。 I inquired whether this was the case： no doubt in a somewhat crest…fallen tone。
“Not at all； he had； on the contrary； remarked that I had scrupulously respected every association： he feared； indeed； I must have bestowed more thought on the matter than it was worth。 How many minutes； for instance； had I devoted to studying the arrangement of this very room？—By…the…bye； could I tell him where such a book was？”
I showed him the volume on the shelf： he took it down； and withdrawing to his accustomed window recess； he began to read it。
Now； I did not like this； reader。 St。 John was a good man； but I began to feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold。 The humanities and amenities of life had no attraction for him—its peaceful enjoyments no charm。 Literally； he lived only to aspire—after what was good and great； certainly； but still he would never rest； nor approve of others resting round him。 As I looked at his lofty forehead； still and pale as a white stone— at his fine lineaments fixed in study—I prehended all at once that he would hardly make a good husband： that it would be a trying thing to be his wife。 I understood； as by inspiration； the nature of his love for Miss Oliver； I agreed with him that it was but a love of the senses。 I prehended how he should despise himself for the feverish influence it exercised over him； how he should wish to stifle and destroy it； how he should mistrust its ever conducting permanently to his happiness or hers。 I saw he was of the material from which nature hews her heroes—Christian and Pagan—her lawgivers； her statesmen； her conquerors： a steadfast bulwark for great interests to rest upon； but； at the fireside； too often a cold cumbrous column； gloomy and out of place。
“This parlour is not his sphere；” I reflected： “the Himalayan ridge or Caffre bush； even the plague…cursed Guinea Coast swamp would suit him better。 Well may he eschew the calm of domestic life； it is not his element： there his faculties stagnate—they cannot develop or appear to advantage。 It is in scenes of strife and danger—where courage is proved； and energy exercised； and fortitude tasked—that he will speak and move； the leader and superior。 A merry child would have the advantage of him on this hearth。 He is right to choose a missionary’s career—I see it now。”
“They are ing！ they are ing！” cried Hannah； throwing open the parlour door。 At the same moment old Carlo barked joyfully。 Out I ran。 It was now dark； but a rumbling of wheels was audible。 Hannah soon had a lantern lit。 The vehicle had stopped at the wicket； the driver opened the door： first one well…known form； then another； stepped out。 In a minute I had my face under their bons； in contact first with Mary’s soft cheek； then with Diana’s flowing curls。 They laughed—kissed me—then Hannah： patted Carlo； who was half wild with delight； asked eagerly if all was well； and being assured in the affirmative； hastened into the house。
They were stiff with their long and jolting drive from Whitcross； and chilled with the frosty night air； but their pleasant countenances expanded to the cheerful firelight。 While the driver and Hannah brought in the boxes； they demanded St。 John。 At this moment he advanced from the parlour。 They both threw their arms round his neck at once。 He gave each one quiet kiss； said in a low tone a few words of wele； stood a while to be talked to； and then； intimating that he supposed they would soon rejoin him in the parlour； withdrew there as to a place of refuge。
I had lit their candles to go upstairs； but Diana had first to give hospitable orders respecting the driver； this done； both followed me。 They were delighted with the renovation and decorations of their rooms； with the new drapery； and fresh carpets； and rich tinted china vases： they expressed their gratification ungrudgingly。 I had the pleasure of feeling that my arrangements met their wishes exactly； and that what I had done added a vivid charm to their joyous return home。
Sweet was that evening。 My cousins； full of exhilaration； were so eloquent in narrative and ment； that their fluency covered St。 John’s taciturnity： he was sincerely glad to see his sisters； but in their glow of fervour and flow of joy he could not sympathise。 The event of the day—that is； the return 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 vivacity； but he escaped from it： he was seldom in the house； his parish was large； the population scattered； and he found daily business in visiting the sick and poor in its different districts。
One morning at breakfast； Diana； after looking a little pensive for some minutes； asked him； “If his plans were yet unchanged。”
“Unchanged and unchangeable；” was the reply。 And he proceeded to inform us that his departure from England was now definitively fixed for the ensuing year。
“And Rosamond Oliver？” suggested Mary； the words seeming to escape her lips involuntarily： for no sooner had she uttered them； than she made a gesture as if wishing to recall them。 St。 John had a book in his hand—it was his unsocial custom to read at meals—he closed it； and looked up；
“Rosamond Oliver；” said he； “is about to be married to Mr。 Granby； one of the best connected and most estimable residents in S…； grandson and heir to Sir Frederic Granby： I had the intelligence from her father yesterday。”
His sisters looked at each other and at me； we all three looked at him： he was serene as glass。
“The match must have been got up hastily；” said Diana： “they cannot have known each other long。”
“But two months： they met in October at the county ball at S…。 But where there are no obstacles to a union； as in the present case； where the connection is in every point desirable； delays are unnecessary： they will be married as soon as S… Place； which Sir Frederic gives up to them； can he refitted for their reception。”
The first time I found St。 John alone after this munication； I felt tempted to inquire if the event distressed him： but he seemed so little to need sympathy； that； so far from venturing to offer him more； I experienced some shame at the recollection of what I had already hazarded。 Besides； I was out of practice in talking to him： his reserve was again frozen over； and my frankness was congealed beneath it。 He had not kept his promise of treating me like his sisters； he continually made little chilling differences between us； which did not at all tend to the development of cordiality： in short； now that I was acknowledged his kinswoman； and lived under the same roof with him； I felt the distance between us to be far greater than when he had known me only as the village schoolmistress。 When I remembered how far I had once been admitted to his confidence； I could hardly prehend his present frigidity。
Such being the case； I felt not a little surprised when he raised his head suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping； and said—
“You see； Jane； the battle is fought and the victory won。”
Startled at being thus addressed； I did not immediately reply： after a moment’s hesitation I answered—
“But are you sure you are not in the position of those conquerors whose triumphs have cost them too dear？ Would not such another ruin you？”
“I think not； and if I were； it does not much signify； I shall never be called upon to contend for such another。 The event of the conflict is decisive： my way is now clear； I thank God for it！” So saying； he returned to his papers and his silence。
As our mutual happiness （i。e。； Diana’s； Mary’s； and mine） settled into a quieter character； and we resumed our usual habits and regular studies； St。 John stayed more at home： he sat with us in the same room； sometimes for hours together。 While Mary drew； Diana pursued a course of encyclopaedic reading she had （to my awe and amazement） undertaken； and I fagged away at German； he pondered a mystic lore of his own： that of some Eastern tongue； the acquisition of which he thought necessary to his plans。
Thus engaged； he appeared； sitting in his own recess； quiet and absorbed enough； but that blue eye of his had a habit of leaving the outlandish…looking grammar； and wandering over； and sometimes fixing upon us； his fellow…students； with a curious intensity of observation： if caught； it would be instantly withdrawn； yet ever and anon； it returned searchingly to our table。 I wondered what it meant： I wondered； too； at the punctual satisfaction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion that seemed to me of small moment； namely； my weekly visit to Morton school； and s