Why, no,’squire—­I would not exactly say that—­that might be something too much of a speech.  I did mean to say, from what we see daily, that it isn’t always they know their own minds.”