There was in Mr. Martindale’s manner of speaking an indescribable kind of positiveness and decision, which prevented all reply or contradiction. Poor Horatio was under an absolute necessity of complying, and after delaying as long as he decently could, he rose to take his leave, and to make a long speech in good set terms, thanking his kind friend for the notice which he had taken of a young and obscure stranger. But the old gentleman did not like long speeches that were not made by himself. Nature designs the aged to be talkers, not listeners; as the faculty of hearing perishes before that of speaking. Markham was compelled to condense his farewell acknowledgments into very few words: there was certainly great sincerity in his repetition of the great regret which he felt in leaving such agreeable friends. Dismal is a November night in London; and especially dismal was it to Markham to walk through a drizzling rain, by the mockery of lamp-light, all the way from Piccadilly to the Inner Temple, and there to find his little luggage all carefully packed up ready to start; and to find a gloomy looking fire that seemed to grudge the little warmth and cheerfulness that it communicated to the apartment, and to see his book-cases empty, and to see two candles dimly burning on the table; but to see no human face, no look of home, of family, of friends. True, he was a successful man, was in the road to preferment, had made himself many and good friends, but he was very dull, very low-spirited. He had been grievously disappointed, nay, worse than disappointed; for had he found an opportunity to speak or even look a thought of love to Clara, and had it been met by the coldness of distaste, he would have had then only to divert his thoughts, and to fill his mind with other subjects. He then would have known what it was that he had to trust to. But now, poor man, all was uncertainty, perplexity, and suspense. He knew not whether Clara was totally indifferent or not, and he had no means left to ascertain the fact. It was clearly his own fault that he had not sooner made up his own mind, and ascertained his own feelings; for that he reproached himself, but his reproaches availed nothing.