ou saw that gentleman
who left the room just now, that younger gentleman, I am to be his wife
before long--he is a lawyer, may I tell him your tale?"

"No, no, not for worlds." Here Mrs. Home in her excitement rose to her
feet. "I have told the story, forget it now, let it die."

"What a very strange woman you are, Mrs. Home! I must say I cannot
understand you."

"You will never understand me. But it does not matter, we are not likely
to meet again. I saw you for the first time yesterday. I love you, I
thank you. You are a rich and prosperous young lady, you won't be too
proud to accept my thanks and my love. Now good-bye."

"No, you are not going in that fashion. I do not see why you should go
at all; you have told me your story, it only proves that you want money
very much, there is nothing at all to prevent your becoming my
amanuensis."

"I cannot, I must not. Let me go."

"But why? I do not understand."

"You will never understand. I can only repeat that I must not come
here."

Mrs. Home could look proud when she liked. It was now Miss Harman's turn
to become the suppliant; with a softness of manner which in so
noble-looking a girl was simply bewitching, she said gently----

"You confess that you love me."

Mrs. Home's eyes filled with tears.

"Because I do I am going away," she said.

She had just revealed by this little speech a trifle too much, the
trifle reflected a light too vivid to Charlotte Harman's mind, her face
became crimson.

"I will know the truth," she said, "I will--I must. This story--you say
it is about you; is it all about you? has it anything to say to me?"

"No, no, don't ask me--good-bye."

"I stand between you and the door until you speak. How old are you, Mrs.
Home?"

"I am twenty-five."

"That is my age. Who was that Charlotte your dying father wished you to
be a sister to?"

"I cannot tell you."

"You cannot--but you must. I will know. Was it--but impossible! it
cannot be--am _I_ that Charlotte?"

Mrs. Home covered her face with two trembling hands. The other woman,
with her superior intellect, had discovered the secret she had feebly
tried to guard. There was a pause and a dead silence. That silence told
all that was necessary to Charlotte Harman. After a time she said
gently, but all the fibre and tune had left her voice,----

"I must think over your story, it is a very, very strange tale. You are
right, you cannot come here; good-bye."

CHAPTER VIII.