“Poor old man! and what did he say?”

“He refused me with harsh words.  To make the refusal more bitter he insulted my religion and my much-enduring tribe, and at the day appointed he turns me, at threescore years and ten, adrift upon the earth.”

“Eh, dear! how hard the world is!” cried Susan; “I had a great respect for Mr. Meadows, but now if he comes here I know I shall shut the door in his face.”

Isaac reflected.  This would not have suited a certain subtle Eastern plan of vengeance he had formed.  “No!” said he, “that is folly.  Take not another man’s quarrel on your shoulders.  A Jew knows how to revenge himself without your aid.”

So then her inquisitor was satisfied; Australia really was the topic that made Meadows welcome.  He departed, revolving Oriental vengeance.

Smooth Meadows, at his next visit, removed the impression excited against him, and easily persuaded Susan that Levi was more in the wrong than he, in which opinion she stood firm till Levi’s next visit.

At last she gave up all hope of dijudicating, and determined to end the matter by bringing them together and making them friends.

And now approached the day of Mr. Eden’s departure.  The last sermon—­the last quiet tea in the garden.  On Monday afternoon he was to go to Oxford, and the following week to his new sphere of duties, which he had selected to the astonishment of some hundred persons who knew him superficially—­knew him by his face, by his pretensions as a scholar, a divine and a gentleman of descent and independent means, but had not sounded his depths.

All Sunday Susan sought every opportunity of conversing with him even on indifferent matters.  She was garnering up his words, his very syllables, and twenty times in the day he saw her eyes fill with tears apropos of such observations as this: 

“We shall have a nice warm afternoon, Susan.”

“It is to be hoped so, sir; the blackbirds are giving a chirrup or two.”

All Monday forenoon Susan was very busy.  There was bread to be baked and butter to be made.  Mr. Eden must take some of each to Oxford.  They would keep Grassmere in his mind a day or two longer; and besides they were wholesome and he was fond of them.  Then there was his linen to be looked over, and buttons sewed on for the last time.  Then he must eat a good dinner before he went, so then he would want nothing but his tea when he got to Oxford; and the bread would be fit to eat by tea-time, especially a small crusty cake she had made for that purpose.  So with all this Susan was energetic, almost lively; and even when it was all done and they were at dinner, her principal anxiety seemed to be that he should eat more than usual because he was going a journey.  But when all bustle of every kind was over and the actual hour of parting came, she suddenly burst out crying before her father and the servant, who bade her not take on and instantly burst out crying too from vague sympathy.