“Pain does not conquer me,” said Aram, slowly recovering himself. “I am not melted by that which I would fain despise. Young man, I wronged you--you have forgiven me. Well, well, we will say no more on that head; it is past and pardoned. Your father has been kind to me, and I have not returned his advances; you shall tell him why. I have lived thirteen years by myself, and I have contracted strange ways and many humours not common to the world--you have seen an example of this. Judge for yourself if I be fit for the smoothness, and confidence, and ease of social intercourse; I am not fit, I feel it! I am doomed to be alone--tell your father this--tell him to suffer me to live so! I am grateful for his goodness--I know his motives--but have a certain pride of mind; I cannot bear sufferance--I loath indulgence. Nay, interrupt me not, I beseech you. Look round on Nature--behold the only company that humbles me not--except the dead whose souls speak to us from the immortality of books. These herbs at your feet, I know their secrets--I watch the mechanism of their life; the winds--they have taught me their language; the stars--I have unravelled their mysteries; and these, the creatures and ministers of God--these I offend not by my mood--to them I utter my thoughts, and break forth into my dreams, without reserve and without fear. But men disturb me--I have nothing to learn from them--I have no wish to confide in them; they cripple the wild liberty which has become to me a second nature. What its shell is to the tortoise, solitude has become to me--my protection; nay, my life!” “But,” said Walter, “with us, at least, you would not have to dread restraint; you might come when you would; be silent or converse, according to your will.” Aram smiled faintly, but made no immediate reply. “So, you have been angling!” he said, after a short pause, and as if willing to change the thread of conversation. “Fie! It is a treacherous pursuit; it encourages man’s worst propensities--cruelty and deceit.” “I should have thought a lover of Nature would have been more indulgent to a pastime which introduces us to her most quiet retreats.” “And cannot Nature alone tempt you without need of such allurements? What! that crisped and winding stream, with flowers on its very tide--the water-violet and the water-lily--these silent brakes--the cool of the gathering evening--the still and luxuriance of the universal life around you; are not these enough of themselves to tempt you forth? if not, go to--your excuse is hypocrisy.” “I am used to these scenes,” replied Walter; “I am weary of the thoughts they produce in me, and long for any diversion or excitement.” “Ay, ay, young man! The mind is restless at your age--have a care. Perhaps you long to visit the world--to quit these obscure haunts which you are fatigued in admiring?”