CHAPTER III.
But who shall so forecast the years, And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand through time to catch The far-off interest of tears?
TENNYSON.
The day came.
The farewell dinner was got ready -- the best of the season it must be, for the honour of all parties and the love of one; but it mocked them.

Mrs.Landholm's noble roast pig, and sweet chickens, and tea and fine bread; they were something to be remembered, not enjoyed, and to be remembered for ever, as part of one strong drop of life's bittersweet mixture.

The travellers, for Mr.Landholm was to accompany his son, had already dressed themselves in their best; and the other eyes, when they could, gazed with almost wondering pride on the very fine and graceful figure of the young seeker of fortune.

But eyes could do little, and lips worse than little.

The pang of quitting the table, and the hurried and silent good-byes, were over at last; and the wagon was gone.
It seemed that the whole household was gone.