turn　of　Diana　and　Mary—pleased　him；　but　the　acpaniments　of　that　event；　the　glad　tumult；　the　garrulous　glee　of　reception　irked　him：　I　saw　he　wished　the　calmer　morrow　was　e。　In　the　very　meridian　of　the　night’s　enjoyment；　about　an　hour　after　tea；　a　rap　was　heard　at　the　door。　Hannah　entered　with　the　intimation　that　“a　poor　lad　was　e；　at　that　unlikely　time；　to　fetch　Mr。　Rivers　to　see　his　mother；　who　was　drawing　away。”

“Where　does　she　live；　Hannah？”

“Clear　up　at　Whitcross　Brow；　almost　four　miles　off；　and　moor　and　moss　all　the　way。”

“Tell　him　I　will　go。”

“I’m　sure；　sir；　you　had　better　not。　It’s　the　worst　road　to　travel　after　dark　that　can　be：　there’s　no　track　at　all　over　the　bog。　And　then　it　is　such　a　bitter　night—the　keenest　wind　you　ever　felt。　You　had　better　send　word；　sir；　that　you　will　be　there　in　the　morning。”

But　he　was　already　in　the　passage；　putting　on　his　cloak；　and　without　one　objection；　one　murmur；　he　departed。　It　was　then　nine　o’clock：　he　did　not　return　till　midnight。　Starved　and　tired　enough　he　was：　but　he　looked　happier　than　when　he　set　out。　He　had　performed　an　act　of　duty；　made　an　exertion；　felt　his　own　strength　to　do　and　deny；　and　was　on　better　terms　with　himself。

I　am　afraid　the　whole　of　the　ensuing　week　tried　his　patience。　It　was　Christmas　week：　we　took　to　no　settled　employment；　but　spent　it　in　a　sort　of　merry　domestic　dissipation。　The　air　of　the　moors；　the　freedom　of　home；　the　dawn　of　prosperity；　acted　on　Diana　and　Mary’s　spirits　like　some　life…giving　elixir：　they　were　gay　from　morning　till　noon；　and　from　noon　till　night。　They　could　always　talk；　and　their　discourse；　witty；　pithy；　original；　had　such　charms　for　me；　that　I　preferred　listening　to；　and　sharing　in　it；　to　doing　anything　else。　St。　John　did　not　rebuke　our　viv