ALOUSY. CHAPTER XXVIII. The bill was paid; the black horse saddled and brought round to the door. Mr. and Mrs. Vint stood bare-headed to honor the parting guest; and the latter offered him the stirrup-cup. Griffith looked round for Mercy. She was nowhere to be seen. Then he said, piteously, to Mrs. Vint, "What, not even bid me good by?" Mrs. Vint replied, in a very low voice, that there was no disrespect intended. "The truth is, sir, she could not trust herself to see you go; but she bade me give you a message. Says she, 'Mother, tell him I pray God to bless him, go where he will.'" Something rose in Griffith's throat "O Dame!" said he, "if she only knew the truth, she would think better of me than she does. God bless her!" And he rode sorrowfully away, alone in the world once more. At the first turn in the road, he wheeled his horse, and took a last lingering look. There was nothing vulgar, nor inn-like, in the "Packhorse." It stood fifty yards from the road, on a little rural green, and was picturesque itself. The front was entirely clad with large-leaved ivy. Shutters there were none: the windows, with their diamond panes, were lustrous squares, set like great eyes in the green ivy. It looked a pretty, peaceful retreat, and in it Griffith had found peace and a dove-like friend. He sighed, and rode away from the sight; not raging and convulsed, as when he rode from Hernshaw Castle,
