 in all his tedious walks and solitary resting-places, during all his lonely days and mournful nights, had this resource to console him:
"I never did an injury to any one: never was harsh, severe, unkind, deceitful: I did not merely confine myself to do my neighbour no harm; I strove to serve him."
This was the resource that cheered his sinking heart amidst gloomy deserts and a barbarous people; lulled him to peaceful slumber in the hut of a savage hunter, and in the sound of the lion's roar; at times impressed him with a sense of happiness; and made him contemplate with

a longing hope, the retribution of a future world.
The bishop, with all his comforts, had no comfort like this—he had his solitary reflections too, but they were of a tendency the reverse of these.—"I used my brother ill," was a secret thought of most powerful influence—it kept him waking upon his safe and commodious bed; was sure to recur with every misfortune by which he was threatened, to make his fears still stronger; and came with invidious stabs upon every successful event, to take from him a part of his joy.—In a word, it was conscience that made Henry's years pass happier than William's.
But though, comparatively with his brother, William was the less happy man, yet his self-reproach was not of such magnitude, for an offence of that atrocious nature, as to banish a certain degree of happiness, and a sensibility to the smiles of fortune from his breast—nor was Henry's self-acquittal of such exquisite kind, as to chase away the feeling of his desolate situation.

As he fished or hunted for his daily dinner, many a time in full view of his prey, a sudden burst of sorrow at his fate, a sudden longing for some dear society, for some friend to share his thoughts, for some kind shoulder on which to lean his head, for some companion to partake of his repast, would make him instantaneously desist from his pursuit, cast him on the ground in a fit of anguish, till a shower of tears, and his conscience, came to his relief.
It was on a sultry morning, when, after pleasant dreams during the night, he had walked with more than usual perception of his misery; that, sitting upon the bench, his wishes and his looks all bent on the sea towards his native land, he thought he saw a sail swelling before an unexpected breeze.
"Sure I am dreaming still!" he cried
