She smiled with a ghastly expression of selfcontempt, and continued, “It is, sir, because I have it not in my power to repay you for your kindness to me. I must die in the debt of a stranger, for all help is now going from my hands. These few dresses and trinkets----” And as she sobbed out the words she placed her hand upon a small heap of theatrical robes and decorations which lay beside her. “These are all--and a very poor all they are--I have to repay you with, besides a buckle that I have here upon my band, which my mother gave me; and that I wish you to take off and keep when I am dead: but I must have it till then. I cannot part with it before.” She paused, and gazed upon the trinket of which she spoke as though the thoughts it awakened congealed her into stone; for not a muscle of her countenance moved, and nothing showed she was alive save the rapid tears which dropped in painful noiselessness from her eyelashes to the ground. “No, that is not quite all,” she resumed, almost in a whisper; “there is a necklace that was given me at school one Midsummer holiday: you shall have that, too. And I should like you to give it--I know you will forgive me saying so, won't you? Give it--if she be not too proud--give it--if there be any one in the world you love, give it _her_, and ask her to wear it for my poor sake!” Colin was unused to the great sorrows of the world; his nature would have its way; he could contain his heart no longer, and burst into an agonizing and audible fit of grief. When his words came he begged her to desist; he refused to take anything from her as a recompense for what he had done; and, in as encouraging a tone as he could assume, he bid her cheer up, and hope for the best. He said she might yet recover, and be happy, why not? _He_ would be her friend for ever, if she would but pluck her heart up, and look on things more cheerfully. And, as he said this,--he knew not how he did it, or why,--but he kissed her forehead passionately, and pressed her hand within his own, as though those fingers might never be unclenched again. At that moment the room door was very unceremoniously opened, and two persons stood before him. Mrs. Popple had entered first, leading forwards Fanny Woodruff! “Colin!” exclaimed the latter in a tone of mingled astonishment and reproach, and at the same time retreating precipitately from the room, while Miss Wintlebury sharply reproved her landlady for this rudeness, and Mr. Clink himself as suddenly assumed much more of the natural aspect of a fool than any person would have believed his features at all capable of. At length he spoke; and, rushing out after Fanny, exclaimed, “You shall not go! I have done no wrong! Come back--come back!” “Sir!” replied Fanny, with the determined voice of a highly-excited spirit, “I have not accused you of anything, and, therefore, you need not defend yourself. But, indeed, Colin, I never expected this!” “What--what have I done?”