'Don't think of it—I would not accept a favour from his father's son; for that father was—through life—the enemy of mine!'
'Why—and about what?' asked Robert.
'Some quarrel about a lady in their youth, as subalterns, I believe.'
'Oho—the old, old story!' said Robert, gnawing his nether lip, and taking up his hat, but lingering still.
'You will see Ellinor, Robert dear,' said Mary, timidly and pleadingly. 'I can call her from her room—it will be for the last time.'
The cloud on young Wodrow's face deepened, as he said, in a low voice,
'No, Mary—thank you—I dare not—would rather not see her again.'
'Why?' asked Mary, taking his hands caressingly between her own.
'All my love for her might—nay, would break out for her with renewed force, for I am in some ways weak and unstable of purpose. Better not—better not—never again—never again,' he muttered, huskily, and Mary kissed him with her eyes full of tears, for just then her heart was very sore indeed.
'Besides, Mary, I have schooled myself for the future.'