"It was unfortunate that my mother omitted to enumerate etiquette in the catalogue of studies prosecuted at the parsonage." Instantly the answer sprang to her lips: "She knew I had a teacher for that branch nearer home"; but her conscience smote her, she repressed the words, and said gravely: "My reason was, that I think only good friends should take wine together." "This is your declaration of war? Very well, only remember I raise a black flag and show no quarter. Woe to the conquered." She hurried away to the library, and thenceforth "kept out of his way" more assiduously than ever; while the fact that he scrutinized her closely, rendered her constrained and uncomfortable, when forced to enter his presence. Mrs. Murray well understood her hostile feeling toward her son, but she never alluded to it, and his name was not mentioned by either. One by one the guests departed; autumn passed, winter was ushered in by wailing winds and drizzling rains; and one morning as Edna came out of the hot-house, with a basketful of camellias, she saw St. Elmo bidding his mother good-bye, as he started on his long journey to Oceanica. They stood on the steps, Mrs. Murray's head rested on his shoulder, and bitter tears were falling on her cheeks as she talked eagerly and rapidly to him. Edna heard him say impatiently: "You ask what is impossible; it is worse than useless to urge me. Better pray that I may find a peaceful grave in the cinnamon groves and under the 'plumy palms' of the far south." He kissed his mother's cheek and sprang into the saddle, but checked his horse at sight of the orphan, who stood a few yards distant. "Are you coming to say good-bye? Or do you reserve such courtesies for your 'good friends'?" Regret for her former rudeness, and sympathy for Mrs. Murray's uncontrollable distress, softened her heart toward him; she selected the finest white camellia in the basket, walked close to the horse, and, tendering the flower, said: "Good-bye, sir. I hope you will enjoy your travels." "And prolong them indefinitely? Ah, you offer a flag of truce? I warned you I should not respect it. You know my motto, 'Nemo me impune lacessit!' Thank you, for this lovely peace-offering. Since you are willing to negotiate, run and open the gate for me. I may never pass through it again except as a ghost." She placed her basket on the steps and ran down the avenue, while he paused to say something to his mother. Edna knew that he expected to be absent, possibly, several years, and while she regretted the pain which his departure gave her benefactress, she could not avoid rejoicing at the relief she promised herself during his sojourn in foreign lands. Slowly he rode along the venerable aisle of elms that had overarched his childish head in the sunny morning of a quickly clouded life, and as he reached the gate, which Edna held open, he dismounted.