In one sense, of course, it was all the same to me. I had never
counted upon these social ties to any extent, and would not feel their
loss acutely but--these poor human hearts of ours--how they will yearn
for other human sympathies and regards? I could have been resigned to
leave my home and early associations if I might take away with me the
soothing conviction that my absence left a void somewhere, anywhere,
that would always be a void until I came back to fill it. I had an
exalted notion of fidelity and remembrance then, which has been
roughly used upon the touchstone of experience since.
But as even this frail compensation was denied me, I saw more clearly
than ever how urgent it was for me to go forth resignedly where
thousands of my fellow-toilers were struggling already, and, without
looking back upon my brighter yesterday, press onward patiently and
forbearingly in the course which an unexpected reverse had opened out
for me.
When night fell I was lodged in my new home.
CHAPTER XII.
My cousin Bessie, or Mrs. Robert Nyle, lived in a small, comfortable
house, on a quiet street, in a small comfortable city, not more than a
day's journey from the place of my former residence.
I had, of course, made many conjectures about the relative merits and
demerits of the new home towards which I was travelling in all haste.
With nothing more accurate to build upon than my cousin's reserved
letters and my own vivid imagination, it could hardly be expected that
I could arrive very near the truth in my speculations about my
uncertain destiny.
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