You are unfit for Glory, you do not now, you never will, understand her."
"What do you mean?"
"You let the girl row away, offended, angry, eating out her heart, and you show no sign that you desire reconcilation."
"I have though. I waved my hat to her, but she took no notice."
"Waved your hat!" repeated Rebow, with suppressed scorn. "You never will read that girl's heart, and understand her moods. Oh, you fool! you fool! straining your arms after the unapproachable, unattainable, star! If she were mine" he stamped and clenched his fists.
"But she is not going to be yours, Elijah," said George with a careless laugh.
"No, of course not," said Elijah, joining in the laugh. "She is yours till death you do part."
"Tell me, what have I done wrong?" asked De Witt.
"There—you come to me, after all, to interpret the writing for you. It is there, written in letters of fire, Mene, mene, tekel, Upharsin! Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting, and this night shall thy kingdom be taken from thee and given to"
"Elijah, I do not understand this language. What ought I to do to regain Mehalah's favour?"
"You must go after her. Do you not feel it in every fibre, that you must, you mud-blood? Go after her at once. She is now at home, sitting alone, brooding over the offence, sore at your suffering her to be insulted without making remonstrance. Her wrong will grow into a mountain in her heart unless it be rooted up to-night. Her pride will flame up as her passion dies away, and she will not let you speak to her another tender word. She will hate and despise you. The little crack will split into a wide chasm. I heard her call 3"ou a white-livered coward."
"She did; you need not repeat it. She will be sorry when she is cool."
"That is just it, George. As soon as passion abates, her generous heart will turn to self-reproach, and she will be angry with herself for what she has done. She will accuse herself with having been violent, with having acted
