Darrell had become rather taciturn and less sociable than ever, Mrs. Newton noticed, and since Mary left he seemed to lose flesh and all his spirits, and passed the winter as if life were a burden to him. But when spring came, he brightened up a little, though he felt far from happy. About that time Mrs. Newton had a letter from Mary, saying that she was going to spend vacation in Maryland with her other aunt, and Tisha for her escort. “She don’t come here, because she fears I shall pester her life with my visits. As she knows I can’t keep away from her, she keeps away from you. She hates me. I suppose you, too, will take to hating me, by and by,” said Darrell, when he heard that Mary was not coming that summer. “No danger of that, William,” Mrs. Newton replied. “Yes, there is. You ought to hate me for driving her away. I hate myself worse than I hate the devil.” “William, you mustn’t feel so. It isn’t right.” “I know it. But when did I ever do anything right, I’d like to know? I wish I could hate her as I hate myself, or as she hates me.” “William, she does not hate you.” “How do you know she don’t?” “Because she would have told me. She is very truthful.” “I know it. She gave me my walking papers in a jiffy. I wish I could hate her.” “William, do you promise not to get angry, if I tell you why Mary declined your offer?” “Say on. You couldn’t well make a burning furnace any hotter. I am too mad already.” “Well, I’ll tell you. She likes you, but is afraid of you.” “Afraid? afraid?” said he, aghast—“why! that is awful! I, an object of fear, when I worship the ground she treads on! But, how? What have I done? When did I frighten her?” “At no particular time; but often you gave her the impression that you have a high temper, and she told me, ‘If I loved Mr. Darrell better than my life, I wouldn’t marry him, for I could never be happy with a man of a violent temper.’ Then she spoke, too, of her being a Roman Catholic and you a Protestant.” “But you are a Catholic and uncle is Protestant.” “Certainly, I think the barrier is not insuperable.” “So, my temper frightened her! It is awful!” He mused in silence for a few minutes and then left the room. About an hour after, he returned dressed for traveling, carrying a satchel in one hand and a tin box under his arm. He put the box on the table, saying: “Aunt Newton, I am going away for a few days. Please take care of this box until I return or you hear from me. Good-by!” and he hurried away, for he had only barely time to catch the train going to New York. Darrell was in New York for a few hours. He bought a finer suit of clothes, a very elegant light overcoat, hat and boots, and gloves to match, and thus equipped so elegantly that he hardly recognized himself, as he surveyed his figure in a large mirror of the furnishing store, where he was so metamorphosed, he took the night train for Washington.