The cool air of morning chilled his brow, and the broad sun arose from the eastern sea, as, pale and haggard, he retrod many a weary step towards Treby. He was faint and weary. He had resolved to live yet a little longer--till he had fulfilled some portion of his duty towards the lovely orphan. So resolving, he felt as if he paid a part of the penalty due. A soothing feeling, which resembled repentance, stole over his heart, already rewarding him. How swiftly and audibly does the inner voice of our nature speak, telling us when we do right. Besides, he believed that to live was to suffer; to live, therefore, was in him a virtue: and the exultation, the balmy intoxication which always follows our first attempt to execute a virtuous resolve, crept over him, and elevated his spirits, though body and soul were alike weary. Arriving at Treby, he sought his bed. He slept peacefully; and it was the first slumber he had enjoyed since he had torn himself from the spot where she lay, whom he had loved so truly, even to the death to which he had brought her. CHAPTER IV Two days after, the stranger and the orphan had departed for London. When it came to the point of decision, Mrs. Baker's conscience began to reproach her; and she doubted the propriety of intrusting her innocent charge to one totally unknown. But the stranger satisfied her doubts; he showed her papers betokening his name and station, as John Falkner, captain in the native cavalry of the East India Company, and moreover possessed of such an independence as looked like wealth in the eyes of Mrs. Baker, and at once commanded her respect. His own care was to collect every testimony and relic that might prove the identity of the little Elizabeth. Her unfortunate mother's unfinished letter--her Bible and prayer-book--in the first of which was recorded the birth of her child--and a seal (which Mrs. Baker's prudence had saved, when her avarice caused her to sell the watch), with Mr. Raby's coat of arms and crest engraved--a small desk, containing a few immaterial papers, and letters from strangers, addressed to Edwin Raby--such was Elizabeth's inheritance. In looking over the desk, Mr. Falkner found a little foreign almanac, embellished with prints, and fancifully bound--on the first page of which was written, in a woman's elegant hand, _To dearest Isabella--from her A. R._