“My aunt has come with me,” said Menie steadily, “to give the weight of her presence to what I say. Randall, I do not pretend that my own feelings are changed, or that I have ceased to care for you. I do not need to seem to quarrel, or to call you by a less familiar name. We know the reason, both of us; there is no use for discussing it--and I have come to have it mutually understood that our engagement is broken. We will go away very soon. I came to say good-by.” Before she concluded, Menie had bent her head, and cast down her wavering eyes upon Miss Annie’s hand, which she held firmly in her own. Her voice was very low, her words quick and hurried; she stood beside Miss Annie’s chair, holding fast, and twining in her own Miss Annie’s nervous fingers; but she did not venture to look up to meet Randall’s eyes. “What does this mean? it is mere trifling, Menie,” said Randall impatiently. “You hear a gossip’s story of something I said; true or false, it did not affect you--it had no bearing on you; you know very well that nothing has happened to make you less precious to me--that nothing can happen which will ever change my heart. Menie, this is the second time; is this the conduct I have a right to expect from you? Deal with me frankly; I have a title to it. What do you mean?” “My darling, he will make it up,” said Miss Annie, with a little overflow of tears. But Menie was very steady--so strange, so strange--she grew into a startling acquaintance with herself in these few hours. Who could have thought there were so many passionate impulses in Menie Laurie’s quiet heart? “We will not discuss it, Randall,” she said again; “let us simply conclude that it is best for both of us to withdraw. Perhaps you will be better content if I speak more strongly,” she continued, with a little trembling vehemence, born of her weakness, “if I say it is impossible--impossible--you understand the word--to restore the state of mind, the hope, the trust, and confidence that are past. No--let us have no explanation--I cannot bear it, Randall. Do we not understand each other already? Nothing but parting is possible for us--for me. I think I am saying what I mean to say--good-by.” “Look at me, Menie.” It is hard to do it--hard to lift up those eyes, so full of tears--hard to see his lips quiver--hard to see the love in his face; but Menie’s eyes fall when they have endured this momentary ordeal; and again she holds out her hand and says, “Good-by.” “Good-by--I answer you,” said Randall, wringing her hand, and throwing it out of his grasp. “Good-by--you are disloyal, Menie, disloyal to Nature and to me; some time you will remember this; now I bid you farewell.”