if you do not leave it instantly."

"I shall certainly do so. Mara, am I to see you and speak to you no more?"

She had sunk into a chair, and again buried her face in her hands.

He waited a moment, but she gave no sign. Then with his eyes fixed on her
he sadly and slowly left the apartment.

At last she sprang up with the faint cry, "Owen," but her aunt stood
between her and the door, and he was gone.




CHAPTER VI

"PAHNASHIP"


When Mara realized that her lover had indeed gone, that in fact he had
been driven forth, and that she had said not one word to pave the way for
a future meeting, a sense of desolation she had never known before
overwhelmed her. Hitherto she had been sustained by an unfaltering belief
that no other course than the one which her aunt had inculcated was
possible; that, cost what it might, and end as it might, it was her
heritage. All now was confused and in doubt. She had heard her lofty,
self-sacrificing purpose virtually characterized as vain and wrong. She
had idolized the memory of her father and mother, and yet had been told
that her course was the very one of which they would not approve. The