Now, by the new sense of desolation which he felt, he knew that there must have been a little more life than he thought left; in him to die.
As soon as his mother was buried, he closed the house and went abroad.
There he roamed about listlessly from country to country, for many years, acquiring a certain desultory culture, and buying, so far as his income would permit, every thing he saw which he thought Mercy would like.

Then he went home, bought the old Jacobs house back again, and fitted it up in every respect as Mercy had once suggested.

This done, he sat down to wait--for he knew not what.

He had a vague feeling that he would die soon, and leave the house and his small fortune to Mercy; and she would come and spend her summers there, and so he would recall to her their old life together.

He led the life of a hermit,--rarely went out, and still more rarely saw any one at home.