till then adieu, and pray feel as much at home with me as I do with you. By the by," added he, turning back from the door, "be sure you fill the paper; women judge of the strength of your attachment by the length of your letters!"
Walter drew the papers towards him; at first he hesitated, but the pride of art gradually arose. The letter soon became mere matter of composition; it was written, the writer fully satisfied with his own impassioned eloquence, and then put aside for Sir George's approval. This completed, Walter leant back in his chair, and gave way to a pleasant wonder at the change in his own situation. In the morning he had scarcely known which way to turn;—poor, harassed, overworked. Now, he had a luxurious home, a certain salary, and might work little or much, as he pleased.
"What a folly," exclaimed he, "are our own exertions; every thing depends upon a lucky chance in this world!"
Walter was wrong; but I own I tremble at the fatality which sometimes seems to hang
