Una put her arms round his neck. "Oh, Charles," she whispered, "don't give up altogether. Indeed-- indeed--He does save sinners. He always went after the bad ones." Charles looked into her eager, tear-filled eyes. "Why, you're the sort that can persuade people to turn religious," he said. "Good-bye, little Una." He kissed her very affectionately, then took hold of Carrie's hands. "Good-bye," he said. "Between you, you've made me wish I'd had a chance of being a decenter fellow." He stooped down, and kissed her forehead quickly and shyly, then went hurriedly away. Poor Carrie made no further protest. She cried bitterly, as well she might; for her first fresh fancy, and her girlish peace, had been sacrificed to the unjustifiable effort to escape from the inevitable consequences that follow on sinful lives. Una stood still for a moment. Ideas always came to her in sudden flashes, and, with her erring, hopeless brother's last words, there came before her the momentary vision of a possible future for herself. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD. Not very long after this abrupt conclusion of so much that had appeared to be but just begun, and in process of continuance, the care-taker at Cleverley Hall uncovered and set to rights three or four of the smaller rooms, and received the four Miss Haredales, who came there to wait till the family plans were somewhat matured, to leave some of their belongings in one locked-up room, while the rest of the house was prepared for letting; and to select and pack all that it was necessary to take with them, for what was likely to be some months, at least, of visiting and wandering. An inhabited oasis in the midst of brown holland and shutters is not cheerful; but the last few days before the break-up in London had been so wretched that the girls were all thankful for any change, and Amethyst, in particular, packed, contrived, and planned with a vigour and energy that would fain have made the little work into much. Freedom gave her a sense of eager, strenuous life, and there was nothing before her but a long stretch of idle, tiresome days, made lonely by uncongenial companionship. "How I hate it all!" she thought; but her hatred was living and vigorous, and there was a ring in her voice and a spring in her feet, as she moved about the empty house, which had never been there in the Eaton Square drawing-rooms. The afternoon was hot, tea was on the school-room table. Kattern, with her pretty face markedly sullen, was slowly sipping her tea. Una lay idly back in a corner of the sofa, and Tory was sitting on the deep ledge of the window, holding the end of her immense plait of hair in her hand, and contemplating Amethyst's quick, careful packing of small valuables, with a curious elvish expression of critical observation.