“Mrs. Saltren!” scoffed the girl. “She is nothing. Marianne Saltren, the daughter of the canting old cheat, and widow of a mining captain. I won’t be servant to her. Not I.” “Whither were you going, then?” Thomasine was silent. Arminell walked at her side; she had let go the girl’s hand. “I ran after you,” said Arminell. “Was that what made you so hot and out of breath, miss?” “Yes, I was frightened when I heard that you had gone away.” “What was there to frighten you? I had not taken any spoons.” “I never supposed that for a moment. I was alarmed about yourself.” “I can take care of myself. I am old enough.” “I am not sure that you can take care of yourself, Thomasine; you and I come from the same place, dear Orleigh, and it is such a pleasure to me to see you, and hear you talk. When I found that you were gone, I thought what shall I do without my dear Tamsine to talk with about the old place I love so much?” “Why don’t you go back to it, miss, if you like it?” asked the girl. “Because I cannot. Come closer to me.” Arminell caught the girl’s hand again. “I also ran away. I ran away, as you are running away now. That has brought upon me great sorrow and bitter self-reproach, and I would save you from doing the same thing that I have done, and from the repentance that comes too late.” “They said at Orleigh, miss, that you were dead.” “I am dead to Orleigh and all I love there. Why did you come to town with Mrs. Saltren, if you do not care to be with her?” “Because I wanted to see the world, but I had no intention of remaining with her.” “Then what did you intend?” Thomasine shrugged her shoulders. “I wanted to see life, and have some fun, and know what London was like. I don’t want to slave here as I slaved in a farm.” “You came to town restless and discontented, so did I; and now I would give everything I have to be set back where I was. You came in the same spirit, and I have stopped you on the threshold of a grave disaster, and perhaps saved you from unutterable misery. Thomasine, dear Thomasine, tell me the truth. Were you going to that hotel where some one flattered your vanity and held out to you prospects of idleness? You were leaving hard work and the duties that fell to your lot where God placed you, because impatient of restraint. You had learned the one lesson that is taught in all schools to boys and girls alike—hatred of honest work. Tamsine, you must return with me.” The girl pouted. Arminell, looking round, saw the curl in her lip. “I don’t care to be under the Welshes,” said the girl; “nor Marianne Saltren, neither. They ain’t better than me, and why shouldn’t I be as stylish as they?”