Auburn received the note, but, ingrate that he was to his pretty cousin, and feeling in no amiable mood of mind, he returned this brief reply.
“Dear Kate—
“I cannot come—I told you so. Don’t annoy me any more about your ‘charming friend.’ I hate all women but you! Kate, I go to-morrow.
“Harry.”
He remained that night until a late hour writing and arranging his things for his departure. Then bidding the servant call him at an early hour in the morning, he threw himself upon the bed—but not to sleep.
What the fair vision continually flitting through his brain and repelling the powers of the drowsy god, needs not be told.
——
CHAPTER IV.
Summer has come with its fruits and flowers; and away from the dust and turmoil of the city, our story takes us to a beautiful village overlooking the bright waters of the Cayuga Lake.
It is evening. The laborers are returning from their daily toil, some with their cradles and scythes thrown over their lusty shoulders, others, sunk amid the fresh and fragrant new-mown hay, are driving their teams homeward. From every branch the birds are gayly singing; cheerful sounds greet the ear from the farm-yard, and sweet on the gentle evening air floats the fragrance of the countless blossoms which adorn the neat garden-plots, and climb around the windows of the villagers.