of his remarks was possible, he would bow gracefully to the lady indicated, and fill her glass with wine, while he filled her heart with chagrin and rankling hate.  Since the restoration of the Dante, not a word had passed between him and Edna, who regarded him with increasing detestation; but on one occasion, when the conversation was general, and he sat silent at the foot of the table, she looked up at him and found his eyes fixed on her face.  Inclining his head slightly to arrest her attention, he handed a decanter of sherry to one of the servants, with some brief direction, and a moment after her glass was filled, and the waiter said: 

“Mr. Murray’s compliments to Aaron Hunt’s granddaughter.”  Observation had taught her what was customary on such occasions, and she knew that he had once noticed her taking wine with the gentleman who sat next to her; but now repugnance conquered politeness, the mention of her grandfather’s name seemed an insult from his lips, and putting her hand over her glass, she looked him full in the face and shook her head.  Nevertheless he lifted his wine, bowed, and drank the last drop in the crystal goblet; then turned to a gentleman on his right hand, and instantly entered into a learned discussion on the superiority of the wines of the Levant over those of Germany, quoting triumphantly the lines of M. de Nevers: 

“Sur la membrane de leur sens, Font des sillons charmans.”

When the ladies withdrew to the parlor he rose, as was his custom, and held the door open for them.  Edna was the last of the party, and as she passed him he smiled mockingly and said: 

“It was unfortunate that my mother omitted to enumerate etiquette in the catalogue of studies prosecuted at the parsonage.”

Instantly the answer sprang to her lips: 

“She knew I had a teacher for that branch nearer home”; but her conscience smote her, she repressed the words, and said gravely: 

“My reason was, that I think only good friends should take wine together.”

“This is your declaration of war?  Very well, only remember I raise a black flag and show no quarter.  Woe to the conquered.”

She hurried away to the library, and thenceforth “kept out of his way” more assiduously than ever; while the fact that he scrutinized her closely, rendered her constrained and uncomfortable, when forced to enter his presence.  Mrs. Murray well understood her hostile feeling toward her son, but she never alluded to it, and his name was not mentioned by either.

One by one the guests departed; autumn passed, winter was ushered in by wailing winds and drizzling rains; and one morning as Edna came out of the hot-house, with a basketful of camellias, she saw St. Elmo bidding his mother good-bye, as he started on his long journey to Oceanica.  They stood on the steps, Mrs. Murray’s head rested on his shoulder, and bitter tears were falling on her cheeks as she talked eagerly and rapidly to him.  Edna heard him say impatiently: