ncholy of a
decaying year!

The summer was really going. On Sunday the weather broke in a violent
storm of wind and rain, and at sunset, when it abated, there were
portentous gleams on the hills, and threatening clouds lurking about
the sky. It was time to go. Few people have the courage to abide the
breaking of the serenity of summer, and remain in the country for the
more glorious autumn days that are to follow. The Glows must hurry back
to Newport. The Bensons would not be persuaded out of their fixed plan
to "take in," as Mr. Benson expressed it, the White Mountains. The
others were going to Niagara and the Thousand Islands; and when King
told Irene that he would much rather change his route and accompany her,
he saw by the girl's manner that it was best not to press the subject.
He dreaded to push an explanation, and, foolish as lovers are, he was
wise for once in trusting to time. But he had a miserable evening. He
let himself be irritated by the lightheartedness of Forbes. He objected
to the latter's whistling as he went about his room packing up his
traps. He hated a fellow that was always in high spirits. "Why, what has
come over you, old man?" queried the artist, stopping to take a critical
look at his comrade. "Do you want to get out of it? It's my impression
that you haven't taken sulphur water enough."

On Monday morning there was a general clearing out. The platform at
the station was crowded. The palace-cars for New York, for Niagara, for
Albany, for the West, were overflowing. There was a pile of trunks as
big as a city dwelling-house. Baby-carriages cumbered the way; dogs were
under foot, yelping and rending the tender hearts of their owners; the
porters staggered about under their loads, and shouted till they
were hoarse; farewells were said; rendezvous made--alas! how many
half-fledged hopes came to an end on that platform! The artist thought
he had never seen so many pretty girls together in his life before, and
each one had in her belt a bunch of goldenrod. Summer was over, sure
enough.

At Utica the train was broken up, and its cars despatched in various
directions. King remembered that it was at Utica that the younger Cato
sacrificed himself. In the presence of all the world Irene bade him
good-by. "It will not be for long," said King, with an attempt at
gayety. "Nothing is for long," she said with the same manner. And then
added in a low tone, as she slipped a note into his hand, "Do not think