The few days that succeeded made a striking change in the appearance of Barwood.  He became pale and haggard, and seemed to have lost his capacity for business and fixed attention.  He sat staring helplessly at his papers for an hour at a time.  The general, who with all his iniquities was a good-hearted chief, thought he was sick, and told him to stay at home and take care of himself.  His reflections at this time were tormenting.  He saw that he had indeed been drawn within the influence of the fatal coin.  It was at him that its malignity was directed, and he believed that his doom was approaching, as indeed it was.  Sometimes he gazed at his altered face in the glass, while tears streamed down his cheeks.  He said aloud, in a piteous tone, “Poor Henry Barwood.”

The sympathy of the world is generally upon the side of the unsuccessful lover.  He is considered to have been defrauded of happiness which should by right have been his.  But is it fair?  Because her face is sweet, her manners are amiable, her form is slender and graceful, and her hair has a golden shine, and Barwood or Brown or Travers, as the case may be, in common with all the world, recognizes it, does that establish a claim upon her?  Just as likely as not he has a snub nose and only fifteen hundred a year, and cannot dance the Boston.  No! sympathy is well enough, but let not the blame be cast upon Chloe every time that Daphnis goes off in despair to the Sandwich Islands, or the war in Cuba, or turns out a good-for-nothing sot.  Let it rather be set down as one of the ill-adjustments of which there are so many in life, and the endurance of which is no doubt of service in some direction not yet fully understood.

In about a week there came from Holbrook Farm a message which was not needed to complete the measure of Barwood’s unhappiness.

“My father,” wrote Nina, “has just returned.  He has decided that we are to remove permanently to Connecticut, where my aunt has fallen heir to the Holbrook homestead.  We shall leave next Monday.  Will you let us see you before we go?”

He mounted his horse and started at once.  He did not know exactly what he should do or say.  His ideas were in a state of confusion, and there was a numbness over all his sensations.  He gave himself up blindly to his destiny.

He saw Nina sitting in the shade of an apple-tree, half-way down the lawn, near a little plateau which served for a croquet ground.  He tied his horse to the fence outside, much to the disappointment of the rollicking negro boys, and walked up.  Nina held in her lap a tray of coins which she was engaged in brightening.  She assumed a sprightliness not quite natural, and evidently designed to obviate the awkwardness of their peculiar relation.

“We have had an accident,” said she.  “One of our chimneys fell through the roof during the storm last night.  It shook down the plaster upon papa’s cabinet.  The glass was broken and the rain came in so that this morning it was in a sorry condition.  I am repairing damages, you see.  If I were superstitious,” she continued, “I should fear that something was going to happen.  I meet with so many omens lately.  I spill salt, cross funerals, and make one of thirteen at dinner parties.”