o and
what I am, to whom you are giving the honour of your kindness. Perhaps
you ought to have known before; but here at Enderley we seemed to be
equals--friends."

"I have indeed felt it so."

"Then you will the sooner pardon my not telling you--what you never
asked, and I was only too ready to forget--that we are not equals--that
is, society would not regard us as such--and I doubt if even you
yourself would wish us to be friends."

"Why not?"

"Because you are a gentlewoman and I am a tradesman."

The news was evidently a shock to her--it could not but be, reared as
she had been. She sat--the eye-lashes dropping over her flushed
cheeks--perfectly silent.

John's voice grew firmer--prouder--no hesitation now.

"My calling is, as you will soon hear at Norton Bury, that of a tanner.
I am apprentice to Abel Fletcher--Phineas's father."

"Mr. Fletcher!" She looked up at me--a mingled look of kindliness and
pain.

"Ay, Phineas is a little less beneath your notice than I am. He is
rich--he has been well educated; I have had to educate myself. I came
to Norton Bury six years ago--a beggar-boy. No, not quite that--for I
never begged! I either worked or starved."

The earnestness, the passion of his tone, made Miss March lift her
eyes, but they fell again.

"Yes, Phineas found me in an alley--starving. We stood in the rain,
opposite the mayor's house. A little girl--you know her, Miss
March--came to the door, and threw out to me a bit of bread."

Now indeed she started. "You--was that you?"

"It was I."

John paused, and his whole manner changed into softness, as he resumed.
"I never forgot that little girl. Many a time, when I was inclined to
do wrong, she kept me right--the remembrance of her sweet face and her
kindness."

That face was pressed down against the sofa where she sat. I think
Miss March was all but weeping.

John continued.

"I am glad to have met her again--glad to have been able to do her some
small good in return for the infinite good she once did me. I shall
bid her farewell now--at once and altogether."

A quick, involuntary turn of the hidden face asked him "Why?"

"Because," John answered, "the world says we are not equals, and it
would neither be for Miss March's honour nor mine did I try to force
upon it the truth--which I may prove openly one day--that we ARE
equals."

Miss March looked up at him--it were hard to say with what expression,
of pleasure, or pride,