'No, father, no! but yet there is an alteration in thy very appearance--in the smile with which thou greetest us, and in the expression of thy countenance, which, though the prevailing feature be anxiety, is yet something new for thee to wear.' 'Upon my word, young man, thy perceptions are wonderfully sharpened by matrimony. Thou mayst perceive in me what I cannot discover in myself. Perhaps thou wilt be disposed to attribute this alteration of my features to the kind and hospitable reception of the lord of this mansion.' 'I may do this sincerely, father, and it is always a good sign when the nobles of a land call forth the lively learning and cheerful spirits of those who spend too many of their days in retirement. I rejoice to see thee here.' 'And I to be here, my son; and to see thee and the fair prize thou hast borne away from the banks of the Orwell.' 'Nay, father, I have not yet left the lovely banks of this noble river, though I have become a resident in the town of Ipswich; and I shall be happy to exercise the duties of hospitality towards thee, as well there as in this present place; and I tell thee again, that I believe thine ascetic face will assume even there a more generous character than it does here.' 'Alas! my son, I have spent years of solitude in my priory, and am little accustomed to the intercourse of any but our own fraternity. If long habits of privation, and a complete exclusion from that world in which I was once too great a participator in my youth; if, indeed, the heavy burthen of my sins, and of one great crime can be atoned for by years of penitential devotion to solitude, and prayer, and study, such as I have pursued, I may hope that I have some merit in depriving myself of the society of my fellow creatures, that I may commune with my God.' 'Ha! my father! And dost thou think thou hast atoned by these privations for thine early indulgences in sin? Thou and I see things in a wonderfully different light. To my mind, thou art seeking thine own righteousness and not submitting thyself to the righteousness of God. If thou couldst flagellate thy flesh until thy skin was excoriated from the crown of thine head to the sole of thy foot; if thou couldst count thy beads from sunrise to sunset, and from night until morning every year of thy life; if thou couldst walk barefoot from Rome to Jerusalem, or from one end of the world to the other; shave thy head, wear sack-cloth all thy days, and never smile upon youth or life; thou couldst make no atonement for the very least of thy sins; much less for any crime which weighs heavy on thy conscience?' 'Ha! my son, wouldst thou have had me go on in my career unto perdition?' 'No, father! assuredly not; but I would not have thee go to perdition in another way, by renouncing one sin for a greater.' 'How so, my son?'