the youth had touched a spot, scarcely yet thoroughly scarred over,
in the old man's bosom; and memories, not less painful because
they had been bidden so long, were instantly wakened into fresh
and cruel activity.

It will not diminish the offence of the nephew in the mind of the
reader, when he is told that the youth was not ignorant of the
particular tenderness of his relative in this respect. The gentle
nature of the latter, alone, rescued him from the well-merited reproach
of suffering his habitual levity of mood to prevail in reference
to one whom even he himself was disposed to honor. But few words
passed between the two, ere they reached the place of appointment.
The careless reference of the youth had made the thoughts of the
senior active at the expense of his observation. His eyes were
now turned inward; and the landscape, and the evening sun, which
streamed over and hallowed it with a tender beauty to the last, was
as completely hidden from his vision, as if a veil had been drawn
above his sight. The retrospect, indeed, is ever the old man's
landscape; and perhaps, even had he not been so unkindly driven back
to its survey, our aged traveller would have been reminded of the
past in the momently-deepening shadows which the evening gathered
around his path. Twilight is the cherished season for sad memories,
even as the midnight is supposed to be that of guilty ghosts; and
nothing, surely, can be more fitting than that the shadows of former
hopes should revisit us in those hours when the face of nature
itself seems darkening into gloom.

It was night before the wayfarers reached the appointed baiting
place. There they found their company--a sort of little caravan,
such as is frequent in the history of western emigration--already