delayed till he was gone. He would away without another word to Elsie; she
should not be disturbed by any further unmanly manifestation of his bitter
grief and despair.

The hour of the passing of the boat drew near, and valise in hand, he left
his room and passed down the stairs. But Elsie was coming in from the
lawn, and they met in the lower hall.

"Harold," she cried, "you are not going? You must not leave us so
suddenly."

"I must," he said in icy tones, the stony eyes gazing into vacancy; "all
places are alike to me now, and I cannot stay here to trouble you and
Horace with the sight of a wretchedness I cannot hide."

Trembling so that she could scarcely stand, Elsie leaned against the wall
for support, the hot tears coursing down her cheeks. "Oh, Harold!" she
sobbed, "what an unhappy creature I am to have been the cause of such
sorrow to you! Oh why should you ever have thought of me so?"

Dropping his valise, his whole manner changing, he turned to her with
passionate vehemence. "Because I couldn't help it! Even as a boy I gave up
my whole heart to you, and I cannot call it back. Oh, Elsie, why did I
ever see you?" and he seized both her hands in a grasp that almost forced
a cry of pain from her white, quivering lips. "Life is worthless without
you. I'd rather die knowing that you loved me than live to see you in the
possession of another."

"Harold, Harold, a sister's love I can, I do give you; and can you not be
content with that?"