All this, and much more, Guy thought, as, with Maddy’s note in his hand, he walked up and down the sitting-room, raging like a young lion, and threatening vengeance upon everybody. This was not the first intimation Guy had received of the people’s gossip, for only that morning Mrs. Noah had hinted that his course was not at all calculated to do Maddy any good, while Agnes had repeated to him some things which she had heard touching the frequency of his visits to Honedale; but these were nothing to the calmly-worded message which banished him effectually from Maddy’s presence. He knew Maddy, and he knew she meant what she wrote, but he could not have it so. He must see her; he would see her; and so for the next half hour Flora was the bearer of written messages to and from Maddy’s room; messages of earnest entreaty on the one hand, and of firm denial on the other. At last Maddy wrote: “If you care for me in the least, or for my respect, leave me, and do not come again until I send for you. I am not insensible to your kindness. I feel it all; but the world is nearer right than you suppose. It does not look well for you to come here so much, and I prefer that you should not. Justice to Lucy requires that you stay away.” That roused Guy’s pride, and writing back: “You shall be obeyed. Good-bye!”—he sprang into his buggy, and Maddy heard him as he drove furiously away. Those were long, dreary days which followed, and but for her grandfather’s increasing feebleness Maddy would almost have died. Anxiety for him, however, kept her from dwelling too much upon herself, but the excitement and the care wore upon her sadly, robbing her eye of its luster and her cheek of its remaining bloom, and making Mrs. Noah cry when she came one day with Jessie to see how they were getting on. She had heard from Guy of his banishment, and now that he staid away, she was ready to step in; so she came laden with sympathy and other more substantial comforts brought from Aikenside. Maddy was glad to see her, and for a time cried softly on her bosom, while Mrs. Noah’s tears kept company with hers. Not a word was said of Guy, except when Jessie told her that “he had gone to Boston, and it was so stupid at home without him.” With more than her ordinary discretion, Flora kept to herself what had passed when Guy was last there, so Mrs. Noah knew nothing except what he had told her, and what she read in Maddy’s white, suffering face. This last was enough to excite all her pity, and she treated the young girl with the most motherly kindness, staying all night, and herself taking care of grandpa, who was now too ill to sit up. There seemed to be no disease preying upon him, nothing save old age, and the loss of one who for more than forty years had shared all his joy and sorrow. He could not live without her, and one night, three weeks after Guy’s dismissal, he said to Maddy, as she was about to leave him: