we may shake hands and be friends, I hope,"
said Craven, replying in the same spirit in which she had spoken.

"Well, I don't know about that, Mr. Le Noir. Friendship is a very
sacred thing, and its name should not be lightly taken on our tongues.
I hope you will excuse me if I decline your proffer," said Cap, who had
a well of deep, true, earnest feeling beneath her effervescent surface.

"What! you will not even grant a repentant man your friendship, Miss
Black?" asked Craven, with a sorrowful smile.

"I wish you well, Mr. Le Noir. I wish you a good and, therefore, a
happy life; but I cannot give you friendship, for that means a great
deal."

"Oh, I see how it is! You cannot give your friendship where you cannot
give your esteem. Is it not so?"

"Yes," said Capitola; "that is it; yet I wish you so well that I wish
you might grow worthy of higher esteem than mine."

"You are thinking of my--yes, I will not shrink from characterizing
that conduct as it deserves--my unpardonable violence toward Clara.
Miss Black, I have mourned that sin from the day that I was hurried
into it until this. I have bewailed it from the very bottom of my
heart," said Craven, earnestly, fixing his eyes with an expression of
perfect truthfulness upon those of Capitola.

"I am glad to hear you say so," said Cap.

"Miss Black, please hear this in palliation--I would not presume to say
in defense--of my conduct: I was driven to frenzy by a passion of
contending love and jealousy as violent and maddening as it was unreal
and transient. But that delusive passion has subsided, and among the
unmerited mercies for which I have to be thankful is that, in my
frantic pursuit of Clara Day, I was not cursed with success! For all
the violence into which that frenzy hurried me I have deeply repented.
I can never forgive myself, but--cannot you forgive me?"

"Mr. Le Noir, I have nothing for which to forgive you. I am glad that
you have repented toward Clara and I wish you well, and that is really
all that I can say."

"I have deserved this and I accept it," said Craven, in a tone so
mournful that Capitola, in spite of all her instincts, could not choose
but pity him.

He rode on, with his pale face, downcast eyes and melancholy
expression, until they reached a point at the back of Hurricane Hall,
where their paths diverged.

Here Craven, lifting his hat and bowing profoundly, said, in a sad tone:

"Good evening, Miss Black," and, turning his h