“No summer ever came back, and no two summers ever were alike,” said I, with a degree of Orphic wisdom that astonished myself. “Times change, and people change; and if our hearts do not change as readily, so much the worse for us.

Good-by, Priscilla!”

I gave her hand a pressure, which, I think, she neither resisted nor returned. Priscilla’s heart was deep, but of small compass; it had room but for a very few dearest ones, among whom she never reckoned me.

On the doorstep I met Hollingsworth. I had a momentary impulse to hold out my hand, or at least to give a parting nod, but resisted both. When a real and strong affection has come to an end, it is not well to mock the sacred past with any show of those commonplace