Farewell, old friends: and even if ills surround you, Seize every joy the passing day can bring, For wealth affords no pleasure to the dead. Dorothy had begun to hope that Harry's news might be true, but even Harry's sanguineness began to give way: the pertinacity with which the young master remained at home threw a damp on their expectations. But having once fairly started, in the way of making love on the one side and responding to it on the other, they could not but continue as they had begun, and she permitted him to go on building castles in the air, in which the Christmas of the ensuing year was arrayed in the brightest apparel of fire and festival. Harry, walking home one afternoon, met the Reverend Doctor Opimian, who was on his way to the Tower, where he purposed to dine and pass the night. Mr. Falconer's absence from the ball had surprised him, especially as Lord Curryfin's rivalry had ceased, and he could imagine no good cause for his not returning to the Grange. The doctor held out his hand to Harry, who returned the grasp most cordially. The doctor asked him, 'how he and his six young friends were prospering in their siege of the hearts of the seven sisters.' _Harry Hedgerow._ Why, sir, so far as the young ladies are concerned, we have no cause to complain. But we can't make out the young gentleman. He used to sit and read all the morning, at the top of the Tower. Now he goes up the stairs, and after a little while he comes down again, and walks into the forest. Then he goes upstairs again, and down again, and out again. Something must be come to him, and the only thing we can think of is, that he is crossed in love. And he never gives me a letter or a message to the Grange. So, putting all that together, we haven't a merry Christmas, you see, sir. _The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I see, still harping on a merry Christmas. Let us hope that the next may make amends. _Harry Hedgerow._ Have they a merry Christmas at the Grange, sir? _The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Very merry. _Harry Hedgerow._ Then there's nobody crossed in love there, sir. _The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ That is more than I can say. I cannot answer for others. I am not, and never was, if that is any comfort to you. _Harry Hedgerow._ It is a comfort to me to see you, and hear the sound of your voice, sir. It always does me good. _The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Why then, my young friend, you are most heartily welcome to see and hear me whenever you please, if you will come over to the Vicarage. And you will always find a piece of cold roast beef and a tankard of good ale; and just now a shield of brawn. There is some comfort in them. _Harry Hedgerow._ Ah! thank ye, sir. They are comfortable things in their way. But it isn't for them I should come.