"I can't;" and again he attempted to pass her.
"Nay," she said, almost entreatingly; "let me speak to you for a minute or two."
"Come outside, then; I cannot speak to you here."
She followed him into the porch. The chair which he had brought for Lily was there, but Lily was gone. The fragrance of the scented water he had sprinkled upon his handkerchief lingered in the air. He placed his hand upon the chair, and in his fancy the sweet air became associated with the tender girl who had rested there awhile ago. He smiled, half gladly, half sadly, as the fancy came upon him. The housekeeper watched him earnestly, as if striving to read his thoughts.
"Now, Felix, where are you going afterwards?"
"I can't tell you, Martha," he replied--softly, for he was thinking of Lily. "My plans are unformed."
"When do you return?"
"Never; unless something dearer than life brings me back."
"You have had a quarrel with your father?"
"You are a witch," he said lightly, "and ought to be burnt."