"No, sister Margaret, no," replied Mark with a little impatience, and to escape his sister-in-law's inquisitive solicitude, he withdrew to his room. He took up his guitar and tried to thrum the _Jota Aragonesa_, but there was no melody there to soothe his troubled breast. He skimmed over a page or two of Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," that Dr. Wattletop had recommended him to read, but his feelings were too much in consonance with the subject treated of to be diverted by it, and he threw the book aside, filled his briar-wood pipe, and sought consolation in Killikinnick. Even that resource failed him, and the fire in the bowl died away unheeded. Then to shake off the tristful thoughts he paced his room, but the old wound inflicted by Edna's cruel commiseration seemed to bleed afresh, and the remembrance of that bitter pity unceasingly returned, until chagrin gave place to anger vented in fierce execrations on his halting foot, alternated with lamentations on his unfortunate condition. He believed he could have borne almost any other bodily infirmity better, and would gladly have given his right arm to walk as other men. What an effort it had cost him to deny himself the inestimable pleasure of beholding the object of his adoration in all the pride of her beauty! And yet, why had he done so? Although imperfect in a trivial degree, would he, after all, suffer much in comparison with others? Byron, the splendid Byron, was lame, and so was Walter Scott, and were they not the idols of society? Would her glance fall that evening on a handsomer face? He stopped before a mirror, that reflected eyes full of superb fire, and a brow as fine as any that ever adorned child of Hellas, and he smiled with gratified vanity, like a brainless coquette. But instantly ashamed of his weakness, he turned away, drew on his overcoat, and sought the streets to distract him from unwholesome reveries. Unwittingly his feet followed the accustomed path, and he was half way to the Cliff before he discovered his absence of mind. He would have retraced his steps and gone in another direction, but an irresistible impulse urged him on.