"Well, sir, if you can call it speaking, I have. This evening, as I was coming home, I met him in one of the walks. He wished me good evening, and asked how my lady was. I stood to answer him, saying my lady was still very ill. That's all, sir." "Has he spoken to you at any other time?" "No, sir, never. I had forgot his name, sir, till you mentioned it now." She did seem to speak truthfully, and Mr. Chandos looked at me. Lizzy, finding nothing more was asked, turned to the sideboard again, and presently quitted the room. "The traitor is not Lizzy Dene, Anne!" Certainly it did not appear to be. I felt puzzled. Mr. Chandos continued his walk, and the clock struck ten. Putting up my work, I held out my hand to wish him good-night, and took courage to speak out the question lying so heavily on my heart. "Do you think, sir, Mr. Edwin Barley can really claim me?" "I cannot tell, Anne. At any rate he would have, I imagine, to make you first of all a ward in Chancery, and get himself appointed guardian; and that would take time." "He could not come into your house and take me forcibly out of it?" "Certainly not; and I—acting for Lady Chandos—will take very good care he does not do it." "Good-night, sir!" "It is to be 'sir' to the end—is it? Good-night, Anne," he went on, shaking me by the hand. "I wish I dare offer you a different good-night from this formal one! I wish I could feel justified in doing it." I don't know what I stammered; something foolish and incoherent; and in tone, at any rate, full of my depth of love. "No, it may not be," he answered, very decisively. "If a wavering crossed my mind before, when I thought you—forgive me, Anne—an unpretending governess-girl, as to whether I should lay the good and the ill before you and let you decide, it has passed now. The daughter of Colonel Hereford and of Miss Carew of Keppe-Carew, must not be trifled with. Good-night, child!" The tears were streaming down my cheeks when I entered my bedroom. Had Mr. Chandos cast me off for ever? Since that unlucky remark of his, that my family was better than his own, I know not what sweet visions of rose-colour had been floating in my mind. I _was_ of good descent, with a lady's breeding and education; surely, if he could forgive my want of money and my having lived as a dependent at Mrs. Paler's, there had been no very great barrier between me and a younger brother of Chandos! Dwelling upon this, my tears blinding me, it startled me to see Mrs. Penn quietly seated in my room. She pointed to the door. "Shut it and bolt it, Miss Hereford. I have been waiting to talk to you!" I shut it, but did not slip the bolt. Where was the necessity? Nobody ever came into my room at night—Mrs. Penn excepted. "Come and sit down, and tell me why you are crying!"