and hard, and stern, so that I was afraid of him when he came
to see us, and he used to be angry to mamma, and then stay away for
weeks together, then months, till at last we rarely saw him. The pretty
cottage was sold, with everything in it--even my presents; and mamma and
I lived in lodgings. And then trouble used to come about money; for
poor mamma would be half distracted when none was sent her, and this
dreadful neglected state went on, till mamma said she could bear it no
more. Then she used to go out and give lessons; but that was terribly
precarious work, and soon after she used to work with her needle."

"And your father?" said Richard.

"Never came," said Netta--"at least, very rarely. But I ought not to
tell you more."

"Can you not trust me?" he said, with a smile.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," cried the girl, impetuously, and she nestled closer
to him. "I can trust you. It was like this:--Papa was a Roman
Catholic, and mamma had always brought me up in her own Protestant
religion; and by degrees I found out he had made a point of that, and
had told mamma that their marriage was void, as it had only been
performed according to one church. He used to write and tell her that
he was free, and that if she would give up every claim on him, and
promise to write to that effect, he would settle a regular income upon
her."

"And your mamma?"

"I heard her say once to herself that it would be disgracing me, and
that she would sooner we starved. That is why we have worked so hard,
and had to live in such dreadful places," said the girl, shuddering.

"My poor child!" he said, tenderly. "Yours has been a hard life, and
you so delicate."

"I shall grow strong now," she said, half shyly; "but why do you call me
child?"

She looked up in his face with a smile, half playful, half tender--a
look that made him shiver.

"You are not cross with me?" she said, gazing at him piteously.

"Cross? No," he said, gently.

And he once more took her hand, trying hard to begin that which he had
brought her there to tell, but as far off as ever. At the end of a
minute, though, she gave him the opportunity, by saying naively--

"You have never told me anything about yourself. Mamma wondered what
you were--so different to everybody we meet."

"Let me tell you, Netta," he said, earnestly. "And promise me this--
that we are still to be great friends."

She looked at him wonderingly.

"Yes, of course," she said. "Why