“I scarcely know why,” replied he, after a short silence, “except that you seem so changed; and I myself, too, am probably in your eyes as much altered--from what we both were, that--that--” “That, in short, it would be impossible to link the past with the present,” said she, quickly; “and you were quite right. I 'm convinced the effort is always a failure, and prejudices in a hundred ways the good qualities of those who attempt it. Let us, therefore, begin our acquaintance here; learn to know each other as we are,--that is, if we are to know each other at all.” “Why do you say that?” asked he, eagerly. “For many reasons. We may not meet often; perhaps not at all; perhaps under circumstances where to renew intimacy might be difficult. Assuredly, although the path here might once have sufficed us, our roads in life lie widely apart now, and the less we travel together the more we shall each go towards his own goal, and--and the less regret we shall feel at parting; and so now good-bye.” “You wish it?” said he, reproachfully. “You desire this?” “What matters it whether I wish it or not? I know it must be. Good-bye.” “Good-bye, then,--good-bye,” said he, affecting as much indifference as he could; and then, slightly raising his hat, he turned away on the road homeward. Joseph Nelligan's reflections were not of the pleasantest as he sauntered slowly back. He was not exactly satisfied with himself; he felt, he could not just say how, that the young girl had had the mastery over him; she was more calm or self-possessed; she had more tact, or she knew more of life; had more of self-control, or breeding, or some other quality, whatever it might be, than he had. At all events, he was ill at ease and discontented. Then he doubted whether he ought to have taken her at her word when she talked of parting. It might, possibly, have been meant by her to evoke some show of resistance on his part; that same inequality of station she seemed to hint at might, perhaps, demand from him a greater deference. In fact, whichever way he turned the matter over, he saw little cause for self-gratulation; nor did he discover that it mended matters when he tried to accuse her of French frivolity, and such other traits as he fancied of foreign origin. In this not over-pleasant mood was it that he re-entered the cottage, where his mother was busy in preparing a very formidable cravat for the approaching dinner-party. “Ah, Joe!” said she, anxiously, “if you were to dress now, and then stay quiet, you 'd be quite fresh when the time came; for, remember, it's not like your father you are, that has the world about him, and can converse about everything that comes uppermost; but with all your learning, you know, you always feel somehow--” “Stupid, mother?”