FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
Then slowly and with quiet emphasis, he said: "Mr. Macdonald, you are a determined man, but as God lives, this purpose of yours you will never carry out. I know my daughter, I think, better than you know her, and I tell you," here a slight smile of confidence played for a moment on his face, "she will never be your wife."
Ranald bowed his head.
"It shall be as she wills," he said, in a grave, almost sad, voice. "She shall decide," and he passed into his office.
All day long Ranald toiled at his desk, leaving himself no time for thought. In the late afternoon Harry came in on his way home.
"Thanks, old chap," said Ranald, looking up from his work; "sha'n't be able to come to-night, I am sorry to say."
"Not come?" cried Harry.
"No, it is impossible."
"What rot, and Maimie has waited ten days for you. Come along!"
"It is quite impossible, Harry," said Ranald, "and I want you to take this note to Maimie. The note will explain to her."
"But, Ranald, this is—"
"And, Harry, I want to tell you that this is my last day here."
Harry gazed at him speechless.
"Mr. St. Clair and I have had a difference that can never be made right, and to-night I leave the office for good."
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