me at the
hotel."

"What shall I say to him, father?" asked he, turning to Mr. Gleason,
whose folded arms gave an air of determination to his person, which
Louis did not like.

"Come with me into the next room, Louis," said Mr. Gleason, and Louis
followed with a firm step but a sinking heart.

"I have reflected deeply, deliberately, prayerfully on this subject, my
son, since we last discussed it, and the result is this: I cannot, while
such dark doubts disturb my mind, I cannot, consistent with my duty as a
father and a Christian, allow this young man to be domesticated in my
family again. If I wrong him, may God forgive me--but if I wrong my own
household, I fear He never will."

"I cannot go--I will not go!" exclaimed Louis, dashing the note on the
floor. "This is the last brimming drop in the cup of humiliation,
bitterer than all the rest."

"Louis, Louis, have you not merited humiliation? Have _you_ a right to
murmur at the decree? Have I upbraided you for the anxious days and
sleepless nights you have occasioned me? For my blasted hopes and
embittered joys? No, Louis. I saw that your own heart condemned you, and
I left you to your God, who is greater than your own heart and mine!"

"Oh, father!" cried Louis, melted at once by this pathetic and solemn
appeal, "I know I have no right to claim any thing at your hands, but I
beg, I supplicate--not for myself--but another!"

"'Tis in vain, Louis. Urge me no more. On this point I am inflexible.
But, since it is so painful to you, I will go myself and openly avow the
reasons of my conduct."

"No, sir," exclaimed Louis, "not for the world. I will go at once."

He turned suddenly and quitted the apartment, and then the house, with a
half-formed resolution of fleeing to the wild woods, and never more
returning.

Mittie, who was fortunately in her room above, (fortunately, we say, for
her presence would have been as fuel to flame,) heard the quick opening
and shutting of doors, and the sound of rapid steps on the flag-stones
of the yard.

"Louis, Louis," she cried, opening the window and recognizing his figure
in the star-lit night, "whither are you going?"

"To perdition!" was the passionate reply.

"Oh, Louis, speak and tell me truly, is Clinton come?"

"He is."

"And you are going to bring him here?"

"No, never, never! Now shut the window. You have heard enough."

Yes, she had heard enough! The sash fell from her hand, and a pane of
glass, shivered