her hand in mine; and while I held it there, I had much difficulty
to refrain from pressing it to my lips; - but that would be
suicidal madness: I had been bold enough already, and this
premature offering had well-nigh given the death-blow to my hopes.

It was with an agitated, burning heart and brain that I hurried
homewards, regardless of that scorching noonday sun - forgetful of
everything but her I had just left - regretting nothing but her
impenetrability, and my own precipitancy and want of tact - fearing
nothing but her hateful resolution, and my inability to overcome it
- hoping nothing - but halt, - I will not bore you with my
conflicting hopes and fears - my serious cogitations and resolves.



CHAPTER IX



Though my affections might now be said to be fairly weaned from
Eliza Millward, I did not yet entirely relinquish my visits to the
vicarage, because I wanted, as it were, to let her down easy;
without raising much sorrow, or incurring much resentment, - or
making myself the talk of the parish; and besides, if I had wholly
kept away, the vicar, who looked upon my visits as paid chiefly, if
not entirely, to himself, would have felt himself decidedly
affronted by the neglect. But when I called there the day after my
interview with Mrs. Graham, he happened to be from home - a
circumstance by no means so agreeable to me now as it had been on
former occasions. Miss Millward was there, it is true, but she, of