“Just so, just so,” Miss Sibson answered, pleased to see that the girl was too proud to give way before her—though she was sure that she would cry by and by. “I am glad to think that there is no harm done. As I have said, the sooner a false step is retraced, the better; and therefore if he calls again I shall not permit him to see you.” “I do not wish to see him,” Mary said with dignity. “Very good. Then that is understood.” But strangely enough, the words had barely fallen from Miss Sibson’s lips when there came a knock at the house door, and the same thought leapt to the mind of each; and to Mary’s cheek a sudden vivid blush that, fading as quickly as it came, left her paler than before. Miss Sibson saw the girl’s distress, and she was about to suggest, in words equivalent to a command, that she should retire, when the door opened and the neat maidservant announced—with poorly masked excitement—that a gentleman wished to see Miss Smith. Miss Sibson frowned. “Where is he?” she asked, with majesty; as if she already scented the fray. “In the parlour, Ma’am.” “Very good. Very good. I will see him.” But not until the maid had retired did the schoolmistress rise to her feet. “You had better stay here,” she said, looking at her companion, “until my return. It is of course your wish that I should dismiss him?” Mary shivered. Those dreams of something brighter, something higher, something fuller than the daily round; of a life in the sunshine, of eyes that looked into hers—this was their end! But she said “Yes,” bravely. “Good girl,” said Miss Sibson, feeling, good, honest creature, more than she showed. “I will do so.” And she swam forth. Poor Mary! The door was barely shut before her heart whispered that she had only to cross the hall and she would see him; that, on the other hand, if she did not cross the hall, she would never, never, never see him again! She would stay here for all time, bound hand and foot to the unchanging round of petty duties, a blind slave in the mill, no longer a woman—though her woman’s heart hungered for love—but a dull, formal, old maid, growing more stiff and angular with every year! No farther away than the other side of the hall were love and freedom. And she dared not, she dared not open the door! And then she bethought her, that he was no weathercock, for he had come again! He had come! And it must be for something. For what? She heard the door open on the parlour side of the hall, and she knew that he was going. And she stood listening, waiting with blanched cheeks. The door opened and Miss Sibson came in, met her look—and started. “Oh!” the schoolmistress exclaimed; and for a moment she stood, looking strangely at the girl, as if she did not know what to say to her. Then, “We were mistaken,” she said, with a serious face. “It is not the gentleman you were expecting, my dear. On the contrary, it’s a stranger who wishes to see you on business.”