CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
Once more we stand on the shore of Mount's Bay. Far behind we have leftthe whirl and tumult of the metropolis, and we hear only the hoarse roarof the surges, driven by the last winds of January to beat against thegranite at our feet. When last we looked over the same waters, theyellow leaves were falling from the trees, and the little waves rippledmusically upon the rock, while the voice of mourning was heard in ourhalls. Yet if the year was declining, there was beauty in the decay; ifthe season was sad, there was hope amidst the sorrow. We return to findthe fields desolate, and the sea tempestuous, and our house stillforlorn. The face of nature is gloomy and cold, and hope has vanishedfrom our fireside.
Such might be among the first reflections of the orphans of Trevethlan,as they gazed from the windows of the castle over the well-knownlandscape. They had come home, not as children from school to holiday,exulting in freedom and buoyant with hope, to exchange coercion forcaresses; nor as older pupils, having learnt the value of time, merelyto modify the routine of occupation, and gladden parental affection withtheir progress and prudence; nor yet as those who, having entered on thelabour of life, know that the bow must not always be bent, and rejoiceto seek relaxation around the hearth where they were nursed. Far deeperthan any of these were the emotions of the sister, and dark and sternwere the thoughts of the brother.
Helen's letter had fallen upon Polydore like a thunderbolt. She had,indeed, in previous communications somewhat ruffled his serenity byindistinct references to the new solicitude she detected in Randolph;but the worthy chaplain readily explained all similar hints by thenovelty of his old pupil's situation.