"On the contrary, she has devoted you from infancy to sadness, gloom, and bitter memories. She is developing within you the very qualities most foreign to a woman's heart. Instead of teaching you to enshrine the memory of your kindred in tender, loving remembrance, she is forging that memory into a chain to restrain you from all that is natural to your years. She is teaching you to wreck your life in fruitless opposition to the healing influences that have followed peace. Madam, answer me--the question is plain and fair--what can you hope to accomplish by your enmity to me and to the principles of hope and progress which, in this instance, I represent, but the blighting of this girl whom I love?" "You are insolent, sir," cried Mrs. Hunter, trembling with rage. "No, madam, I am honest, and be the result to me what it may, you shall both hear the truth to-night." "This is our home," was the harsh response, "and you are not a gentleman if you do not leave it instantly." "I shall certainly do so. Mara, am I to see you and speak to you no more?" She had sunk into a chair, and again buried her face in her hands. He waited a moment, but she gave no sign. Then with his eyes fixed on her he sadly and slowly left the apartment. At last she sprang up with the faint cry, "Owen," but her aunt stood between her and the door, and he was gone. CHAPTER VI "PAHNASHIP" When Mara realized that her lover had indeed gone, that in fact he had been driven forth, and that she had said not one word to pave the way for a future meeting, a sense of desolation she had never known before overwhelmed her. Hitherto she had been sustained by an unfaltering belief that no other course than the one which her aunt had inculcated was possible; that, cost what it might, and end as it might, it was her heritage. All now was confused and in doubt. She had heard her lofty, self-sacrificing purpose virtually characterized as vain and wrong. She had idolized the memory of her father and mother, and yet had been told that her course was the very one of which they would not approve. The worst of it all was that it now seemed true, for she could not believe that they would wish her to be so utterly unhappy. In spite of her unworldliness and lack of practical training, the strong common-sense of Clancy's question would recur, "What good will it do?" She was not sacrificing her heart to sustain or further any cause, and her heart now cried out against the wrong it was receiving. These miserable thoughts rushed through her mind and pressed so heavily upon all hope that she leaned her arms upon the table, and, burying her face, sobbed aloud. "Mara," said her aunt, severely, "I did not think you could be so weak."