After her recovery—to remain upon that spot associated with the memory of his short and sad visit; in that house so void, so lonely, so cheerless; without a companion, without an occupation; without an interest in life; to rise each morning without object; to lie down each night without sleep; to put away day after day, week after week, month after month, the longing desire to hear from him, to write to him, to go after him; to continue such a life and not go mad, was difficult—was impossible. To save herself from this last worst evil, she resolved to shut up the house and leave the Headland; to go—somewhere, anywhere, she knew not, cared not,—whither! If her journey should only afford her change of scene, and distraction from one clinging grief—that would be enough. At this extremity of need, when she was scarcely competent to the conducting of her own course, providence sent her unhoped for aid and advice. This came in the form of old Mr. Goodloe, the parish clergyman, who had visited, pitied, and prayed for her during her severe illness. The Reverend Barnabas Goodloe, was not a man of any great depth of feeling, breadth of intellect, or extent of experience. But he had passed the greater portion of a long life, in performing the quiet duties of a country clergyman. For forty years he had preached simple sermons to a rustic congregation; had married young men and maidens; christened children; buried the dead; counseled the living; comforted the afflicted; visited the sick; and relieved the poor of the parish of Eastville. But in all his life, so interesting an object as Estelle had never crossed his path. In his capacity of clergyman, he had been called to her bedside to pray for her recovery, by Susan Copsewood, who had a great and saving faith in “the effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man,” and who ascribed her beloved lady’s restoration to health, not so much to the skill of the physician, as to the petitions of the pastor. But Mr. Goodloe could not forget the sweet pale face, and deep, soft tones, and gentle manners of the beautiful sufferer, in whom at the very first sight, he had felt so keen an interest. And though she did not belong to his congregation, and had not once appeared in his church, nor yet had, in thanking him for his attention, invited him to call again; despite his dread of being considered intrusive, he felt irresistibly impelled to pay her a visit. Estelle received him with the gentle courtesy for which she was distinguished, again thanked him for his kind attentions during her illness; and afterward on receiving his adieu requested him to come again. Probably her first omission of this civility had been unintentional. At least so reasoned the aged minister, who soon repeated his visit to Estelle, between whom and himself a mutual esteem arose.