him.”      

       An hour afterward the post-chaise was at the door.     

       My father himself took me to the carriage. I broke away from him, with a desperation which not even his resolution could resist. I ran, I flew, along the path that led to Dermody’s cottage. The door stood open; the parlor was empty. I went into the kitchen; I went into the upper rooms. Solitude everywhere. The bailiff had left the place; and his mother and his daughter had gone with him. No friend or neighbor lingered near with a message; no letter lay waiting for me; no hint was left to tell me in what direction they had taken their departure. After the insulting words which his master had spoken to him, Dermody’s pride was concerned in leaving no trace of his whereabouts; my father might consider it as a trace purposely left with the object of reuniting Mary and me. I had no keepsake to speak to me of my lost darling but the flag which she had embroidered with her own hand. The furniture still remained in the cottage. I sat down in our customary corner, by Mary’s empty chair, and looked again at the pretty green flag, and burst out crying.     

       A light touch roused me. My father had so far yielded as to leave to my mother the responsibility of bringing me back to the traveling carriage.     

       “We shall not find Mary here, George,” she said, gently. “And we may hear of her in London. Come with me.”      

       I rose and silently gave her my hand. Something low down on the clean white door-post caught my eye as we passed it. I stooped, and discovered some writing in pencil. I looked closer—it was writing in Mary’s hand! The unformed childish characters traced these last words of farewell:     

       “Good-by, dear. Don’t forget Mary.”      

       I knelt down and kissed the writing. It comforted me—it was like a farewell touch from Mary’s hand. I followed my mother quietly to the carriage.     

       Late that night we were in London.     

       My good mother did all that the most compassionate kindness could do (in her position) to comfort me. She privately wrote to the solicitors employed by her family, inclosing a description of Dermody and his mother and daughter and directing inquiries to be made at 

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