"Mr. Elliston, please do not feel so badly. I respect you, and hope we may ever be friends."
She approached him and held out her hand. He turned and regarded her with a queer glow in his eyes.
"I accept your proffer of continued friendship," he said with a forced smile. "It is better so than open war between us."
"It would avail nothing to make war on a friend," she said simply. "I respect you very highly, Mr. Elliston, and as Dyke's friend, shall always hope to retain your good opinion."
"Whatever may happen, you will have that," he returned.
Soon after the gentleman departed. The moment he was gone Nell Darrel sank to a chair, and, bowing her head on the table, began to cry.
Strange proceeding, was it not, after what had taken place? Women are enigmas that man, after ages of study, has been unable to solve.
Another face came before the girl's mind at that moment, the face of one to whom her heart had been given in the past, and who, for some unaccountable reason, had failed to put in an appearance or write during the past six months.
"If Harry were only here," murmured the girl, as she raised her head and wiped the tears from her pretty eyes. "I know something has happened to him—something terrible."
At this moment Aunt Jule, the colored housekeeper, the only other resident of the cottage, aside from Nell Barrel and her brother, entered the room, and her appearance at once put an end to Nell's weeping.