d for a moment as if his very life
was sinking down through his boots into the carpet. He threw down the
book hastily, and, turning, stepped through an open window into the
garden, and walked quickly off.

"Where in the world is John going?" said Lillie, running to the door,
and calling after him in imperative tones.

"John, John, come back. I haven't done with you yet;" but John never
turned his head.

"How very odd! what in the world is the matter with him?" she said to
herself.

John was gone all the afternoon. He took a long, long walk, all by
himself, and thought the matter over. He remembered that fresh,
childlike, almost infantine face, that looked up into his with such a
bewitching air of frankness and candor, as she professed to be telling
all about herself and her history; and now which or what of it was
true? It seemed as if he loathed her; and yet he couldn't help loving
her, while he despised himself for doing it.

When he came home to supper, he was silent and morose. Lillie came
running to meet him; but he threw her off, saying he was tired. She
was frightened; she had never seen him look like that.

"John, what is the matter with you?" said Grace at the tea-table. "You
are upsetting every thing, and don't drink your tea."

"Nothing--only--I have some troublesome business to settle," he said,
getting up to go out again. "You needn't wait for me; I shall be out
late."

"What can be the matter?"

Lillie, indeed, had not the remotest idea. Yet she remembered his
jumping up suddenly, and throwing down the Bible; and mechanically she
went to it, and opened it. She turned it over; and the record met her
eye.

"Provoking!" she said. "Stupid old creature! must needs go and put
that out in full." Lillie took a paper-folder, and cut the leaf out
quite neatly; then folded and burned it.

She knew now what was the matter. John was angry at her; but she
couldn't help wondering that he should be so angry. If he had
laughed at her, teased her, taxed her with the trick, she would have
understood what to do. But this terrible gloom, this awful commotion
of the elements, frightened her.

She went to her room, saying that she had a headache, and would go to
bed. But she did not. She took her French novel, and read till she
heard him coming; and then she threw down her book, and began to
cry. He came into the room, and saw her leaning like a little white
snow-wreath over the table, sobbing as if her heart wo