The first little cloud upon my peace came in the shape of a letter from Canada, in which there were two or three sentences that troubled me more than they ought to have done, to judge merely from the words employed.  It was this:—­’I should feel dreary enough in this out-of-the-way place if it were not for a friendship I have formed with a French Canadian of the name of Ventadour.  He and his family are a great resource to me in the long evenings.  I never heard such delicious vocal music as the voices of these Ventadour boys and girls in their part songs; and the foreign element retained in their characters and manner of living reminds me of some of the happiest days of my life.  Lucille, the second daughter, is curiously like Phillis Holman.’  In vain I said to myself that it was probably this likeness that made him take pleasure in the society of the Ventadour family.  In vain I told my anxious fancy that nothing could be more natural than this intimacy, and that there was no sign of its leading to any consequence that ought to disturb me.  I had a presentiment, and I was disturbed; and I could not reason it away.  I dare say my presentiment was rendered more persistent and keen by the doubts which would force themselves into my mind, as to whether I had done well in repeating Holdsworth’s words to Phillis.  Her state of vivid happiness this summer was markedly different to the peaceful serenity of former days.  If in my thoughtfulness at noticing this I caught her eye, she blushed and sparkled all over, guessing that I was remembering our joint secret.  Her eyes fell before mine, as if she could hardly bear me to see the revelation of their bright glances.  And yet I considered again, and comforted myself by the reflection that, if this change had been anything more than my silly fancy, her father or her mother would have perceived it.  But they went on in tranquil unconsciousness and undisturbed peace.

A change in my own life was quickly approaching.  In the July of this year my occupation on the——­railway and its branches came to an end.  The lines were completed, and I was to leave ——­shire, to return to Birmingham, where there was a niche already provided for me in my father’s prosperous business.  But before I left the north it was an understood thing amongst us all that I was to go and pay a visit of some weeks at the Hope Farm.  My father was as much pleased at this plan as I was; and the dear family of cousins often spoke of things to be done, and sights to be shown me, during this visit.  My want of wisdom in having told ‘that thing’ (under such ambiguous words I concealed the injudicious confidence I had made to Phillis) was the only drawback to my anticipations of pleasure.