mind to you, Mr. Brand!" Gertrude cried, with some
vehemence.

"Then you were not so frank as I thought--as we all thought."

"I don't see what any one else had to do with it!" cried the girl.

"I mean your father and your sister. You know it makes them happy to
think you will listen to me."

She gave a little laugh. "It does n't make them happy," she said.
"Nothing makes them happy. No one is happy here."

"I think your cousin is very happy--Mr. Young," rejoined Mr. Brand, in a
soft, almost timid tone.

"So much the better for him!" And Gertrude gave her little laugh again.

The young man looked at her a moment. "You are very much changed," he
said.

"I am glad to hear it," Gertrude declared.

"I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you
were."

"I am much obliged to you," said Gertrude. "I must be going home."

He on his side, gave a little laugh.

"You certainly do avoid me--you see!"

"Avoid me, then," said the girl.

He looked at her again; and then, very gently, "No I will not avoid
you," he replied; "but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself.
I think you will remember--after a while--some of the things you have
forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in
that."

This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong, reproachful
force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned
away and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the
beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but
when she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into
tears. Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and
for some moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently
passed away. There was something a little hard about Gertrude; and she
never wept again.

CHAPTER VI

Going of an afternoon to call upon his niece, Mr. Wentworth more than
once found Robert Acton sitting in her little drawing-room. This was in
no degree, to Mr. Wentworth, a perturbing fact, for he had no sense
of competing with his young kinsman for Eugenia's good graces. Madame
Munster's uncle had the highest opinion of Robert Acton, who, indeed, in
the family at large, was the object of a great deal of undemonstrative
appreciation. They were all proud of him, in so far as the charge
of being proud may be brought against people who were, habitually,
distinctly guiltless of the misde