Having done this, he stood and warmed himself for
a little while, and tried to whistle a favorite tune. The attempt was a
total failure. He broke down at the third bar, and ended lamentably in
another sigh.
"What can be the matter with me? I never felt so miserable about going
away from home before." Puzzling himself uselessly with such
reflections as these, he went to the supper-table, and drank a glass of
wine, picked a bit of a sandwich, and unnecessarily spoilt the
appearance of two sponge cakes, by absently breaking a small piece off
each of them. He was in no better humor for eating or drinking, than
for whistling; so he wisely determined to light his candle forthwith,
and go to bed.
After extinguishing the lights that had been burning on the
supper-table, he cast a parting glance all round the room, and was then
about to leave it, when the drawing of the old five-barred gate, which
he had taken down for Mat to look at, and had placed on a painting-stand
at the lower end of the studio, caught his eye. He advanced towards it
directly--stopped half-way--hesitated--yawned--shivered a little--thought
to himself that it was not worth while to trouble about hanging the
drawing up over the garden door, that night--and so, yawning again,
turned on his heel and left the studio.
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