Another month had passed, and the end of August had nearly come, when Mr Haredale stood alone in the mail-coach office at Bristol.

Although but a few weeks had intervened since his conversation with Edward Chester and his niece, in the locksmith's house, and he had made no change, in the mean time, in his accustomed style of dress, his appearance was greatly altered.

He looked much older, and more care-worn.

Agitation and anxiety of mind scatter wrinkles and grey hairs with no unsparing hand; but deeper traces follow on the silent uprooting of old habits, and severing of dear, familiar ties.

The affections may not be so easily wounded as the passions, but their hurts are deeper, and more lasting.