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shower, and said two or seven things which have no place in these innocent pages. It was a day which caused me to look upon time as a soporific snail, a day to be remembered with awe and loathing, a day at which to hurl a black, black stone, with careful aim. Above all, it was a day to prove how much a man may suffer through no fault of his own.
On the morning following, however, Darius reappeared, the bearer of a note from Miss Berrith. This curiosity of literature ran after this manner:
“My Dear Mr. Sands:
“You will have had a night to think over your action of yesterday, whereof Darius has given me an account, and to remember several things: first, that you were once a boy yourself, and that at twelve you did not possess all the sobriety which is yours at thirty; then, that you have vented your irritation against one person upon the entirely guiltless shoulders of another; and, finally, that your action
