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The term, four months, for which Sidney had engaged
to teach the school, was now expired, and he closed
with the love and approbation of both parents and scholars.
Not a murmur against him had been heard excepting
from one individual. This man, it seems, agreed to
furnish wood for the school during the season, for a certain
sum, and he now complained of the quantity consumed.

“There had been a confounded sight burned,” he said,
“and he hoped the committee would never employ
another master who had been used to living in a warm
climate; they were all as cold as frogs, and couldn't live
here to the North, without their house was kept as warm
as an oven.”

But no notice was taken of his complainings, and the
district unanimously voted to employ Sidney the following
winter, if he should be disposed to engage. To this
proposition he could not return a definite answer. He
was yet in uncertainty respecting his own fate. Recent
letters from Charleston destroyed the hopes he had entertained
of receiving at least a small sum of surplus
money from the sale of his uncle's plantation; while they
also expressly stated Cox could not be discovered. A
return to Charleston, therefore, was not to be contemplated.

He was impatient for letters from England, not that he
really wished to embark for that country; he now felt

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that to leave Annie would require as great an exertion
of self-denial as he had practiced when resigning his
hopes of obtaining Zemira; but as he knew not what
plan to pursue, he was anxious for every item of information
that would flatter him with the hope of success

Sometimes he thought and talked seriously of commencing
the study of physic, and he fancied Miss Redington
listened well pleased to a scheme that would fix
him near her. Then came the recollection of the long
preparation requisite before he could commence business,
and the strict application necessary to insure success,
and how long he must struggle with poverty, never,
perhaps, to be surmounted.

These were painful reflections to one educated as he
had been, in the lap of luxury; nor did the hope of being
beloved by Annie at all allay his inquietude. She,
too, had been accustomed to elegancies. O! could he
only command such, how rapturous it would be to confer
them on her, and meet her smile of gratitude when
again raised to the rank for which nature seemingly designed
her. But now to take advantage of her partiality,
and urge her to share his poverty and dependence,
honor, generosity, love forbade it.

He passed two or three weeks in such uncertainty of
purpose and struggles of mind as made him exhibit more
dejection of countenance and manner than he had ever
before worn, and his mother was seriously alarmed, lest
he was inclining to a consumption, when the long wished
for packet from England arrived, and opened once more
a prospect of success and prosperity.

Mr. Frankford's offers exceeded in generosity anything
Sidney had ever anticipated. After declaring he could
not regret his friend Romilly's misfortunes, as they promised
to afford him the satisfaction of displaying his
gratitude, he bade his preserver welcome to share his
fortune; but fearing his independent mind would revolt
at receiving charity, he considerately stated an offer of a
certain situation he had reserved for Sidney, which

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would insure him competence and respect, and he conjured
him to embark immediately for London.

He also sent, with his cordial love, some small token
of affectionate remembrance to each member of the Romilly
family; but Sophia's, a beautiful string of pearls,
was far the most costly and elegant.

Sidney, while perusing the letters, turned so pale that
his father apprehended unpleasant intelligence; but after
ascertaining the contents, he easily divined the agitation
of his son arose from the necessity he found there
was of relinquishing either his love or his ambition.

Squire Romilly was a man of kind feelings, and he
prized the dear domestic affections and tranquil happiness
of home as more inestimable than the treasures of
Ophir; but he knew his son had been differently educated;
he knew that riches and rank were essential to his
felicity; and feared that should he now yield to his passion
for Annie and forego for her the offers of Mr.
Frankford, he would in a short time regret it as folly,
while the obstacles to his advancement would then be
insurmountable. But should he now depart and secure
the smiles of fortune, and his love endure the test of absence—
a severe trial of the affections—he might renew
his intercourse with the lady at some more auspicious
period. He therefore seriously, and even strenuously
advised Sidney's acceptance of the Englishman's offers.

Mrs. Romilly wept at the thought of her child's departure,
and going, too, such a vast distance, and across the
boisterous ocean, but to the arguments and reasons of
her husband, she yielded without clamorous opposition;
and the voyage was in a short time fully determined
upon.

It was now a question with our hero, whether he
should, before his departure, declare his love to Miss
Redington, and bind her by a promise to be his when he
could return to claim her, or whether to delay expressing
his sentiments till he reached his destination, and
discovered what expectations of ultimate success he might
rationally form. There were good reasons for both

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plans, but finally, after all his studying, he was, as men
often are, compelled by incidents he could not control, to
adopt a different course from the one he really intended.

When Annie learned his intention of departing in a
few days, her mind suffered the most cruel agitation and
disappointment. She felt what had been hitherto unknown
to herself, the deep strength of her affection for
him—an affection she had incautiously cherished, at first
under the name of admiration of his talents and accomplishments,
and then of sympathy for his misfortunes, or
esteem for his virtues. But the certainty of a separation
at once betrayed the tenderness of her feelings and the
truth of her love; and in the hopelessness of her heart
she accused Sidney of dissimulation and cruelty, in thus
winning her affections and then leaving her to regret.

A little reflection, however, made her exculpate him;
he had never adopted the language of a lover, though
some of his compliments had been more ardent than mere
friendship usually dictates; but she had misinterpreted
his meaning—he was only, what he had professed him
self, her friend; and there came such an humiliating
sense of her own weakness, in thus indulging a partiality
for a man who was, probably, totally indifferent to her,
that she wept with vexation and shame, and firmly resolved
never to see or speak with him again.

But lest such a proceeding might be noticed and excite
inquiries she felt unable to satisfy or evade, she finally
concluded to see him as little as possible, and on no
account to allow him a moment's separate conversation,
lest she should betray to him her emotions. Therefore,
when Sidney called at her uncle's, which he did often,
she was always engaged except when the whole family
was present, and thus the time passed till the evening
preceding the day fixed for his departure, and he had not
spoken one word to Annie on a subject that occupied, at
least, half his thoughts.

On that evening he repaired to the deacon's, determining
to come to an explanation, for the nearer the time
came for his journey, the dearer Annie appeared, and he

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felt an expression of her love and promise of her constancy,
were indispensable to his enjoying peace of mind
during his absence.

But when he arrived at the house he found her engaged
in conversation with George Cranfield, apparently very
willing to receive his attentions; and her affability to
George, and reserve or even coldness to Sidney was so
apparent, that the latter, indignant at what he thought
unpardonable coquetry, for he was confident she must
know his affection for her and certainly had given him
encouragement to hope it was returned, addressed but
little conversation to her, or indeed to any one, and soon
rose to depart.

He was now to bid farewell.

The old deacon took his hand and made a long harangue,
in which he failed not to bestow advice and warning
and exhortation; his wife then offered her sincere and
benevolent prayers for his present and future happiness.
Silas said he would not bid “good bye” now—he would
see him again the next morning; Priscilla's soft blue
eyes swam in tears while she whispered “farewell” to
her brother-in-law, and George Cranfield proffered his
hand with frank and hearty wishes for the success of his
friend—wishes certainly not the less sincere that their
realization would detain Sidney in a foreign land.

Who could blame him when such a prize as Annie
was hazarded, if not lost, should he stay much longer in
New England?

Miss Redington sat last in the circle. Sidney paused
a moment before her as she rose gracefully from her seat,
and, without raising her eyes, extended her hand to his.
It trembled like an aspen in his grasp, and her cheek was
white as snow, but she spoke “farewell, Mr. Romilly,”
with a calm, steady voice, and when she looked up, the
only form she wished to see was just quitting the apartment.
She left it almost immediately; she had overacted
her part, and felt wretched when reflecting he would
probably accuse her of caprice, despise her for her inconsistency,
and banish her from his memory.

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