"Pray, how?" "Really, Charles, you make me give a reason for every thing. Well then, I think that it is indelicate in women to leave their proper sphere and descend to the level of men, and this any woman must do in assuming the masculine garb. If I am not mistaken, the common law bears me out, and inflicts a penalty upon such deviations from established usage. None but an inexperienced youth like yourself would uphold Rosalind." Hoffland colored, and said with bitter abruptness: "I believe you despise me, sir!" "Despise you! Why?" said the astonished Mowbray. "Because--because--you call me an inexperienced youth; and--and--Ernest, it is not friendly in you!--no, it is not!--it is unjust--to treat me so!" And Hoffland turned away like a child who is about to "have a cry." Mowbray looked at the averted face for a moment, and saw two large tears clinging to the long dusky lashes. He experienced a strange sensation in the presence of this boy which he could not explain; it was half pity for his nervous weakness of temperament, half regret at having uttered he knew not what, to move him. "Well, well, Charles," he said, "yours is a strange character, and I never know how to shape my discourse in your presence. You fly off at every thing, and I believe you are really shedding tears----" "No, no," said Hoffland, hastily brushing away the pearly drops; "don't look at me." "I was wrong." Hoffland sobbed. "Forgive me, Charles--I will endeavor in future to avoid these occasions of dispute; forgive my harshness." "You are forgiven," murmured Hoffland; and his sad face became again cheerful. "I am not a very pleasant companion, I know," said Mowbray, smiling; "my own thoughts oppress me; but if I cannot be merry with you, I may at least forbear to wound your feelings." "My feelings are not wounded, Ernest," Hoffland said, with a bright glance which shone like the sun after an April shower; "I only--only--thought you were not right in abusing Rosalind; and--and calling me 'an inexperienced youth!' I am not an inexperienced youth," he laughed; "but let us dismiss the subject. What oppresses you, Ernest? I can't bear to see you sad." "My thoughts," said Mowbray. "That is too general." "It is useless to particularize." And Mowbray's head drooped. As the pleasant May breeze raised the locks of his dark hair, his face looked very pale and sad. "The subject of our discourse in the fields some days since?" asked Hoffland in a low tone. "Yes," said Mowbray calmly. A long silence followed this reply. Then Hoffland said: "Why should that still annoy you? Men should be strong." "Yes, yes." "And yet you are weak." "In my heart, very weak." "You love her still?" "Yes, yes; deeply, passionately, far more than ever!" said Mowbray, unable to repress this outburst. Hoffland seemed to be frightened by the vehemence of his companion, for he turned away his head, and colored to the temples. "Can you not conquer your feelings?" he said at length.