Especially I felt this when I made any attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth. He experienced no suffering from estrangement- no yearning after reconciliation; and though，more than once，my fast falling tears blistered the page over which we both bent，they produced no more effect on him than if his heart had been really a matter of stone or metal. To his sisters，meantime，he was somewhat kinder than usual: as if afraid that mere coldness would not sufficiently convince me how pletely I was banished and banned，he added the force of contrast; and this I am sure he did not by malice，but on principle.

The night before he left home，happening to see him walking in the garden about sunset，and remembering，as I looked at him，that this man，alienated as he now was，had once saved my life，and that we were near relations，I was moved to make a last attempt to regain his friendship. I went out and approached him as he stood leaning over the little gate; I spoke to the point at once.

"St. John，I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us be friends."

"I hope we are friends," was the unmoved reply; while he still watched the rising of the moon，which he had been contemplating as I approached.

"No，St. John，we are not friends as we were. You know that."