dozen words with which she greeted Richard, will seem unnatural to the disinterested reader. But in those words, poor Richard, with a lovers clairvoyance, read it at a single glance. The same resentful impulse, the same sickening of the heart, that he had felt in the conservatory, took possession of him once more. To be witness of Severn's passion for Gertrude,—that he could endure. To be witness of Gertrude's passion for Severn,—against that obligation his reason rebelled.
"What is it you wish, Richard?" Gertrude repeated. "Have you forgotten anything?"
"Nothing! nothing!" cried the young man. "It's no matter!"
He gave a great pull at his bridle, and almost brought his horse back on his haunches, and then, wheeling him about on himself, he thrust in his spurs and galloped out of the gate. On the highway he came upon Major Luttrel, who stood looking down the lane.
"I'm going to the Devil, sir!" cried Richard. "Give me your hand on it."
Luttrel held out his hand. "My poor young man," said he, "you're out of your head. I'm sorry for you. You haven't been making a fool of yourself?"
"Yes, a damnable fool of myself!"
Luttrel breathed freely. "You'd better go home
