_I have seen Sydney; he has told me all; and, hard as I found it to believe, it was impossible to doubt, for he has discovered proofs which cannot be denied. I make no reproaches, shall demand no confession or atonement, for I cannot forget that I once loved you. I give you three days to find another home, before I return to tell the family who you are. Go at once, I beseech you, and spare me the pain of seeing your disgrace._ Slowly, steadily she read it twice over, then sat motionless, knitting her brows in deep thought. Presently she drew a long breath, tore up the note, and rising, went slowly toward the Hall, saying to herself, “Three days, only three days! Can it be accomplished in so short a time? It shall be, if wit and will can do it, for it is my last chance. If this fails, I’ll not go back to my old life, but end all at once.” Setting her teeth and clenching her hands, as if some memory stung her, she went on through the twilight, to find Sir John waiting to give her a hearty welcome. “You look tired, my dear. Never mind the reading tonight; rest yourself, and let the book go,” he said kindly, observing her worn look. “Thank you, sir. I am tired, but I’d rather read, else the book will not be finished before I go.” “Go, child! Where are you going?” demanded Sir John, looking anxiously at her as she sat down. “I will tell you by-and-by, sir.” And opening the book, Jean read for a little while. But the usual charm was gone; there was no spirit in the voice of the reader, no interest in the face of the listener, and soon he said, abruptly, “My dear, pray stop! I cannot listen with a divided mind. What troubles you? Tell your friend, and let him comfort you.” As if the kind words overcame her, Jean dropped the book, covered up her face, and wept so bitterly that Sir John was much alarmed; for such a demonstration was doubly touching in one who usually was all gaiety and smiles. As he tried to soothe her, his words grew tender, his solicitude full of a more than paternal anxiety, and his kind heart overflowed with pity and affection for the weeping girl. As she grew calmer, he urged her to be frank, promising to help and counsel her, whatever the affliction or fault might be. “Ah, you are too kind, too generous! How can I go away and leave my one friend?” sighed Jean, wiping the tears away and looking up at him with grateful eyes. “Then you do care a little for the old man?” said Sir John with an eager look, an involuntary pressure of the hand he held. Jean turned her face away, and answered, very low, “No one ever was so kind to me as you have been. Can I help caring for you more than I can express?”