ress 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.

"No."

"Make the attempt."

"I have made it."

"Why not go and see her again then? You will lose nothing."

"Go and see her? What! after being repelled with so much insult and
coldness!--after being charged with base and mercenary motives!--after
having my heart struck by a cruel and unfeeling accusation--my pride
humbled by a misconception as humiliating as it was unjust! Never,
Charles! My heart may break--I may feel through life the bitterness of
the fate which separates us for ever--I may groan and rebel and
struggle with my heart--but never again will I address one syllable to
that proud girl, who has trampled on me, as she would upon a worm, and
told me how degraded a being I was in her eyes--no, never!"

And pale, his forehead bathed with perspiration, his frame agitated,
his eyes full of fire and regret, Mowbray turned away his head and
rose.

Hoffland was silent, and yet the deep color in his cheeks betrayed the
impression which his companion's passionate words had made upon him.

In a few moments Mowbray had regained his calmness.

"Pardon me, Charles, for annoying you with these things," he said,
with a last tremor in his voice; "but your question prompted me to
speak. Let us not return to this subject; it afflicts me to speak of
it, and there is no good reason why I should revive my sufferings. Let
us go back, and endeavor in the pleasant sunshine to find some balm
for all our grief. I do not despair of conquering my passion, for all
things are possible to human energy--this far at least. Come, let us
return."

Calmly buttoning his coat, Mowbray took Charles's arm, and they bent
their way back to town.

As for Hoffland, he seemed overcome by the vehemence of his companion,
and for some time was completely silent. He seemed to be thinking.

As they approached the town, however, his spirits seemed to regain
their customary cheerfulness, and he smiled.

"Well, well, Ernest," he said, "perhaps your grief may be cured in
some other way than by strangulation. Let us not speak further of it,
but admire the beautiful day. Is it not sweet?"

"Very," said Mowbray calmly.

"It is getting warm."

"Yes, Charles; summer is not far distant."

"Summer! I always liked the summer; but we have not then