Morton looked at his companion not without a certain sense of victory. He saw that he had gained, for the moment at least, an influence over her, and roused her to the expression of feelings to which, perhaps, she had never given utterance before. Yet his own mind was any thing but tranquil. Something more than admiration was stirring within him. He felt impelled to explore farther the proud spirit which had already yielded up to him some of its secrets. But he felt that, with her eyes upon him, he could not speak without committing himself farther than he was prepared to do. In this dilemma he determined to retreat--a resolution for which he was entitled to no little credit, if its merit is to be measured by the effort it cost him. He rose from his seat. "Find your star, Fanny, and you may challenge the world. But I see people coming down the garden towards us. We shall be invaded if we stay here. Let us walk back towards the house." When he found himself alone again, he paced his room in no very enviable frame of mind. "What devil impelled me to speak as I did? It was no part of mine to be telling her of her faults. Am I turning philanthropist and busybody? If I wished to gain her heart, I suspect I have been taking the right course. What with any other lady would have been intolerable presumption and arrogance, is the most effectual way to win her esteem. And why should I not wish to gain her heart? There is good there in abundance, if one could but depend on it. No; I am not blinded yet. This last outburst was a momentary impulse, like all the rest; and to-morrow she will be reckless as ever. She delights in lawlessness, and rejoices in the zest of breaking established bounds. Her wayward will is like a cataract, and may carry her, God knows whither. No; I will not walk in this path; I will not try to marry her. Her heart is untouched--that is clear as the day. I wish she could say as much of mine. I will leave this place to-morrow, cost what it will." A letter from Boston gave him a pretext; and bidding farewell to his cousin and her mother, he took the early train homewards. The newsboy brought him a paper, and his eyes rested on the columns; but his thoughts centred on Fanny Euston and his last evening's conversation with her at the foot of the garden. CHAPTER XIV. * * * One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessened by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish. Take thou some new infection to thine eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.--_Romeo and Juliet_. All day the train whirled along, and Morton's troubled thoughts found no rest.