So he watched with an eagerness new to him the day-breaking.

He could see Margret's window, and a dim light in it: she would be awake, praying for him, no doubt.
He pondered on that.

Would you think Holmes weak, if he forsook the faith of Fichte, sometime, led by a woman's hand?
Think of the apostle of the positive philosophers, and say no more.

He could see a flickering light at dawn crossing the hall: he remembered the old school-master's habit well,--calling "Happy Christmas" at every door: he meant to go down there for breakfast, as he used to do, imagining how the old man would wring his hands, with a "Holloa! you're welcome home, Stephen, boy!" and Mrs.Howth would bring out the jars of pine-apple preserve which her sister sent her every year from the West Indies.

And then---- Never mind what then.