To this letter, the writing of which, it is only right to say, actually caused Mr. Eden to blush once or twice, Fan at once replied, thanking him for the parcel of books. “I must also thank you,” the letter said, “for telling me to keep them so long, as there is so much to read in them, and my reading time is only when I am at leisure in the evening. I shall take great care of them, as I think from their look that you like to keep your books very clean.” In answer to the second part of his letter she wrote: “I scarcely know what to reply to what you say about the Chances. Constance and I are such great friends that I am almost ashamed to discuss her affairs with anyone else, as I am sure that she would be very much hurt if she knew it. And yet I must promise to do what you ask. I do not think it would be right to refuse after what you have said, and I am very glad that Mr. Chance has one kind friend left in you.” Eden was well satisfied at the result of his first move. There would have to be a great many more moves before the pretty game ended, but he now had good reason to hope for a happy ending. She had accepted his offer of his friendship, the loan of his books, and had written him a letter which he liked so much that he read it several times. It was a sunshiny April morning, and after breakfasting he went out for a stroll, feeling a strange lightness of heart--a sensation like that which a good man experiences after an exercise of benevolence. And the feeling actually did take the form of benevolence, and no single pair of hungry wistful eyes met his in vain during that morning's walk until he had expended the whole of his small change. “Poor wretches!” he thought, “I couldn't have imagined there was so much misery and starvation about.” His heart was overflowing with happiness and love for the entire human race. “After all,” he continued, “I don't think I'm half as bad as that impudent conscience of mine sometimes tries to make out. I know lots of fellows who sink any amount of money in betting and other things and never think to give sixpence to a beggar. Of course no one can be perfect, everyone _must_ have some vice. But I don't quite look on mine as a vice. Some wise man has called it an amiable weakness--that's about as good a description as we can have.”