A little reflection caused him to change his mind about leaving: “I have done no wrong, and I will not run! If they think to drive me away by that scheme, they will get left, that’s all!” said he grimly. Meanwhile some one told Marjy that _she_ heard that “Henry and Marjy had stolen money from her auntie, and had intended to elope; that Auntie Nelson had caught them before they could get out of the street door; she took the money from Henry, and forbid him the house. It isn’t true is it, dear?” concluded she. Marjy astonished the gossip by such an outburst of temper as frightened her out of the house, after which she locked herself in her own chamber, to sob and cry for the rest of the day. Everything was as miserable as it was possible to be; Marjy would go out no more in daylight, but after nightfall, with a heavy veil over her face, she would steal out for a walk as though she were some guilty thing. One night as she passed Henry’s room she paused and looked up at the window; he sat beside a small table on which was placed a lamp, his head bowed upon his arms in an attitude of despair; he raised his face, the change and melancholy look filled Marjy’s heart with grief. He arose wearily and began pacing to and fro. Marjy dropped her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly; the moon, which had been under a cloud, came out a flood of silver radiance; Marjy leaning against a low railing on the opposite side of the street, was, unconsciously to herself, in the full glow. “Marjy! Marjy!” called a voice softly. She started in affright; but Henry caught her hands, and held them fast. “Marjy, Marjy, my pet, don’t cry!” She made him no answer, but sobbed hysterically in his arms. “What is it, Marjy, is there more trouble?” he asked, feeling—as most men do in the presence of a woman’s tears—perfectly helpless. “No! no! There doesn’t need be more trouble! There isn’t any happiness left; auntie is so cross and suspicious—she suspects you, me, and even herself; for whole days at a time she doesn’t speak, and if I take a book to read she looks at me as reproachfully as though I were doing some wrong thing; if I look sad she says—she says—I am mourning over a thief, and that makes me mad, because I know it isn’t true!” she finished excitedly. “God bless you, Marjy! That is the first bit of comfort I have received since that miserable night,” he answered. “How could you imagine that I would think you guilty of such a thing?” reproachfully. “How happens it that you are out so late at night?” he asked irrelevantly. “I cannot go out in daytime, people say such awful things about us that it makes me ashamed;” sobbing hysterically. “When I saw you looking so despondent it just broke my heart.” “Oh, my dear, don’t cry!” helplessly. She smiled at him through her tears: “Well, I will not, you have enough to bear as it is; but why were you so sad to-night?”