e meantime to keep all that has passed between us a secret for the
present. As to what he is to do himself in the interval while I am
supposed to be considering, I have left it to his own discretion--merely
reminding him that his attempting to see me again (while our positions
toward each other cannot be openly avowed) might injure my reputation.
I have offered to write to him if he wishes it; and I have ended by
promising to make the interval of our necessary separation as short as I
can.

"This sort of plain, unaffected letter--which I might have written
to him last night, if his story had not been running in my head as it
did--has one defect, I know. It certainly keeps him out of the way,
while I am casting my net, and catching my gold fish at the great house
for the second time; but it also leaves an awkward day of reckoning to
come with Midwinter if I succeed. How am I to manage him? What am I to
do? I ought to face those two questions as boldly as usual; but somehow
my courage seems to fail me, and I don't quite fancy meeting _that_
difficulty, till the time comes when it _must_ be met. Shall I confess
to my diary that I am sorry for Midwinter, and that I shrink a little
from thinking of the day when he hears that I am going to be mistress at
the great house?

"But I am not mistress yet; and I can't take a step in the direction of
the great house till I have got the answer to my letter, and till I
know that Midwinter is out of the way. Patience! patience! I must go
and forget myself at my piano. There is the 'Moonlight Sonata' open,
and tempting me, on the music-stand. Have I nerve enough to play it, I
wonder? Or will it set me shuddering with the mystery and terror of it,
as it did the other day?"

"Five o'clock.--I have got his answer. The slightest request I can make
is a command to him. He has gone; and he sends me his address in London.
'There are two considerations' (he says) 'which help to reconcile me to
leaving you. The first is that _you_ wish it, and that it is only to
be for a little while. The second is that I think I can make some
arrangements in London for adding to my income by my own labor. I have
never cared for money for myself; but you don't know how I am beginning
already to prize the luxuries and refinements that money can provide,
for my wife's sake.' Poor fellow! I almost wish I had not written to him
as I did; I almost wish I had not sent him away from me.

"Fancy if Mother Oldershaw