He was surprised and not pleased, nevertheless, that Mabel retired without other reply than a simple “Good-night,” said without temper, or any evidence of excitement. A month before, a milder sarcasm, the lightest breath of reproof, would have brought her to his feet in a paroxysm of tears, to implore pardon for her contumacy, and to promise obedience for all time to come. She was getting beyond his control the while she offered no open resistance to his government. Was sorrowful shame, or her infatuation for the adventurer he cursed in his heart by his gods, the influence that was petrifying her into this unlovely caricature of her once bright and affectionate self? She presented herself, unsummoned, in his study at the expiration of the period she had designated, a pacquet in her hand, neatly done up and sealed. “I will trouble you to direct it,” was all she said, as she laid it before him. “This is done of your own free will--remember!” he said, impressively. “In after years, should you be so unreasonable as to regret it, there must be no misconception on the subject between us. If you wish, at this, the eleventh hour, to draw back, I shall not oppose you.” “You will write the address, then, if you please!” was Mabel's reply, showing him the surface intended for it. Then she left him. “A sensible girl, after all! a genuine Aylett, in will and stoicism!” commented the master of the situation, beginning in his round, legible characters, the inscription he hoped never to trace again. “So endeth her first lesson in Cupid's manual!” He never knew that Mrs. Sutton had bolstered the Aylett will and stoicism into stanchness at this closing scene. In a fit of despondency, she had that morning imparted to Mabel the fact that she had written to Frederic, ten days before, and had no answer, although she had besought an immediate one. “I have expected him confidently every day for a week,” she lamented. “I didn't suppose he would stay at Ridgeley, after what has happened; but there's the hotel in the village, and, as I told him, he could accomplish more by an hour's talk with you than by fifty letters. It is very mysterious--his continued silence! He always appeared so frank and reasonable. Nothing else like it has ever occurred in my experience--and I have had a great deal, my dear!” “I am sorry you wrote, aunt,” replied Mabel, sorrowfully dignified. “Sorry you have subjected yourself to unnecessary mortification. I am past feeling it for myself. We cannot longer doubt that Mr. Chilton desires to hold no further communication with any of us.” Within the hour she made up the pacquet and carried it to her brother. CHAPTER VII. -- WASSAIL.