Dick gave a despairing sigh, and turned away. "Well, then, good-bye, grandfather. If I get shot--" "Go and get shot, sir--and be damned to you!" cried the old man. "You are in a bad temper, grandfather. I've said my adieu. You have always misunderstood and abused me. Good-bye. I'll offend you no longer." The young man stalked out haughtily, and old Herresford collapsed again; but he tried to rally. His strength failed him. He leaned over the side of his bed, gasping from his outburst, and called faintly: "Dick! Dick! I'm an old man. I never mean what I say. I'll pay--" The last words were choked with a sigh, and he lay back, breathing heavily. CHAPTER VII GOOD-BYE "Go and get shot!" The old man's words rang in Dick's ears as he rode away. Well, perhaps he would be. His eyes traveled over the undulating glens of Asherton Park, where beeches and chestnuts in picturesque clumps intersected the rolling grass land, and wondered if this were the last time he would look upon the place. He wondered what Dora would be doing this time next year--if he were shot. Well, it would be easier to face a rain of bullets than to step into the train that was to carry him away from Dora. To-day, they were to meet and part. To-morrow, he started. At once, on returning to town, Dick hastened to the Mall in Central Park, where he was to meet Dora again, by appointment. There, the elms in the avenue were still a blaze of gold, that shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Dora set out from home equipped for walking in a white Empire coat with a deep ermine collar, a granny muff to match, and a little white hat with a tall aigrette. Her skirt was short, and her neat little feet were encased in high-heeled boots, that clicked on the gravel path as she hurried toward the Mall. She looked her best, and she knew it. She wanted Dick to take away an impression vivid and favorable, something to look back upon and remember with pleasure. She was no puling, sentimental girl to hang about his neck, and crush roses into his hand. The tears were in her heart; the roses in her cheeks. Warm kisses from her ruddy lips would linger longer than the perfume of the sweetest flowers. She had wept a great deal--but in secret--and careful bathing and a dusting of powder had removed all traces. As she proceeded down the avenue, her faultless, white teeth many times bit upon the under lip, which trembled provokingly; and the shiver of the golden elms in the Park beside her certainly was not responsible for the extreme haziness of her vision. It was her firm intention not to think of Dick going into the death zone. This might be their last interview; but she would not allow such an idea to intrude. It was a parting for a few months at most.