n　the　moor。　But　go　after　him；　he　is　now　lingering　in　the　passage　expecting　you—he　will　make　it　up。”

I　have　not　much　pride　under　such　circumstances：　I　would　always　rather　be　happy　than　dignified；　and　I　ran　after　him—he　stood　at　the　foot　of　the　stairs。

“Good…night；　St。　John；”　said　I。

“Good…night；　Jane；”　he　replied　calmly。

“Then　shake　hands；”　I　added。

What　a　cold；　loose　touch；　he　impressed　on　my　fingers！　He　was　deeply　displeased　by　what　had　occurred　that　day；　cordiality　would　not　warm；　nor　tears　move　him。　No　happy　reconciliation　was　to　be　had　with　him—no　cheering　smile　or　generous　word：　but　still　the　Christian　was　patient　and　placid；　and　when　I　asked　him　if　he　forgave　me；　he　answered　that　he　was　not　in　the　habit　of　cherishing　the　remembrance　of　vexation；　that　he　had　nothing　to　forgive；　not　having　been　offended。

And　with　that　answer　he　left　me。　I　would　much　rather　he　had　knocked　me　down。

Chapter　35

He　did　not　leave　for　Cambridge　the　next　day；　as　he　had　said　he　would。　He　deferred　his　departure　a　whole　week；　and　during　that　time　he　made　me　feel　what　severe　punishment　a　good　yet　stern；　a　conscientious　yet　implacable　man　can　inflict　on　one　who　has　offended　him。　Without　one　overt　act　of　hostility；　one　upbraiding　word；　he　contrived　to　impress　me　momently　with　the　conviction　that　I　was　put　beyond　the　pale　of　his　favour。

Not　that　St。　John　harboured　a　spirit　of　unchristian　vindictiveness—　not　that　he　would　have　injured　a　hair　of　my　head；　if　it　had　been　fully　in　his　power　to　do　so。　Both　by　nature　and　principle；　he　was　superior　to　the　mean　gratification　of　vengeance：　he　had　forgiven　me　for　saying　I　scorned　him　and　his　love；　but　he　had　not　forgotten　the　words；　and　as　long　as　he　and　I　lived　he　never　would　forget　them。　I　saw