face was turned quite away from him, and which, struggle as she might against the inclination, drew her regards again and yet again in his direction.
She descried a new meaning in his watchfulness before long—a sad yearning that would not let her out of his sight; mournfulness that might signify either compassion or regret. Unused to dissemble, she must have grown distrait, forgetful of the gay scene and the duties it imposed upon her, but for the example of his fidelity in the performance of these. Emulating what she plainly perceived was his self-denial, she talked, promenaded, sang and laughed with conscientious diligence, to the delight of her chaperon and the distraction of the smitten swains of three classes, the freshmen counting as nobodies.
The crowd was thinning fast when Orrin again approached her.
"We will finish our promenade now that there is room to move and breathe," he said, drawing her hand within his arm. "I want to have a moment's talk with you before I go. I leave town early in the morning."
The involuntary clasp of the gloved fingers upon his sleeve gratified him, but the deprecating glance and exclamation were too frank and sisterly.
"Are you going away? Not to be absent long, I hope?"
"A week, certainly—it may be a fortnight."
"I shall be very lonely without you—absolutely lost, in fact!" replied Jessie, feeling all she said.
"I could stay, I suppose, but I ought to go," continued Orrin, slowly. "Yes! it is the best thing left for me to do! Don't imagine, however, that it costs me nothing to leave Hamilton while you are in it. I shall carry the image of my docile pupil, my bright-faced, sunny-hearted friend with me wherever I go. You have been a beautiful revelation to me, Jessie. Let me speak, for a moment, out of the sad sincerity of a spirit, tried as I trust yours will never be. Should we never meet again, you will not cease to be to me—pshaw! what am I saying? I talk wildly to you, I have no doubt, but there are times of desolation and battle and tempest when incoherence is pardonable. When you are married, you may be sorry for me in a calm, sisterly way, as people on the cliff above the beat of the surf pity the wretches suffocating in the waves."
"Let me comfort and help you now!" begged Jessie, her tell-tale eyes glistening until Orrin was fain to halt before Mr. Lowndes's monster bouquet in the last room of the suite, and keep her back to the company while she struggled for composure. "It breaks my heart to hear you!" came at last in a half sob from the trembling lips.
"Don't talk of breaking hearts, dear!" he returned, smiling sadly. "It is an idle phrase in the mouth of the loved and happy. May you always be both!"
He squeezed her hands until she winced with pain, took one lingering look into her eyes that seemed to compel her soul to their surface—whispered, "God bless you!" and before she could move to stay him, was making his congé to Mrs. Baxter.
Regardless of the stranger and inquisitive eyes that might be upon her, Jessie watched the parting; the hostess's dramatic start and fingers joined in hospitable supplication; the toning down of her physiognomy from tragic consternation at the announcement of his contemplated journey to plaintive resignation as he declared the fixedness of his purpose; watched the animated pantomime and felt no inclination to smile that it was over-wrought to extravagance. Assuredly, Orrin's going at all was a serious discomfort to herself. Taken in connection
