I wish it were possible to tell all the mingled feelings that were then to be found in the wayfarer's heart, as he walked on; and to point out how weaknesses, and virtues, and fine and generous sentiments, and human perversities, all linked arm in arm together, walked along with him on the way: how he felt that life was to him a blank--that the heart had grown old--that the bubble had burst--that the toy had lost its splendour: how he felt a pride in the very idea of serving her and hers, whose conduct had dashed the cup of happiness from his lip for ever--and how he thought that his affection might have been worthy of a higher estimation; and how he cursed his own folly, for ever suffering his heart to become the debased thing that a woman could trample upon. But his feelings were infinite, and not to be defined; for in the rainbow of the human heart, the colours and the shades are so blended together, and softened away into each other, that it is impossible to say where one ends and the other begins. Deep thoughts are most beguiling companions.--Why wilt thou write such truisms, oh, my pen?--But deep thoughts are most beguiling companions, and Beauchamp found himself within a hundred and fifty yards of the miser's house, ere he thought that he had threaded half the way. It was just where the path he had been following joined the little wooded lane that led from Emberton, and rose up the high bank on which the house was situated. The increasing elevation brought a little more light; and, as Henry Beauchamp advanced, he saw a man and woman--who had been apparently walking together--part as he came near. The male figure turned hastily towards the little town; the woman glided away in the direction of the miser's house, and was lost in the obscurity. All was again still; but a moment after there was a low plaintive whistle, which called his attention for an instant. He heard it again, but at a greater distance, and thought, "It is the curlews upon the downs;" and, without giving it any farther heed, he walked on, and rang the bell of Mr. Tims's house, in such a manner, as to insure that his visit would not be long unknown to the inmates. A bustle within immediately succeeded; and, from the very highest window in the house, the head of Mr. Tims himself was thrust cautiously forth, like that of a tortoise from its shell, or a hedgehog beginning to unroll. The next moment he retreated, and his voice was heard calling from the top of the stairs to the bottom, "Don't open the door, Sarah! Don't open the door! It can be nobody on any good errand at this time of night! Don't open the door on any account!" and again he came to the window to examine once more the aspect of his nocturnal visitant.