“She is getting better, sir. Would you like to see Miss Ladd?” “I should indeed! I have something to say to her--and time is of importance to me. May I wait in the garden?” “Why not in the parlor, sir?” “The parlor reminds me of happier days. In time, I may have courage enough to look at the room again. Not now.” “If she doesn’t make it up with that good man,” Mrs. Ellmother thought, on her way back to the house, “my nurse-child is what I have never believed her to be yet--she’s a fool.” In half an hour more, Miss Ladd joined Alban on the little plot of grass behind the cottage. “I bring Emily’s reply to your letter,” she said. “Read it, before you speak to me.” Alban read it: “Don’t suppose you have offended me--and be assured that I feel gratefully the tone in which your note is written. I try to write forbearingly on my side; I wish I could write acceptably as well. It is not to be done. I am as unable as ever to enter into your motives. You are not my relation; you were under no obligation of secrecy: you heard me speak ignorantly of the murder of my father, as if it had been the murder of a stranger; and yet you kept me--deliberately, cruelly kept me--deceived! The remembrance of it burns me like fire. I cannot--oh, Alban, I cannot restore you to the place in my estimation which you have lost! If you wish to help me to bear my trouble, I entreat you not to write to me again.” Alban offered the letter silently to Miss Ladd. She signed to him to keep it. “I know what Emily has written,” she said; “and I have told her, what I now tell you--she is wrong; in every way, wrong. It is the misfortune of her impetuous nature that she rushes to conclusions--and those conclusions once formed, she holds to them with all the strength of her character. In this matter, she has looked at her side of the question exclusively; she is blind to your side.” “Not willfully!” Alban interposed. Miss Ladd looked at him with admiration. “You defend Emily?” she said. “I love her,” Alban answered. Miss Ladd felt for him, as Mrs. Ellmother had felt for him. “Trust to time, Mr. Morris,” she resumed. “The danger to be afraid of is--the danger of some headlong action, on her part, in the interval. Who can say what the end may be, if she persists in her present way of thinking? There is something monstrous, in a young girl declaring that it is _her_ duty to pursue a murderer, and to bring him to justice! Don’t you see it yourself?” Alban still defended Emily. “It seems to me to be a natural impulse,” he said--“natural, and noble.” “Noble!” Miss Ladd exclaimed. “Yes--for it grows out of the love which has not died with her father’s death.” “Then you encourage her?” “With my whole heart--if she would give me the opportunity!” “We won’t pursue the subject, Mr. Morris. I am told by Mrs. Ellmother that you have something to say to me. What is it?” “I have to ask you,” Alban replied, “to let me resign my situation at Netherwoods.”