"I don't believe you would. Well, yes, they had something to do with the immediate cause of my leaving--though it would have come to the same thing without them. We were on the verge of the precipice as they entered. I must go and see how they are getting along, and if I can be of any use to them; but I shouldn't wonder if they shrunk from me and looked upon me as an unclean thing. Are you surprised at all this, Martha?"
"No," she replied tranquilly. "This is no house for sunshine. I knew when you came that you would not be here long."
"You can do me a service. I shall soon look my last on this place; will you pack up such things as are mine, and give them to a messenger I shall send?"
"Yes; they shall be ready this evening."
"Then that is all, and the world is before me for me to open. Where is my oyster-knife?" He felt in his pockets with a comical air. "Ah, it is here," and he touched his forehead confidently. "So now good-bye, Martha."
She did not relinquish the hand he held out to her, but clasped it firmly in hers.
"You will let me know where you live, Felix?"
"O, yes; I will let you know."
"I have but little money of my own, unfortunately—"
"Stop, stop, stop!" he cried, with his fingers on her "Enough has been said, and I must go. Good-bye."