The poor boy drove dismally away, thinking what a dreadful thing it is to
be young.

After he had gone Hope Wayne sat upon the lawn reading. Suddenly a shadow
fell across the page, and looking up she saw Abel Newt standing beside
her. He had his cap in one hand and a port-folio in the other. The blood
rushed from Hope's cheek to her heart; then rushed back again. Abel saw
it.

Rising from the lawn and bowing gravely, she turned toward the house.

"Miss Wayne," said Abel, in a voice which was very musical and very
low--she stopped--"I hope you have not already convicted and sentenced
me."

He smiled a little as he spoke, not familiarly, not presumptuously,
but with an air which indicated his entire ability to justify himself.
Hope said:

"I have no wish to be unjust."

"May I then plead my own cause?"

"I must go into the house--I will call my grandfather, whom I suppose you
wish to see."

"I am here by his permission, and I hope you will not regard me as an
intruder."

"Certainly not, if he knows you are here;" and Hope lingered to hear if