“Your changed fortunes!” interrupted Randall. “Are your fortunes to-day different from what they were yesterday?” Menie paused. “It is only a very poor pride which would conceal it from you,” she said at length. “Yes, they are different. Yesterday we had enough for all we needed--to-day we have not anything. You will see how entirely our circumstances are changed; and I hope you will see too, Randall, without giving either of us the pain of mentioning them, all the reasons which make it prudent for us, without prolonging the conflict longer, to say good-by. Good-by; I can ask nothing of you but to forget me, Randall.” And Menie held out her hand, but could not lift her eyes. Her voice had sunk very low, and a slight shiver of extreme self-constraint passed over her--her head drooped lower and lower on her breast--her fingers played vacantly with the glistening leaves; and when he did not take it, her hand gradually dropped and fell by her side. There was a moment’s silence--no answer--no response--no remonstrance. Perhaps, after all, the poor perverse heart had hoped to be overwhelmed with love which would take no denial: as it was, standing before him motionless, a great faintness came upon Menie. She could vaguely see the path at her feet, the trees on either hand. “I had better go, then,” she said, very low and softly; and the light had faded suddenly upon Menie’s sight into a strange ringing twilight, full of floating motes and darkness--and those few paces across the lawn filled all her mind like a life-journey, so full of difficulty they seemed, so weak was she. Go quickly, Menie--quickly, ere those growing shadows darken into a blind unguided night--swiftly, ere these faltering feet grow powerless, and refuse to obey the imperative eager will. To reach home--to reach home--home, such a one as it is, lies only half-a-dozen steps away; press forward, Menie--are those years or hours that pass in the journey? But the hiding-place and shelter is almost gained. When suddenly this hand which he would not take is grasped in his vigorous hold--suddenly this violent tremble makes Menie feel how he supports her, and how she leans on him. “I am going home,” said Menie, faintly. Still he made no answer, but held her strongly, wilfully; not resisting, but unaware of her efforts to escape. “I have wherewith to work for you, Menie,” said the man’s voice in her ear. “What are your changed fortunes to me? If you were a princess, I would receive you less joyfully, for you would have less need of me. Menie, Menie, why have you tried yourself so sorely--and why should this be a cause of separating us? I wanted only you.” And Menie’s pride had failed her. She hid her face in her hands, and cried, “My mother, my mother!” in a passion of tears.