Nat had told himself then, as he walked along to the town, that his mother was ‘sore grieved now that Nan was gone;’ that his mother had ‘allays made so much o’ Nan.’ ‘She wouldn’t ’a cared if it had been _me_;’ murmured the sore feeling of an old jealousy; ‘she allays thought Annie a sight more good nor me.’ And then he told himself that his sister ‘needn’t talk; _he_ wouldn’t ’a disgraced himself as she had done.’ It was hateful to think ‘how all t’ folk ’ud speak; they’ll make us the gossip o’ t’ village now.’ And still beneath these thoughts stirred the remembrance that he had not decided what he should do with the letters of the Squire. Oh, there was no need for him to think about them; he would make up his mind as he walked back from the town. He would think of his sister--about the village people--‘them as Rantanned father, an’ is allays hard on us.’ He felt chafed, reckless, stung with the shame of that which had been sorrow the night before, ready to assure himself that it did not matter what he did, that even his mother did not care for him. These feelings may have been natural, we will not say they were not; but it is not in such feelings that virtue finds support. So he came to Lindum, to the house of Mr Lee, and duly delivered the letter from the Squire; and was told that the master of the house was absent, and would not return until late in the afternoon. After this he performed some commissions at various shops, and had his mid-day meal at the coffee-palace in the High Street. On an ordinary occasion he would have enjoyed the fun of it all, and would especially have considered the meal a luxury, but to-day he could eat but little, and only just took up the newspaper--although a boy feels himself a man when he takes up a newspaper! When he paid for his dinner sixpence was returned to him which he carefully put into his pocket for the Squire. In this action also there was nothing unusual, but this time he felt himself to be proud of his honesty. He had a few more commissions to do, after which he wandered in the streets, and at last found his way once more to the house of Mr Lee. Tina had not been mistaken--after he had waited there for some while at the door the housekeeper put into his hands a letter for the Squire. Nat felt his heart thump as he received it, and felt his face grow red, as if he had been suddenly detected in a theft, whilst his fingers closed hastily upon the envelope with the sensation that they were being burned. Wild thoughts passed through him as if he must get rid of it, must give it back to the servant to be sent on by the post; but he had not the courage or the skill to act upon them, and with the letter in his pocket went out into the streets. And then, for the first time, it rushed openly through his mind that he _must_ keep his word to Miss Gillan even if he were disgraced for it.