er, saying that now it
would be worse than ever, for it was altogether impossible to confess
that she had met him yet again that evening.

So now, indeed, Letty's foot was in the snare: she had a secret with
Tom. Every time she saw him, liberty had withdrawn a pace. There was no
room for confession now. If a secret held be a burden, a secret shared
is a fetter. But Tom's heart rejoiced within him.

"Let me see!--How old are you, Letty?" he asked gayly.

"Eighteen past," she answered.

"Then you are fit to judge for yourself. You ain't a child, and they
are not your father and mother. What right have they to know everything
you do? I wouldn't let any such nonsense trouble me."

"But they give me everything, you know--food, and clothes, and all."

"Ah, just so!" returned Tom. "And what do you do for them?"

"Nothing."

"Why! what are you about all day?"

Letty gave him a brief sketch of her day.

"And you call that nothing?" exclaimed Tom. "Ain't that enough to pay
for your food and your clothes? Does it want your private affairs to
make up the difference? Or have you to pay for your food and clothes
with your very thoughts?--What pocket-money do they give you?"

"Pocket-money?" returned Letty, as if she did not quite know what he
meant.

"Money to do what you like with," explained Tom.

Letty thought for a moment.

"Cousin Godfrey gave me a sovereign last Christmas," she answered. "I
have got ten shillings of it yet."

Tom burst into a merry laugh.

"Oh, you dear creature!" he cried. "What a sweet slave you make! The
lowest servant on the farm gets wages, and you get none: yet you think
yourself bound to tell them everything, because they give you food and
clothes, and a sovereign last Christmas!"

Here a gentle displeasure arose in the heart of the girl, hitherto so
contented and grateful. She did not care about money, but she resented
the claim her conscience made for them upon her confidence. She did not
reflect that such claim had never been made by them; nor that the fact
that she felt the claim, proved that she had been treated, in some
measure at least, like a daughter of the house.

"Why," continued Tom, "it is mere, downright, rank slavery! You are
walking to the sound of your own chains. Of course, you are not to do
anything wrong, but you are not bound not to do anything they may
happen not to like."

In this style he went on, believing he spoke the truth, and was
teaching her to show