n't stay
with your friends for ever,--and what are you going to do?"

There are some cases in which it is more easy to speak to a stranger
than to one's dearest and oldest friend. Mary had felt this when she
rushed out, not knowing how to tell the vicar's wife that she must leave
her, and find some independence for herself. It was, however, strange to
rush into such a discussion with so little warning, and Mary's pride was
very sensitive. She said, "I am not going to burden my friends," with a
little indignation; but then she remembered how forlorn she was, and her
voice softened. "I must do something,--but I don't know what I am good
for," she said, trembling, and on the verge of tears.

"My dear, I have heard a great deal about you," said the stranger; "it is
not rash, though it may look so. Come back with me directly, and see
Connie. She is a very interesting little thing, though I say it; it is
wonderful sometimes to hear her talk. You shall be her governess, my
dear. Oh, you need not teach her anything,--that is not what I mean. I
think, I am sure, you will be the saving of her, Miss Vivian; and such a
lady as you are, it will be everything for the other girls to live with
you. Don't stop to think, but just come with me. You shall have whatever
you please, and always be treated like a lady. Oh, my dear, consider my
feelings as a mother, and come; oh, come to Connie! I know you will save
her; it is an inspiration. Come back! Come back with me!"

It seemed to Mary too like an inspiration. What it cost her to cross that
threshold and walk in a stranger, to the house which had been all her
life as her own, she never said to any one. But it was independence; it
was deliverance from entreaties and remonstrances without end. It was a
kind of setting right, so far as could be, of the balance which had got
so terribly wrong. No writing to the earl now; no appeal to friends;
anything in all the world,--much more, honest service and kindness,--must
be better than that.

VIII.

"Tell the young lady all about it, Connie," said her mother.

But Connie was very reluctant to tell. She was very shy, and clung to her
mother, and hid her face in her ample dress; and though presently she was
beguiled by Mary's voice, and in a short time came to her side, and clung
to her as she had clung to Mrs. Turner, she still kept her secret to
herself. They were all very kind to Mary, the elder girls standing round
in a respectful c