"And was there no young fellow in all Hendon to make those lonely walks of yours more cheerful?" She was opening her book with nervous fingers, and stopped to look up with blank eyes. "Eh? No handsome young fellow who whispered that you were a pretty little thing, and had no right to go moping about by yourself? None? Eh?" Her old look of weariness was creeping back. "Come, Mercy, tell the truth, you sly little thing--eh?" She was fumbling his withered roses with nervous fingers. Her throat felt parched. He looked down at her saddening face, and then muttered, as if speaking to himself: "I told that Bonnithorne this hole and corner was no place for the girl. He should have taken her to London." The girl's heart grew sick. The book was closed and dropped back on to the table. "And now, Mercy," said Hugh Ritson, "I want you to be a good little woman, and do as I bid you, and not speak a word. Will you?" The child-face brightened, and Mercy nodded her head, a little tear rolling out of one gleaming eye. At the same moment she put her hand in the pocket of her muslin apron, and took out a pair of knitted mittens, and tried to draw them on to Hugh's wrists. He looked at the gift, and smiled, and said: "I won't need these--not to-day, I mean. See, I wear long gloves, with fur wristbands--there, I'll store your mittens away in my pocket. What a sad little soul--crying again?" Mercy's pretty dreams were dying one by one. She lifted now a timid hand until it rested lightly on his breast. "Listen. I'm going out, but I'll soon be back. I must talk with Mrs. Drayton, and I've something to pay her, you know." The timid hand fell to the girl's side. "When I return there may be some friends with me--a lady and a gentleman--but I want to see them alone, quite alone, and I don't want them to see you--do you understand?" A great dumb sadness was closing in on Mercy's heart. "But they will soon be gone, and then to-morrow you and I must talk again, and try to arrange matters so that you won't be quite so lonely, but will stir about, and see the doctor for your eyes, and get well again, and try to forget--" "Forget!" said the girl, faintly. Her parched throat took away her voice. "I mean--that is to say--I was hoping--of course, I mean forget all the trouble in Cumberland. And now get away to bed like a good little girl. I must be off. Ah, how late!--see, a quarter to eleven, and my watch is slow." He walked into the bar, buttoning up his coat to his ears. The girl followed him listlessly. Mrs. Drayton was washing glasses behind the counter. "Mind you send this little friend of mine to bed very soon," said Hugh to the landlady. "Look how red her eyes are! And keep a good fire in this cozy parlor on the left--you are to have visitors--you need not trouble about a bedroom--they won't stay long. Let me see, what do they say is the time of your last up-train?" "To London? The last one starts away at half past twelve," said the landlady.