“Take your hat,” said he.“Take what belongs to you, and go out at that door; get away to your parish, you pauper: beg, steal, starve, get transported, do what you like; but at your peril venture again into my sight! If ever I hear of your setting foot on an inch of ground belonging to me, I’ll hire a man to cane you.”

“It is not likely you’ll have the chance; once off your premises,what temptation can I have to return to them? I leave a prison, I leave a tyrant; I leave what is worse than the worst that can lie before me, so no fear of my coming back.”

“Go, or I’ll make you!” exclaimed Crimsworth.

I walked deliberately to my desk, took out such of its contents as were my own property, put them in my pocket, locked the desk, and placed the key on the top.

“What are you abstracting from that desk?” demanded the mill- owner.“Leave all behind in its place, or I’ll send for a policeman to search you.”

“Look sharp about it, then,” said I, and I took down my hat,drew on my gloves, and walked leisurely out of the counting-house—walked out of it to enter it no more.

I recollect that when the mill-bell rang the dinner hour, before Mr.Crimsworth entered, and the scene above related took place, I had had rather a sharp appetite, and had been waiting somewhat impatiently to hear the signal of feeding time.I forgot it now, however; the images of potatoes and roast mutton were effaced from my mind by the stir and tumult which the transaction of the last half-hour had there excited.I only thought of walking, that the action of my muscles might harmonize with the action of my nerves; and walk I did, fast and far.How could I do otherwise? A load was lifted off my heart; I felt light and liberated.I had got away from Bigben Close without a breach of resolution; without injury to my self-respect.I had not forced circumstances; circumstances had freed me.Life was again open to me; no longer was its horizon limited by the high black wall surrounding Crimsworth’s mill.Two hours had elapsed before my sensations had so far subsided as to leave me calm enough to remark for what wider and clearer boundaries I had exchanged that sooty girdle.When I did look up, lo! straight before me lay Grovetown, a village of villas about five miles out of X—.The short winter day, as I perceived from the far-declined sun, was already approaching its close; a chill frost-mist was rising from the river on which X— stands, and along whose banks the road I had taken lay; it dimmed the earth, but did not obscure the clear icy blue of the Januarysky.There was a great stillness near and far; the time of the day favoured tranquillity, as the people were all employed within- doors, the hour of evening release from the factories not being yet arrived; a sound of full-flowing water alone pervaded the air, for the river was deep and abundant, swelled by the melting of a late snow.I stood awhile, leaning over a wall; and looking down at the current: I watched the rapid rush of its waves.I desired memory to take a clear and permanent impression of the scene, and treasure it for future years.Grovetown church clock struck four; looking up, I beheld the last of that day’s sun, glinting red through the leafless boughs of some very old oak trees surrounding the church—its light coloured and characterized the picture as I wished.I paused yet a moment, till the sweet, slow sound of the bell had quite died out of the air; then ear, eye and feeling satisfied, I quitted the wall and once more turned my face towards X—.