e, old fellow."

Then Crayshaw, blushing hotly, essayed to hit Johnnie, who forthwith
started up and was pursued by him with many a whoop and shout, in a wild
circling chase among the trees. At length, finding he was not to be
caught, Crayshaw returned a good deal heated, and Johnnie followed
smiling blandly, and flung himself on the grass breathing hard.

"Well, I'm glad you two are not going to finish up your friendship with
another fight," said Valentine.

"He's always prophesying something horrid about me," exclaimed Crayshaw.
"Why am I to be married any more than he is, I should like to know? If I
do, you'll certainly have to give up that visit to California, that Mr.
Mortimer almost promised you should make with me. Gladys, I suppose he
would not let you and Barbara come too?"

"Oh no. I am sure he would not."

"What fun we might have!"

"Yes."

"I don't see if you were a family man, why it shouldn't be done," said
Johnnie, returning to the charge, "but if you won't marry, even to
oblige your oldest friends, why you won't."

"Time's up," said Valentine, looking at his watch, "and there's my
dog-cart coming round to the door."

The youth rose then with a sigh, took leave of Valentine, and
reluctantly turned towards the house, all the young Mortimers following.
They were rather late for the train, so that the parting was hurried,
and poor little Gladys as she gazed after the dog-cart, while Johnnie
drove and Crayshaw looked back, felt a great aching pain at her heart,
and thought she should never forget him.

But perhaps she did.

The young Mortimers were to leave Melcombe themselves the next day, and
Valentine was to accompany them home, sleeping one night at their
father's house by way of breaking his journey, and seeing his family
before he started on his voyage.

He was left alone, and watched his guests as their receding figures were
lost among the blossoming trees. He felt strangely weak that afternoon,
but he was happy. The lightness of heart that comes of giving up some
wrong or undesirable course of action (one that he thought wrong) might
long have been his, but he had not hitherto been able to get away from
the scene of it.

To-morrow he was to depart. Oh, glad to-morrow!

He laid himself back in his seat, and looked at the blue hills, and
listened to the sweet remote voices of the children, let apple-blossoms
drop all over him, peered through great brown boughs at the empty sky,
and lo