CHAPTER IX. THE reader would probably be not much edified by any very particular account of the little incidents that occurred during the three days spent at Thorwold-hall, by the family of Grypher wast. There were walks in the woods, rides on the hill, and boating-parties on the lake; but in the greater part of these Barbara Dalton took no share, and even when she did accompany the rest, silent and reserved, just as she had been the first evening Reginald saw her, she exhibited no symptoms of partaking in the pleasure diffused among those with whom she was surrounded. In vain did the old Squire talk, joke, and laugh; in vain did Mrs Betty use more quiet endeavours to engage her attention; in vain did Mr and Mrs Chisney do every thing that kindness and hospi tality could suggest-there was still something so painful to her feelings in being placed (as she almost continually was) within the sight of John Dalton, and the sound of his voice, that she was quite unable to resist the constraining and depressing influence. The Vicar, on his part, exerted himself, whatever his private feelings might have been, with increasing success; and as for Reginald, the happy buoyancy of youth asserted its privilege; in spite of all that had happened, before his relations took their departure, he had not only quite recovered the tranquillity of his external demeanour, but, through dint of serious reflection, aided by the high stimulus of juvenile spirits, reconciled his mind, in a great measure, to the actual state of affairs--and almost taught himself to think with less of regret, than of shame, upon the delusions in which his idleness had so long indulged itself. His intercourse with Frederick Chisney had first animated, if not infused into him, the desire of mingling in the world; and now this desire became more and more strengthened, not only by what he heard every hour in the common course of conversation, but in consequence of the more serious reflections, which he could not help making for himself, in regard to the business of life, and the state of his own future prospects in the world. His father, too, from the moment the Grypherwast family went away, began, he could not but remark, to talk freely with him on subjects which heretofore had been, perhaps, far too much avoided -the necessity, namely, of his choosing a profession, and ere long devoting the whole of his energies to the active duties of life. No topics could, in one point of view, be more agreeable than these to Reginald-because the very broaching of them implied that his father was sensible he had spent enough of time already in the seclusion of Lannwell; but the youth was perplexed, when he heard the Vicar speak so strongly about the necessity of his looking forward to a life of steady and laborious exertion; and although he did not venture to say out distinctly what was passing through his mind, Mr Dalton could not recur again and again to that subject, (which he did, and with ever-increasing earnestness too,) without at length forming some suspicions; and no sooner were these formed, than he resolved to do what duty and affection alike dictated and prescribed. It was on a Sunday evening, when they were sitting together in the library, that the Vicar first said the long expected words, " Reginald, you must spend the winter at Oxford. It is a sore thing for me to lose you, but the time is come. Perhaps we should have been thinking of it sooner." Much as Reginald had thought of-much as he had even desired what was now proposed, there was a melancholy tenderness in his father's tone of voice that went quite to his heart, and he almost wished the words had not been uttered. However, he gathered his thoughts for a moment, and answered," My dear father, how is it possible for me to think of being weeks, months, a whole winter, away from you! and yet what can I say? I am nearly eighteen years old." "Yes, indeed, my dear boy; and as I have already often said to you, and, indeed, as I have no doubt you have often enough reflected with yourself, the world is before you, for you to make your own way in it. It is high time you were preparing to look on yourself as a man." "Will you go with me to Oxford ?" said Reginald. "It is so "I don't know," said the Vicar. long since I left the place, that I dare say I should be as much a stranger in it as yourself. I have one old friend there, who, I am sure, will do all he can to have you comfortably established. Besides you know, my dear, the journey would be a very considerable expence, and you are aware, that I shall now have less money to spare than I have ever had." Reginald heard these last words with a new feeling of pain; for, in truth, money was a thing he had scarcely ever thought of. But ere he could say any thing, his father went on, "I am sure of one thing, that my dear boy will be careful of the little I can afford to give him. Oxford was, and always must be, a place of great temptation, in more ways than one, Reginald. I trust you will remember, when you are far away from Lannwell, the lessons of moderation you have learned |