This afternoon he had again, as usual, missed the worthy lady, and he set aside her card, the smile with which he had glanced at it changing suddenly to a sigh of somewhat wearied impatience. Surely there was something unusually dark and solitary in the aspect of the room to which, for so many years, he had been accustomed, and where he had generally found comfort and contentment? The vivid hues of the sunset were declining rapidly, and the solemn shadow of evening was creeping up apace over the sky and outer landscape--but something heavier than the mild obscurity of approaching night seemed weighing on the air around him, which oppressed his nerves and saddened his soul. He stood absently turning over the papers on his desk, in a frame of mind which left him uncertain how to employ himself,--whether to read,--to write,--to finish a sketch of the flowering reeds on the river which he had yesterday begun,--or to combat with his own mood, fathom its meaning, and conquer its tendency? There came a light tap at his door and the maid Hester entered with a letter. "The last post, sir. Only one for you." He took it up indifferently as the girl retired,--then uttered a slight exclamation of pleasure. "From Brent,"--he said, half aloud--"Dear old fellow! I have not heard from him since New Year." He opened the letter, and began to read. The interested look in his eyes deepened,--and he moved nearer to the open window to avail himself as much as possible of the swiftly decreasing light.