recovery, came the departure of our friend and his return to his
studies. Oh, how we dreaded it! Hal said afterward the thought of his
going sent a chill to his head. The evening before his departure we
walked over the hill through the pleasant path his mother and myself
always chose when we walked and talked together. I said:

"Go with us, Clara," as we sauntered along the yard path toward the
gate, but Louis looked at her and she turned gaily from us with the
words:

"I will look after the invalid."

It seemed to me I was made of stone that evening, and we walked long
before the silence was broken. At last Louis stopped, and taking both my
hands looked into my heart (it seemed so to me) and said:

"I leave to-morrow."

My eyes grew moist, but only a sigh escaped my lips. I did not even say
I was sorry.

Then we sat down on the mossy trunk of our favorite tree, and he said:

"Are you sorry, Emily? Will you miss me, and will you write to me, and
will your dark eyes read the words I send to you?"

Dumb, more dumb than before, I sighed and bowed my head, and again he
spoke, this time with that strange, terribly earnest look in his eyes I
had seen before.