Before I went to bed that night I opened the book which Mr. Pollard had given me, in the expectation of finding a letter in it, or, at least, some writing on the title-page or the blank pages of the book. But I was disappointed in both regards. With the exception of some minute pencil-marks scattered here and there along the text--indications, doubtless, of favorite passages--I perceived nothing in the volume to account for the extreme earnestness with which he had presented it. XX. THE OLD MILL. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no farther. --HAMLET. I did not sleep well that night, but this did not prevent me from beginning work early in the morning. The sermon I had been interrupted in the afternoon before, had to be completed that day; and I was hard at work upon it when there came a knock at my study-door. I arose with any thing but alacrity and opened it. Dwight Pollard stood before me. It was a surprise that called up a flush to my cheeks; but daylight was shining upon this interview, and I knew none of those sensations which had unnerved me the night before. I was simply on my guard, and saw him seat himself in my own chair, without any other feeling than that of curiosity as to the nature of his errand. He likewise was extremely self-possessed, and looked at me calmly for some instants before speaking. "Last night," he began, "you refused a request which my mother made of you." I bowed. "It was a mistake," he continued. "The paper which my father gave you cannot be one which he in his right senses would wish seen by the public. You should have trusted my mother, who knew my father much better than you did." "It was not a matter of trust," I protest. "A document had been given me by I a dying man, with an injunction to put it into certain hands. I had no choice but to fulfil his wishes in this regard. Your mother herself would have despised me if I had yielded to her importunities and left it behind me." "My mother," he commenced. "Your mother is your mother," I put in. "Let us have respect for her widowhood, and leave her out of this conversation." He looked at me closely, and I understood his glance. "I cannot return you your father's will," I declared, firmly. He held my glance with his. "Have you it still?" he asked. "I cannot return it to you," I repeated.