emember saying
that?--that I would rather never see you again than bring you to my
side except when it was your pleasure to be with me. Come as soon as you
can--as soon as you will.

'My mother--how shall I word it? She is nothing to me. I don't feel that
Nature bids me love her. I could pardon her for leaving my father; like
you, I see nothing terrible in that; but, like you, I _know_ that she
did wrong in abandoning her little children, and her kindness to Horace
at the end cannot atone for it. I don't think she has any love for _me_.
We shall not see each other; at all events, that is how I feel about it
at present. But I am very glad that Horace made provision for her--that
of course was right; if he had not done it, it would have been my duty.

'I had better tell you that Mary has known my mother's story for a long
time--but not that she still lived. My father told her just before his
death, and exacted her promise that, if it seemed well, she would repeat
everything to me. You shall know more about it, though it is bad all
through. My dear father had reason bitterly to regret his marriage long
before she openly broke it.

'But come and see me, and tell me what is to be done now that we are
free to look round. There is no shame in taking what poor Horace has
given us. You see that there will be at least three thousand pounds for
our share, apart from the income we shall have from the business.'

He was sure to come on the evening of the morrow. Nancy went out before
breakfast to post her letter; light-hearted in the assurance that her
husband's days of struggle were over, that her child's future no longer
depended upon the bare hope that its father would live and thrive by a
profession so precarious as that of literature, she gave little thought
to the details of the new phase of life before her. Whatever Tarrant
proposed would be good in her sight. Probably he would wish to live in
the country; he might discover the picturesque old house of which he
had so often spoken. In any case, they would now live together. He had
submitted her to a probation, and his last letter declared that he was
satisfied with the result.

Midway in the morning, whilst she was playing with her little boy,--rain
kept them in the house,--a knock at the front door announced some
unfamiliar visit. Mary came to the parlour, with a face of surprise.

'Who is it?'

'Miss. Morgan.'

'What? Jessica?'

Mary handed an envelope, addressed