divorce that was now going the rounds of the journals.

He paused a moment, then folded the paper, put it in his pocket, poled
the boat with vigorous strokes to the landing-place, and strode through
the woods and across the cornfields homeward, his heart beating
tumultuously until he seemed almost to be struggling with suffocation.

He stopped at the barn and harnessed a horse to the old buggy, passing by
the new one that he had recently ordered from town, and then went into
the house, where, taking off his slouchy fishing clothes, he put on the
same ceremonious afternoon wear that he would have worn at Northbridge if
going to call, put Sylvia's handkerchief in his inner pocket, and went in
search of his mother.

He found her in the kitchen, tying the covers upon countless jars of
currant jam. She looked surprised to see him back at such an hour,
but said nothing, as Esther Nichols was close by, employed in wiping
off the jars.

"I'm going over to Oaklands for a drive," he said, handing her the scrap
of newspaper with a gesture that meant silence.

"Shall I wait supper for you, or will you be late?" she said, touching
his hand with a gesture almost of entreaty.

"I may be late, but--yes, you may wait supper," he replied, looking back
at her in going out, as if he wanted to carry the picture well forward in
his mind, against any forgetfulness.

The miles between Pine Ridge and the Bluffs seemed endless. He had at
first intended to go to Oaklands village to see Miss Lavinia and gather
such tidings as he could of the calamity that had overtaken Sylvia; for
he never for a moment questioned but that the girl, who had been
entirely straightforward, even in days of college pranks, should so
regard the matter. But as he drove along, and the very fact that he was
moving toward a definite end calmed him and clarified his judgment, he
resolved to go directly to Sylvia herself. He would certainly do this
if he had seen the announcement of her parents' deaths; then why not
now, when their love that gave her birth was officially and publicly
declared extinct?

He drove through the wide gateway and left his horse standing by a stone
pillar outside the porte-cochere,--the beast would stand anywhere if
there was a bar or post for him to look at,--and walked up the steps with
the air of one who is not to be gainsaid.

"Not at home," replied the singsong voice of Perkins, in answer to
Bradford's demand for Miss Latham, Potts and