by coldness and neglect. 'Tis better to have hated all our lives, than
to learn the lesson from a blighted love. Life is never bitter, but for
those whose misplaced love has caused their faith in men to wither,
filling their hearts with that hopelessness of regret, by which misery
is recognised in any of its disguises. But these are inconsistent
reflections, when proceeding from such suggestive sources as "first
love," "moonlight quietude," etc. Let us draw a veil across them for the
present. If there must be bitter drops in the deep chalice, let us not
spoil the taste of the sweeter ones, by anticipating the loathsomeness
of the rest. In another sense we may cry "let us live to-day, for
to-morrow we die."



CHAPTER IV.


"We talked with open heart and tongue,
Affectionate and true,
A pair of friends though I was young"
--Wordsworth.

The morning following Guy's visit to his uncle's window panes, as Henry
Rayne was sipping his rich brown chocolate, with Honor and Nanette, at
breakfast, Fitts brought in a note and laid it before his master. The
usual broad smile came over Rayne's face, as he recognized his nephew's
handwriting.

"So he's in town," he soliloquized, as he opened the folds of the crisp
paper and read: