Thus they parted, and May went back to Woodside feeling both agitated and depressed. But she had her letter! With this firmly clasped in her hand she sprang from the dog-cart and ran upstairs to her own room without waiting to speak to her stepmother, who was standing in the hall to receive her husband. When May reached her room she tore open John's letter with trembling fingers, and read the following words, failing at the time to comprehend their full meaning: "MY DEAR MAY--SWEET MAYFLOWER: I am writing this because I think it right to do so; I am going away because I also think it right. I want you, in my absence, fully to comprehend your feelings toward me. If two people truly love each other I think nothing should separate them, but in the mutual attraction between men and women there is much which is not the love that can not change. "Dear child, dear sweetheart! you are so much younger than I am that I must warn you against myself. I am world-worn, and until I met you I could not have believed that such a deep, tender, and passionate affection as I feel for you could have arisen in my heart. Yet this is so, but, on the other hand, there are strong and powerful reasons to keep us apart. You must make your own decision when I return. In the meantime believe that I love you, and that I am ready to sacrifice much for your love. "JOHN TEMPLE." May read and re-read this letter, and could not quite follow its drift. She naturally thought that the strong and powerful reasons to keep them apart were social ones. His uncle, of course, would naturally object to his heir marrying the daughter of one of his tenants. "But he loves me," May whispered softly to herself; "and I love him, and will sacrifice anything for his sake--mine is the love that can not change." But her sweet dream was speedily interrupted. Her stepmother's loud voice was heard calling to her on the stairs: "May! dinner is ready; come down at once." May had still her hat and cape on, and it took her a few minutes to divest herself of these, but when she went into the dining-room she found her stepmother had not waited for her. Mrs. Churchill was sitting carving a large boiled leg of mutton and turnips, and she looked at May with her bright dark eyes disapprovingly as she entered the room. "You are late for dinner, May," she said, sharply. May made no answer. She sat down at the table, but the two thick slices of boiled mutton that her stepmother handed her was impossible food for her. In fact she could not eat it, and played with a little potato. "Why are you not eating your mutton?" asked Mrs. Churchill. "I do not like boiled mutton," replied May, smiling. "Not like excellent boiled mutton! Then what do you like? I did not know you were such a dainty eater as that." "May never eats very much," said her father, kindly enough; "you like birds best, don't you, May?" "Oh, I don't mind," answered May.