“Don’t touch me! I hate you--hate you!” she cried, like a little fury, her eyes flashing fire. “Do you think I will go with you to-morrow? Never--never! You have made my life empty of joy, and now you envy the sunshine that love has brought me! But you shall not part me from Arthur--no, no, no!” and desperately sobbing, she flung herself face downward on the floor. He sought Mrs. Flint in terrible perturbation. “Come, she is in hysterics!” he exclaimed, anxiously. “I told you it would go hard with Cinthy,” she answered, curtly. “Yes, I feared she would grieve; but, good Heaven! she is a little fury--all rage and rebellion, swearing she will not go with me to-morrow. She must be closely watched to-day, for there is no telling what such a desperate girl may do,” he said in alarm mixed with anger. “Pshaw! she will simmer down when her fit of crying is over. I’ll get her upstairs and give her a soothing dose. Her temper-fits never last long, for Cinthy is a good child, after all, and I am sorry over her disappointment, she sets such store by love,” returned the old woman, in real sympathy for the girl and secret disapproval of his cold attitude to his neglected daughter. He felt the implied reproach and answered, in weary self-excuse: “Rebecca, I know you think me hard and cold, but my heart seems dead within me.” “That is no excuse for neglect of duty,” she answered with telling effect as she went to the difficult task of soothing Cinthia and getting her upstairs to her room. “A bitter home-coming!” he muttered, as he went out into the bleak morning air, with its scurrying flakes of threatening snow, to try to walk off some of his perturbation. Somehow the dreary day dragged through to the drearier late afternoon. Upstairs, Cinthia lay still and exhausted upon the bed after such a day of tears, and sobs, and passionate rebellion as Mrs. Flint hoped never to go through again. Everard Dawn took his hat and great-coat, and set out for another long walk--this time in the direction of Arthur Varian’s home. Had he repented his harshness? Was he going to recall Cinthia’s banished lover? The air was keen with a biting east wind, the sky was gray with threatening clouds, and occasional light scurries of snow flew in his face and flecked his thick brown beard as he stepped briskly along, gazing over the low evergreen hedge at the beautiful grounds of the fine old estate he had refused for his daughter. As he almost paused in his walk to gaze with deep interest at the picturesque old stone house, he saw a lady come out of a side-door and turn into an avenue of tall dark cedars that made a pleasant promenade, shutting off the rigorous wind very effectively. He followed her progress with wistful eyes and tense lips. It was indeed the stately mistress of the mansion. Wearying of its warmth and luxury, she had come out, wrapped in sealskin, for her favorite constitutional along the cedar avenue.