When I heard the door close on Cornelius, my tears ceased; they had not moved him; they were useless; it was all over; my fate was fixed. I sat on a chair, drearily looking across the table, at my brown-faced, white- bearded grandfather, who raised his voice and called out impatiently, "Polly, Molly. Mary, Thing--where are you?" The little servant-girl answered this indiscriminate appeal by showing her full round face at the door. Mr. Thornton, resting both his hands on the table, slightly bent forward to say impressively, "That young man is never to be let in again,--do you understand?" She assented by nodding her head several times in rapid succession, then closed the door. "But I will see Mr. O'Reilly," I exclaimed indignantly; for though he had forsaken me, I still looked up to him as to my protector and friend. Mr. Thornton raised his eyebrows, and gave an ironical grunt. At the same moment the door again opened, and a lady, young, elegantly attired, and beautiful as the princess of a fairy tale, entered the room. "Uncle," she began, but, on seeing me, she stopped short; then with evident wonder asked briefly. "Who is it?" "Her name is Burns," was the short reply. The young lady looked at me, and nodded significantly. Mr. Thornton resumed, "I shall provide for her; in the meanwhile tell Mrs. Marks to take care of her, and keep her out of my way, until I have settled how she is to be disposed of." I felt very like a bale of useless goods. "Then you will have the charity not to keep her here," observed the young lady with impatient bitterness. "I shall have the charity not to let her become a fine lady like you, Edith," he sarcastically answered. "Do you mean to make a governess of your grand-daughter, as you would of your niece if you could?" "My dear, you forget my niece could not be a governess; and neither governess nor fine lady shall be this child, whom you are pleased to call my grand-daughter. A common-place education, some decent occupation,-- such is to be her destiny. And now be so good as to leave me." "To your beetles!" she indignantly replied; "you don't care for anything but your beetles. I am sick of my life. I wish I were dead--I wish I had never seen this dreadful old hole." "Pity you flirted with the intended of your cousin, my dear, and got packed off. Suppose you try and get married; I intend leaving England again, and it will be rather dull for you to stay here alone with Mrs. Marks." "I'll run away sooner." "That's just what I mean. Elope, my dear, elope!" "I won't eat any more!" she exclaimed, crimson with vexation and shame; "I know you don't believe it, but I won't."