Will did gather this much, however, from the old man’s talk.  He had once been quite in a genteel line of business, but had failed for more money than any greengrocer he had heard of; at least, any who did not mix up fish and game with green-grocery proper.  This grand failure seemed to have been the event of his life, and one on which he dwelt with a strange kind of pride.  It appeared as if at present he rested from his past exertions (in the bankrupt line), and depended on his daughter, who kept a small school for very young children.  But all these particulars Will only remembered and understood when he had left the house; at the time he heard them, he was thinking of Susan.  After he had made good his footing at Mr. Palmer’s, he was not long, you may be sure, without finding some reason for returning again and again.  He listened to her father, he talked to the little niece, but he looked at Susan, both while he listened and while he talked.  Her father kept on insisting upon his former gentility, the details of which would have appeared very questionable to Will’s mind, if the sweet, delicate, modest Susan had not thrown an inexplicable air of refinement over all she came near.  She never spoke much; she was generally diligently at work; but when she moved it was so noiselessly, and when she did speak, it was in so low and soft a voice, that silence, speech, motion, and stillness alike seemed to remove her high above Will’s reach into some saintly and inaccessible air of glory—­high above his reach, even as she knew him!  And, if she were made acquainted with the dark secret behind of his sister’s shame, which was kept ever present to his mind by his mother’s nightly search among the outcast and forsaken, would not Susan shrink away from him with loathing, as if he were tainted by the involuntary relationship?  This was his dread; and thereupon followed a resolution that he would withdraw from her sweet company before it was too late.  So he resisted internal temptation, and stayed at home, and suffered and sighed.  He became angry with his mother for her untiring patience in seeking for one who he could not help hoping was dead rather than alive.  He spoke sharply to her, and received only such sad deprecatory answers as made him reproach himself, and still more lose sight of peace of mind.  This struggle could not last long without affecting his health; and Tom, his sole companion through the long evenings, noticed his increasing languor, his restless irritability, with perplexed anxiety, and at last resolved to call his mother’s attention to his brother’s haggard, careworn looks.  She listened with a startled recollection of Will’s claims upon her love.  She noticed his decreasing appetite and half-checked sighs.

“Will, lad! what’s come o’er thee?” said she to him, as he sat listlessly gazing into the fire.

“There’s nought the matter with me,” said he, as if annoyed at her remark.

“Nay, lad, but there is.”  He did not speak again to contradict her; indeed, she did not know if he had heard her, so unmoved did he look.