"No, no!" he responded shortly and somewhat testily.

     "Well," I reflected, "if you won't talk, you may be still; I'll let you alone now, and return to my book."

     So I snuffed the candle and resumed the perusal of "Marmion." He soon stirred; my eye was instantly drawn to his movements; he only took out a morocco pocket-book, thence produced a letter, which he read in silence, folded it, put it back, relapsed into meditation. It was vain to try to read with such an inscrutable fixture before me; nor could I, in impatience, consent to be dumb; he might rebuff me if he liked, but talk I would.

     "Have you heard from Diana and Mary lately?"

     "Not since the letter I showed you a week ago."

     "There has not been any change made about your own arrangements? You will not be summoned to leave England sooner than you expected?"

     "I fear not, indeed: such chance is too good to befall me." Baffled so far, I changed my ground. I bethought myself to talk about the school and my scholars.