of him. She
knew herself, she said, too well to give herself such liberty. He
should be to her as though he had never been. She would force herself
to forget him, if forgetting lies in the absence of all thought.
It was no more than Mr Whittlestaff had a right to demand, and no
more than she ought to be able to accomplish. Was she such a weak
simpleton as to be unable to keep her mind from running back to the
words and to the visage, and to every little personal trick of one
who could never be anything to her? "He has gone for ever!" she
exclaimed, rising up from her chair. "He shall be gone; I will not be
a martyr and a slave to my own memory. The thing came, and has gone,
and there is an end of it." Then Jane opened the door, with a little
piece of whispered information. "Please, Miss, a Mr Gordon wishes to
see you." The door was opened a little wider, and John Gordon stood
before her.

There he was, with his short black hair, his bright pleasant eyes,
his masterful mouth, his dark complexion, and broad, handsome, manly
shoulders, such as had dwelt in her memory every day since he had
departed. There was nothing changed, except that his raiment was
somewhat brighter, and that there was a look of prosperity about him
which he had lacked when he left her. He was the same John Gordon
who had seemed to her to be entitled to all that he wanted, and who
certainly would have had from her all that he had cared to demand.
When he had appeared before her, she had jumped up, ready to rush
into his arms; but then she had repressed herself, and had fallen
back, and she leant against the table for support.

"So I have found you here," he said.

"Yes, I am here."

"I have been after you down to Norwich, and have heard it all. Mary,
I am here on purpose to seek you. Your father and Mrs Lawrie are
both gone. He was going when I left you."

"Yes, Mr Gordon. They are both gone, and I am alone,--but for the
kindness of a most generous friend."

"I had heard, of course, of Mr Whittlestaff. I hope I shall not be
told now that I am doing no good about the house. At any rate I am
not a pauper. I have mended that little fault." Then he looked at
her as though he thought that there was nothing for him but to begin
the conversation where it had been so roughly ended at their last
meeting.

Did it not occur to him that something might have come across her
life during a period of nearly three years, which would stand in his
way and in