"Come then, children," she said, trembling all over, voice included, as she went up the steps. He walked away without any further speech. Leaving the children in the summer-parlor, she ran through the house to one of the front windows, and pushing open a little the blind, sat down palpitating and watched him going down to the gate. He walked slowly, but his step was steady. He followed the road, and did not walk across the grass, like a man who does not think what he is doing. When he reached the gate, he did not turn to the right towards his own house, to the gate of which a few steps more would have brought him, but he walked up the road, with his head down, as if pondering something. Presently, however, he turned and came back, passed the Varians' gate, and went on into his own. And then Missy lost sight of him among the trees that stood between the two houses. She threw herself upon a sofa, and pressed her hands before her eyes, as she thought of that broken, pain-strained figure, rigid on the bed up-stairs. And if he did not cry for his coldness and cruelty, she did, till her head and her eyes ached. That night, after Missy had put the children to bed in her own room, as she went down stairs, she heard St. John sending a servant in to ask Mr. Andrews if he would see him for a few moments. "St. John," she exclaimed, in a low voice, joining him. "Why do you send in? It is his place to send for you. I would not do it, really. I--I hate the man. I told him you would tell him everything, and he has been here four hours at least, and has never sent for you. I don't believe he wants to hear anything. I have no doubt he has had a good dinner and is reading the paper. May be he will ask you to join him with a cigar." "Don't be uncharitable, Missy," said her brother, walking up and down the room. "But why do you send?" persisted his sister. "He doesn't want to see you, or he would have sent." "But I want to see him. So, Missy, don't let us talk about it any more." It was evident to his sister that St. John did not anticipate the meeting with much pleasure. He was a little restless, for him, till the servant came back with a message, to the effect that Mr. Andrews would be very glad to see Mr. Varian at once, if he were at liberty to come. St. John looked rather pale as he kissed his sister good-night (for he was not coming back, but going directly home to the rectory), and she felt that his hand was cold. "He is young for such experiences," she said to her mother, as she sat down beside her sofa in the summer twilight. "He doesn't seem young to me any longer," returned her mother.