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' Trixie had been waiting for Mark in the adjoining room into which she beckoned him as he passed the door. 'How did it end?' she whispered. 'You were very quiet in there; is it settled?' 'Yes, it's settled,' he said, 'I'm to go, Trixie; I shall have to shift for myself. They won't have me here any longer!' 'Oh, Mark!' cried Trixie. 'Take me with you, do, it will be so horrid at home with only Martha and Cuthbert. You and I always got on together; let me come too!' 'I can't,' said Mark, 'not yet--by-and-by, perhaps, Trixie, when I'm a rich man, you know, we can manage it--just now I shall hardly be able to keep myself.' 'I'll work hard at my drawing and get into the Academy. I've begun features already, and I shall soon get into the antique--then we can be famous together, you know.' 'We shall see,' said Mark; 'and in the meantime, Trixie, I think we had better both go to bed.' When he was alone again and had time to think over the day which had proved so eventful, he could not find it in him to regret what had happened. He had got rid of Uncle Solomon, he had cast off the wig and gown which were to him as the garb of slavery, and the petty restraints of his home life were gone as well; he had no sentimental feelings about his banishment, the bosom of his family had not been a very appreciative or sympathetic one, and he had always intended to go forth from it as soon as he could afford it. If he had really committed the offence for which he was to be driven from home, he could have considered himself a most interesting martyr; he did his best to do so as it was, but not with complete success. Betraying a dead man's trust is scarcely heroic, and even Mark felt that dimly, and could not dwell on his ill-treatment as he would dearly like to have done. But there was something exciting for him, notwithstanding, in the future; he was to go out into the world and shift for himself, and conquer; he would have a part, and it might be a difficult one, to play for a season; but after that he could resume his own character and take the place he meant to fill in the world, feeling at last that the applause he won was his by right. Vincent Holroyd had been unselfish in life; Mark had always recognised that trait in his character, though the liking he had for the man had not been much the stronger on that account--if now Vincent could see any brief and fleeting fame which his book might gain used as the steppi
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