All had been removed, and he was about to depart, when he perceived a person seated on a block of stone, not far from him, whom he instantly recognised.
"Leonard," he cried--"Leonard Holt, is it you ?" Thus addressed, and in these familiar tones, the apprentice looked up, and Mr.Bloundel started at the change that had taken place in him.
Profound grief was written in every line of his thin and haggard countenance; his eyes were hollow, and had the most melancholy expression imaginable; and his flesh was wasted away from the bone.

He looked the very image of hopeless affliction.
"I am sorry to find you in this state, Leonard," said the grocer, in a tone of deep commiseration; "but I am well aware of the cause.

I myself have suffered severely; but I deem it my duty to control my affliction." "I _would_ control it, if it were possible, Mr.Bloundel," replied Leonard.

"But hope is dead in my breast.

I shall never be happy again." "I trust otherwise," replied the grocer, kindly.