When I overtook her, which was not for some time, she told me the whole story of her troubles,--and how good Doctor Urquhart had been. Also, the whole story about her poor daughter--at least as much as is known about it. Mrs. Cartwright thinks she is still somewhere in London, and Doctor Urquhart has promised to find her out, if he can. I don't understand much about these sort of dreadful things--Penelope never thought it right to tell us: but I can see that what Doctor Urquhart has said has given great comfort to the mother of unfortunate Lydia. "Miss," said the old woman, with the tears running down, "the Doctor's been an angel of goodness to me, and there's many a one in these parts as can say the same--though he be only a stranger, here to-day and gone to-morrow, as one may say. Eh, dear, it'll be an ill day for many a poor body when he goes." I am glad I saw him--glad I heard all this. Somehow, hearing of things like this makes one feel quieter. It does not much matter after all--it does not, indeed! I never wanted anybody to think about me, to care for me--half as much as somebody to look up to--to be satisfied in--to honour and reverence. I can do that--still! Like a fool, I have been crying again, till I ought, properly, to tear this leaf out, and begin again afresh. No, I will not. Nobody will ever see it, and it does no harm to any human being. "God bless him," the old woman said. I might say something of the like sort, too. For he did me a deal of good: he was very kind to me. CHAPTER XIII. HER STORY. Papa and Penelope are out to dinner--I, myself, was out yesterday, and did not return till they were gone; so I sit up for them; and, meantime, shall amuse myself with writing here. The last date was Sunday, and now it is only Tuesday, but much seems to have happened between. And yet nothing really has happened but two quiet days at the Cedars, and one gay evening--or people would call it gay. It has been the talk of the neighbourhood for weeks--this amateur concert at the camp. We got our invitation, of course. The such and such Regiments (I forget which, all but one) presenting their compliments to the Reverend William Henry and the Misses Johnston, and requesting their company; but papa shook his head, and Penelope was indifferent. Then I gave up all idea of going, if I ever had any. The surprise was almost pleasant when Mrs. Granton, coming in, declared she would take me herself, as it was quite necessary I should have a little gaiety to keep me from moping after Lisabel. Papa consented, and I went. Driving along over the moors was pleasant, too--even though it snowed a little. I found myself laughing back at Colin, who sat on the box, occasionally turning to shake the white flakes off him like a great Polar bear. His kindly, hearty face was quite refreshing to behold.