"That I can meet with what the world calls success, I do not doubt," he replied: "There is the career of the popular preacher, armed with a white handkerchief and a velvet Gospel,--of the lawyer, growing rich with the rent paid to him by crime, and devoting all the powers of his immortal soul to prove that black is white and white is black--of the merchant, who sees only these words painted upon the face of God's universe, 'Buy cheap and sell dear,'--careers such as these, Frank, are before me, and I am free to choose, and doubt not but that I could succeed in any of them. But to achieve such success I would not spend, I do not say the labor of years--No,--I would not spend the thought of a single hour." "But the life of a good Minister of the Gospel, Ernest, living in some quiet country town, dividing his time between his parishioners and his books, and dwelling in a home like the cottage yonder--what say you to such a life, Ernest?" He raised his eyes, and again surveyed me earnestly--"Ambitious as I am, I would sacrifice every thought of ambition for a life such as you picture--but upon one condition,"--he paused-- "And that condition?" I said in a low voice. "Ask your own heart," was his reply, uttered in a tremulous voice. I felt my bosom heave,--was agitated, trembling I knew not why,--but I made no answer. There was a long and painful pause. "The night is getting chill," I said at length, for want of something better to say: "Father is waiting for us. Let us go home." I led the way down the path, and he followed moodily, without a word. As he helped me over the stile I saw that his face was pale, his lips tightly compressed. And when we came into the presence of his Father, he replied to the old man's kind questions, in a vacant and abstracted manner. I bade him "good night!" at last; he answered me, but added in a lower tone, inaudible to the old man, "Young and rich and beautiful, you are beyond the reach of--a _country clergyman_." The next morning while we were at breakfast, a letter came. It was from my mother. To-morrow she would come and take me from the cottage! The letter dropped from the old man's hand, and Ernest rising abruptly from the table, rushed from the room. And I was to leave the home of my happiest hours, and go forth into the great world! The thought fell like a thunderbolt upon every heart in the cottage. CHAPTER VI. AMONG THE PALISADES. After an hour Ernest met me on the porch; he was very pale. "Frank," said he, kindly, "To-morrow you will leave us forever. Would you not like to see once more the place yonder,"--he pointed across the river to the Palisades--"where we spent so many happy hours last summer?" He spoke of that dear nook, high up among the rocks, encircled by trees, and canopied by vines, where, we had indeed spent many a happy hour.