There stood his books, silent and dear witnesses of the world of hope and culture and refined enjoyment he had been meaning to enter.

He was to know them no more.
Their mute faces seemed to look at him mournfully as parting friends.

He rapidly made his selection, for that night he was to be off in time to reach the vessel before she sailed, and he felt even glad to avoid the Thanksgiving festivities for which he had so little relish.

Diana's frolicsome gaiety seemed heart-breaking to him, on the same principle that the poet sings: "How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care ?" To the heart struck through with its first experiences of real suffering all nature is full of cruelty, and the young and light-hearted are a large part of nature.
"She has no feeling," he said to himself.

"Well, there is one reason the more for my going.