And partly to get rid of a visitor whose unusual earnestness embarrassed him; partly out of a sudden apprehension that he might possibly be called upon by and by for pecuniary help, if no situation could be got for Harry, Mr. Sommerville left his easy chair, and had a consultation in the outer office with his confidential clerk. Very weary and faint, Martha remained standing in the private room. Many a time in her own heart, with the bitterness of disappointed hope and wounded love, she had condemned Harry; but with the fierceness of a lion-mother, her heart sprang up to defend him when another voice pronounced his sentence. She could not bear the slightest touch of censure--instinctively she dared and defied whosoever should accuse him--and no one had liberty to blame Harry except the solitary voice which came to her in the night watches wrung out of her own heart. In a short time Mr. Sommerville returned. “I hear of one place, Miss Muir,” said the merchant; “but there is security needed, and that might be a drawback--seventy pounds a-year--a good salary, but then they want security for five hundred pounds. If you could manage that, the place is a very good one--Rowan and Thomson--and it is a traveller they want--not so much confinement as in an office; it might suit your brother very well, if it were not for the security.” “It would not do,” said Martha, quickly. “Harry cannot be a traveller--it would kill him.” Mr. Sommerville elevated his eyebrows. “Cannot be a traveller! Upon my word, Miss Muir, to say that you came asking my help, you are very fastidious. I fancied your brother would be glad of any situation.” “Not this--only not this,” said Martha, in haste, as if she almost feared to listen to the proposal, “Harry is not strong. I thank you, Mr. Sommerville, I thank you; but it would kill him.” “Then, I know of nothing else,” said the merchant, coldly resuming his seat. “If I hear of anything, I will let you know.” Cold words of course, often said, never remembered. Martha turned away down the dusty stair, blaming herself for thus wasting the time in which she might have been working; but she could work--could give daily bread to the little household still--and that was the greatest comfort of her life.