perhaps he was married. Not a word had been spoken to her on which
she could found a fair hope. But she had never been so certain of her
love,--of her love as a true, undoubted, and undoubtable fact--of
an unchangeable fact,--as she was now. And why should this poor old
woman, with her many years of service, be disturbed? She went again
up to her bedroom, and sitting at her open window and looking out,
saw him still pacing slowly up and down the long walk. As she looked
at him, he seemed to be older than before. His hands were still
clasped behind his back. There was no look about him as that of a
thriving lover. Care seemed to be on his face,--nay, even present,
almost visibly, on his very shoulders. She would go to him and plead
for Mrs Baggett.

But in that case what should become of herself? She was aware that
she could no longer stay in his house as his adopted daughter. But
she could go forth,--and starve if there was nothing better for her.
But as she thought of starvation, she stamped with one foot against
the other, as though to punish herself for her own falsehood. He
would not let her starve. He would get some place for her as a
governess. And she was not in the least afraid of starvation. It
would be sweeter for her to work with any kind of hardship around
her, and to be allowed to think of John Gordon with her heart free,
than to become the comfortable mistress of his house. She would not
admit the plea of starvation even to herself. She wanted to be free
of him, and she would tell him so, and would tell him also of the
ruin he was about to bring on his old servant.

She watched him as he came back into the house, and then she rose
from her chair. "But I shall never see him again," she said, as she
paused before she left the room.

But what did that matter? Her not seeing him again ought to make,
should make, no difference with her. It was not that she might
see him, but that she might think of him with unsullied thoughts.
That should be her object,--that and the duty that she owed to Mrs
Baggett. Why was not Mrs Baggett entitled to as much consideration
as was she herself,--or even he? She turned to the glass, and wiped
her eyes with the sponge, and brushed her hair, and then she went
across the passage to Mr Whittlestaff's library.

She knocked at the door,--which she had not been accustomed to
do,--and then at his bidding entered the room. "Oh, Mary," he said
laughing, "is that the way you begin, by