When he entered the room, pushing his fingers through his hair as was his habit, he was silent and grave.
"Well, well!" said the whole party at once, "have you found Valmai ?" "Yes, father, I have found my wife," he answered, in measured and serious tones; "but she is unforgiving, and refuses to have anything more to say to me.

In fact, I have heard from her own lips that she no longer loves me! There is nothing more to be said.

I have come back to my old home, to work again on the farm, to try to pick up the threads of my past life, and to make your life happier for my presence." "Cardo, my dear boy," said the old man, rising as if in reverence for his son's grief, "is this possible?
I do indeed feel for you." "Oh, nonsense," said Lewis Wynne, "it is only a lover's quarrel; you will make it up before long.

I will go to the girl, and make it all right for you." "If you wish to do me a kindness, uncle, and you, too, dear aunt, you will never mention the subject to me or to anyone else.

It is a thing of the past; let us bury it out of sight and hearing." "We will do what you wish, my dear boy; but I am afraid, amongst these gossiping villagers, you will often hear the subject alluded to in joke or in earnest." "Oh! I quite expect that," said Cardo, with an attempt at a laugh, but it was a sorry attempt.