"Because I do I am going away," she said. She had just revealed by this little speech a trifle too much, the trifle reflected a light too vivid to Charlotte Harman's mind, her face became crimson. "I will know the truth," she said, "I will--I must. This story--you say it is about you; is it all about you? has it anything to say to me?" "No, no, don't ask me--good-bye." "I stand between you and the door until you speak. How old are you, Mrs. Home?" "I am twenty-five." "That is my age. Who was that Charlotte your dying father wished you to be a sister to?" "I cannot tell you." "You cannot--but you must. I will know. Was it--but impossible! it cannot be--am _I_ that Charlotte?" Mrs. Home covered her face with two trembling hands. The other woman, with her superior intellect, had discovered the secret she had feebly tried to guard. There was a pause and a dead silence. That silence told all that was necessary to Charlotte Harman. After a time she said gently, but all the fibre and tune had left her voice,---- "I must think over your story, it is a very, very strange tale. You are right, you cannot come here; good-bye." CHAPTER VIII. THE WOMAN BY THE HEARTH. Mrs. Home went back to the small house in Kentish Town, and Miss Harman sat on by her comfortable fire. The dainty lunch was brought in and laid on the table, the young lady did not touch it. The soft-voiced, soft-footed servant brought in some letters on a silver salver. They looked tempting letters, thick and bulgy. Charlotte Harman turned her head to glance at them but she left them unopened by her side. She had come in very hungry, from her visit to the publishers, and these letters which now lay so close had been looked forward to with some impatience, but now she could neither eat nor read. At last a pretty little timepiece which stood on a shelf over her head struck four, and a clock from a neighboring church re-echoed the sound. Almost at the same instant there came a tap at her room door. "That is John," said Charlotte. She shivered a little. Her face had changed a good deal, but she rose from her seat and came forward to meet her lover. "Ready, Charlotte?" he said, laying his two hands on her shoulders; then looking into her face he started back in some alarm. "My dear, my dearest, something has happened; what is the matter?" This young woman was the very embodiment of truth. She did not dream of saying, "Nothing is the matter." She looked up bravely into the eyes she loved best in the world and answered,---- "A good deal is the matter, John. I am very much vexed and--and troubled." "You will tell me all about it; you will let me help you?" said the lover, tenderly. "Yes, John dear, but not to-night. I want to think to-night. I want to know more. To-morrow you shall hear; certainly to-morrow. No, I will not go out with you. Is my father in? Is Uncle Jasper in?" "Your father is out, and your uncle is going. I left him buttoning on his great-coat in the hall."