altzer."

"You forget," Bart answered mockingly, "that I am travelled; and you
know my only aptitude is for the useless."

"I did not say that."

"You are too kind. I sometimes supply words to obvious thoughts."

"And sometimes to those that have no existence."

The floor filled again, and the music struck up. Standing, a moment
later, at a window, Julia saw a figure pass out, pause at the roadway,
turn and look up. The full glare of the lamps revealed the face of
Bart, from which the light had faded, and its beauty and spirit of
expression had departed. He gazed for an instant up at the brilliant
and joyous scene, where a moment before he had been a central and
applauded figure, and then, muffling his face in his cloak, he turned
away.

He had not intended to go, and sat melancholy through the darkness of
the early night; but somehow, a hungry, intense longing came to him
to go and look for a moment upon the loveliness of Julia, as she would
stand open to the eyes of all, just for one moment, and then to go
away. He felt that he ought not to do it, but he went. He could not
help it.

When he reached the place, three miles away, he was annoyed by being
recognized and pointed at, and talked at, on account of his late
encounter with Grid.

"He ain't a powerful-lookin' chap." "I wouldn't be afeared o' him."
"He's a darned sight harder'n he looks," etc.

When he escaped into the ball-room, the impulse to go into the
immediate presence of Julia was followed, and ended by as sudden a
retreat. He had not known how utterly weak and helpless he was, and
felt angry with himself that he could ever wish for the presence of
one who had so scorned him. He was ashamed, also, that the music, the
dance, and gay joyance of the scene he had just left, had still such a
seductive charm for him, and he recorded a mental resolution to avoid
all similar allurements for the future. Having made this resolution,
and strong in his faith of keeping it, he merely turned to take final
leave, as he fell under the eyes of Julia, and without seeing her.

The night outside was cold, dark, and thick, with a pitiless snow,
that was rapidly filling the track along the highway. Bart turned,
without the remotest touch of self-pity, to face it, with a heart as
cold and dark as the night that swallowed him up. He felt that there
was not a heart left behind that would throb with a moment's pain for
him--that would miss him, or wonder at his departur