“Dear Danuel Shadrach! thy valentine speaks,
  While the rosy red blushes surmantle her cheeks;
  And the joys of requital brings tears to her eye. 
  Now, Shadrach! my Shadrach!  I’m yours till I die.

  “The heart that was scornful and cold as a stone,
  Rejoices to hear the sweet sound of your name;
  Farewell to the miseries and griefs I have had,
  But I cannot forget them! dear Shadrach! my Shad!

  “Dear Shadrach! my Shadrach! my troubles are o’er,
  My name in its fulness you’ll whisper no more;
  Or your own sweet cognomen will make you feel sad,
  For I hold the whip-handle!  Oh Shadrach! my Shad!”

Mr. Plaisted read the lines over several times before he comprehended their meaning, or understood what connection the absurd picture had with them; but when the whole force of the matter struck him, his rage was uncontrollable.  He crumpled the valentine in his hands and threw it with all his force towards the fire, but in his anger he aimed too high, and it struck against the wall and bounced back at him, as if those hateful words were hurling themselves at him.

“Ha! if I only knew who sent that, I’d—­”

Words failed to express the punishment awaiting the author of those insulting verses.  But wait! did he know the handwriting? at thought of Dexie Sherwood’s previous productions coming to his mind.  Ah! that last verse seemed to throw out a hint!  He looked at his tormentor closely, and doubted.  That envelope, yes, Gussie must have sent it, for she had spelled his name “Danuel.”  He never would have thought that Gussie would be guilty of such a thing.  He would go away on the next train and never look on her face again.  Yes, he would go at once, and forget the whole cursed stuff—­said “cursed stuff” being the affectionate lines which continued to haunt him after the manner of the mind-destroying craze which Mark Twain inflicted on a later generation, “Punch, brothers, punch with care;” for as he walked down the street the words kept time to his feet, the train bells echoed them, and it was those very words that pealed a warning at the crossing.  So intent were his thoughts on the affectionate lines that he was oblivious to everything around him, and Mr. Sherwood spoke his name twice before Plaisted awoke from his reverie.

He felt inclined to refuse the kindly-worded invitation to dinner which Mr. Sherwood extended to him, but, on second thoughts, accepted it; he would satisfy himself as to whether Gussie sent the valentine or not.  But it took only a few questions to assure him that Gussie was innocent, after all, and she seemed so offended when he asked if she had told his name to anyone that he felt compelled to believe she knew nothing of the matter.  Gussie was too much enraptured with her own valentine to take much note of Plaisted’s abstracted manner, for even the sight of Gussie’s pretty face did not put aside the memory of those tormenting lines.