So when Mabel said to him, “Nellie is going to Europe with Mr. Wilbur and Mary,” he replied, “Glad of it—hope she’ll”—be drowned, he thought—“have a good time,” he said—and Nellie, who heard all, never guessed how heavily the blow had fallen, or that the hand so suddenly placed against his heart, was laid there to still the wild throbbing which he feared she might hear. When next he spoke, his voice was very calm, as he asked when she was going, and how long she intended to be gone. “What! so soon?” said he, when told that she sailed the 15th of January, and other than that, not a word did he say to Nellie concerning her intended visit, until just before they left for home. Then for a moment he stood alone with her in the recess of a window. There was a film upon his eyes as he looked upon her, and thought it might be for the last time. There was anguish, too, in his heart, but it did not mingle in the tones of his voice, which was natural, and, perhaps, indifferent, as he said, “Why do you go to Europe, Nellie?” Quickly, and with something of her olden look, she glanced up into his face, but his eyes, which would not meet hers, lest they should betray themselves, were resting upon Mabel, who, on a stool across the room, was petting and caressing a kitten. ’Twas enough, and carelessly Nellie answered, “Because I want to; what do you suppose?” Without seeming to hear her answer, the young man walked away to where Mabel sat, and commenced teasing her and her kitten, while Nellie, maddened with herself, with him, with everybody, precipitately left the room, and going to her chamber hastily, and without a thought as to what she was doing, gathered together every little token which John Jr. had given her, together with his notes and letters, written in his own peculiar and scarcely legible hand. Tying them in a bundle, she wrote with unflinching nerve, “Do thou likewise,” and then descending to the hall, laid it upon the hat-stand, managing, as he was leaving, to place it unobserved in his hand. Instinctively he knew what it was, glanced at the three words written thereon, and in a cold, sneering voice, replied, “I will, with pleasure.” And thus they parted. CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEPARTURE. “John, how would you like to take a trip to New York—the city, I mean?” said Mr. Livingstone, to his son, one morning about two weeks following the events narrated in the last chapter. “Well enough—why do you ask?” answered John. “Because,” said his father, “I have to-day received a letter which makes it necessary for one of us to be there the 15th, and as you are fond of traveling, I had rather you would go. You had better start immediately—say to-morrow.”