orth."

She went off with a kiss, and an airy recommendation to follow her
good example; and Harry rose as if to obey it. His mother opened her
heavy eyes and said: "Wait a few minutes, Harry, my dear. You look
miserable. You eat nothing. You have been to see Yanna. Can you not
let that girl alone?"

"The girl has let me alone. She has refused even to write to me. I
_am_ miserable. And I do not feel as if anything, as if anything on
earth, can atone for the loss of Yanna's love."

"Not even my love?"

"That is a thing by itself. It is different. I understand to-night
what is meant by a broken heart."

"The feeling does not last, Harry. In New York you will soon wonder at
yourself for enduring it an hour--these bare dripping woods, this
end-of-all-things feeling, is a wretched experience;--but a broken
heart! Nonsense!"

"Mother, there is no use talking. I am miserable; and I do think that
you are to blame."

"Me!"

"You have wounded Yanna's feelings in some way, I know."

"Yanna's feelings!" cried Mrs. Filmer.

"Yes; and they are very precious to me; more so than my own
feelings."

"Or than mine? Speak out, Harry. Be as brutal as you want to be. I
might as well know the worst now as again."

"I do not care for New York. I do not care for the preparations you
have made. I will not go out at all. I have given myself to this
society nonsense, because it pleased you, mother; but I can do so no
longer. How can I dress, and dance, and make compliments when I wish
I were dead? Yes, I do! Life has not a charm left."

"Your father, your sister!"

"Oh, mother! they are not Yanna. If you are perishing for water, wine
will not take its place."

"You are very ungrateful, and if I call you ungrateful I can call you
nothing worse. Remember how I have planned and saved; how I have bowed
here, and becked there, in order to gain the social position we now
enjoy. Without my help, would you have got into the best clubs? Would
you visit in the houses where you are now welcome?"

"I know; but I do not value these things. Yanna has taught me
better."

"Harry, you make me lose all patience. It is a shameful thing to tell
me now, after my labor, after you have reaped the harvest of it, that
you do not care; to put that Van Hoosen girl in the place of all your
social advantages, and of all your kindred. It is outrageous! Why, the
man I bought my chickens from was a Van Hoosen! And I was so
magnanimous that I never named