would have laughed over it together. 
No, I will not go. I will stay and 
tell Bud and the colonel. They will 
understand and plead for me. And 
if you love me’— 
“Tf I ever dil you killed it the mo- 
ment you confessed to have written so 
about one you professed to love, one 
-whom you should have protected and 
have helped to hide from the world 
that which she feels so degrades her, 
instead of which you hold it up to 
publicity and to the scorn of the world. 
You cannot stay here longer. Don’t 
force me to tell father or my brother. 
That would be more than I could bear.” 
She put her hand toward a chair as 
if to keep her from falling. I came 
a step nearer, but she drew back in- 
voluntarily, steadying herself and look- 
ing me in the face, and with a voice 
vibrating with emotion said: 
“Don’t touch me! I never want to 
see you nor to hear of you again!” 
She swept past me, and I sank into 
a chair, overcome with grief and mor- 
tification. How long I sat there I do 
not know. Every time I heard a foot- 
fall I would start up, expecting her to 
tome back, thinking in my foolish 
heart that she had relented. Bud came 
In and found me sitting in the dark. 
He told me dinner was ready, and we 
entered the dining room _ together. 
Miss Hllen came in late, for it would 
have been unlike her to have stayed 
away. In a perfectly natural voice 
she told them I had been called away. 
Bud begged me to stay, and the colo- 
pel and Mrs. Turpin made me promise 
jo come again. That night was a dis- 
mal one. Miss Hllen would not play 
and soon went to her room. I left the 
hext morning, Bud remaining from his 
work to drive me to the station. Miss 
Ellen bade me farewell in the hall, 
put avoided taking my hand. As the 
wagon turned into the cedars I looked 
back, and only the colonel and Mrs. 
furpin were standing on the porch to 
wave me a farewell. I hardly spoke 
go Bud on the way, but I made him 
promise that if any one should get ill 
at the Pines he would write to me at 
once. At the station I found a letter 
from the managing editor telling me 
that my last contribution was the cley- 
erest bit of writing I had ever done 
and that the paper had advertised an- 
other one for the following Sunday. 
I tore his letter into fragments and, 
going to the telegraph office, wrote out 
the following telegram and sent it: 
Accept my resignation. I will leave for 
the west tonight on personal business. 
I grasped Bud’s hand, but was un- 
able to speak a word. I boarded the 
train and sat for hours, my head rest: 
ing on my hands, with my face turned 
‘toward the Pines, my soul full of sad- 
ness, with not a ray of sunlight in my 
heart. 
Everybody reads the Breeze. 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
CHAPTER VII. 
A Lieutenant of Volunteers. 
DID not go west immediately 
after leaving the Pines, as I 
had intended doing, but re 
mained within the state, hop- 
ing vainly to get some word of for- 
giveness from Miss Ellen. In my 
calmer moments I reviewed my visit 
to the Turpins, and the letter which 
she so condemned seemed to me to be 
my least offense. Though I under- 
stood her resentment and appreciated 
the position she had taken, I felt, how- 
ever, that I had made a mistake in 
obeying her and now wished that I 
had remained at the Pines and con- 
fessed everything to Bud. I believed 
then, as I do now, that he would have 
understood me better than Miss Hllen 
had done and would have pleaded my 
eause for me, though I doubt whether 
he or any one else at that time could 
have shaken her determination not to 
admit me to her friendship again. 
I would wake up each morning re- 
solved to quit the state that day, but 
before noon I would change my wind, 
as I seemed utterly incapable of tear- 
ing myself from the neighborhood of 
the Pines. I ever looked and longed 
for some change of feeling which 
might blunt the edge of my grief, but 
none came, and my love seemed to 
grow stronger each succeeding day. 
It was maddening to think that I had 
lost her, and what gave this sorrow a 
keener edge was the knowledge that I 
had forever put it out of my power to 
be of any service to her or to lend as- 
sistance to those she loved. I would 
become a prey at times to the keenest 
pangs of jealousy. I had no doubt 
that the squire would renew his suit, 
and I feared that she might be led in 
her bitter resentment toward me to 
accept his hand in marriage. I wrote 
her several letters begging for her for- 
giveness and if she could not grant 
me that to try at least to understand 
the feelings which had prompted me 
to write the letters which had been the 
means of separating us. I told her of 
the hopeless state of mind into which 
I had fallen and that I believed that 
my life would be aimless unless she 
would touch the magic spring which 
would set my blood aglow once more 
and arouse the dormant ambition with- 
in me to accomplish something in the 
world, 
I wrote on and on. I exhausted my 
logic and mental powers to make her 
understand. I reviewed my visit to 
the Pines at length, from the moment 
I had met Colonel Turpin to the last 
interview I had had with her. My first 
mistake, I told her, had been in letting 
my introduction to her and her mother 
as a relative of the Kentucky Palmers 
go unchallenged. I explained how I 
believed myself to have been merely a 
boarder and the almost fatal mistake 
I had made in speaking to the colonel 
on the subject. 
Such hospitality I was unaccustom- 
ed to, nor do I now fully understand 
the promptings of that kind old heart 
when he invited me to the Pines. I 
told her of my life and of my work; 
how I had come into her section with 
the bitterest feelings against it. My 
one ambition, I told her, was to arouse 
a hostile sentiment in New Hngland 
against the political party then in pow- 
er in nearly all the southern states. I 
did not conceal from her the satisfac- 
tion I had felt when this assignment 
had been given me nor my disappoint- 
ment when I| learned afterward that 
I was not to touch on politics in my 
ietters. I told her of my resolution to 
leave the Pines on the day after I had 
arrived there, but how that resolve 
melted as snow before the sun when I 
had seen her and looked into her eyes; 
how step by step she had led me to 
look upon life with a broader and a 
kindlier view and had brought me 
finally to a full understanding of her 
section and her people, and how she 
had made me know for the first time 
what my father meant when he was 
wont to say that all the two great sec- 
tions of the country needed was to get 
acquainted. 
The letter which had so offended her, 
I said, would be the means of bringing 
thousands of persons to a proper ap- 
preciation of her home land and the 
southern character, just as the facts 
embodied in it had caused me to 
thange the opinions I had held once. 
I did not believe my offense was past 
forgiveness, and I begged her that in 
a spirit of fairness she would try to 
appreciate the impulses of one whose 
instincts seemed to be to write of 
things as they are and whose training 
had led him always to seek out those 
things to describe which were novel 
and of interest. I followed this letter 
with another, but with no better result. 
I wearied the postal officials with ques- 
tions and got them to go through the 
general delivery a half dozen times a 
day. = 
7 
[TO BE CONTINUED.] 
Queer Book Titles. 
“These old books,’ said the antt- 
quary as he pointed to a dingy upper 
shelf, ‘are curious for their titles. 
“Here is a volume of sermons print- 
ed in Salem in 1792. ‘Sermons to 
Asses’ is its scornful name. 
“Here is a book dated 1743 that is 
called ‘Look to It or I’ll Stab Ye.’ It is 
a treatise on polygamy. 
“This is a pamphlet by a spinster 
against the young men of the seven- 
teenth century. Its title is ‘A Dis- 
sertation on the Pertness of Our Youth 
In General, Especially Such as Are 
Trained Up at Tea Tables.’ 
“A return blast to that dissertation is 
this other pamphlet of the same year: 
‘Quippes For Upstart Newfangled Gen- 
tlewomen; or, A Glass to View the 
Pride of Vainglorious Woman.’ ” 
II 
