“Why don’t you give me one of the notes, sir, instead of so much money?” asked Joan innocently. “No, no. I always like to make payments in gold, which is the legal tender, you know; though I am afraid I must give you some silver in this case. There you are, all but threepence. I shall have to owe you the threepence. What, you haven’t got a purse? Then tie up the money in the corner of your pocket-handkerchief, and put it in the bosom of your dress, where it can’t fall out. I have found that the safest way for a woman to carry valuables.” Joan obeyed, saying, “I don’t know if I have to thank you for this money, sir.” “Not at all, not at all. It is a portion of your trust fund.” “I thought you said that the amount was almost exhausted, sir; and if so, how can you give me this and promise to pay me sixty pounds a year?” “No, no, you are mistaken; I did not say that—I said it was getting rather low. But really I don’t quite know how the account stands. I must look into it. And now, is there anything more?” “Yes, one thing, sir. I do not want anybody in Bradmouth, or anybody anywhere, and more especially my aunt, to know whither I have gone, or what my address is. I have done with the old life, and I wish to begin a new one.” “Certainly; I understand. Your secret will be safe with me, Joan. And now good-bye.” “Good-bye, sir; and many thanks for all that you have done for me in the past, and for your kindness to-day. You must not think too much of any bitter words I may have said: at times I remember how lonely I am in the world, and I think and speak like that, not because I mean it, but because my heart is sore.” “It is perfectly natural, and I do not blame you,” answered Mr. Levinger, as he showed her out of the room. “Only remember what I say: for aught you know, even the dead may have ears to hear and hearts to feel, and when you judge them, they, whose mouths are closed, cannot return to explain what you believe to be their wickedness. Where are you going? To the kitchen? No, no—the front door, if you please. Good-bye again: good luck to you!” “Thank Heaven that she has gone!” Mr. Levinger thought to himself, as he sat down in his chair. “It has been a trying interview, very trying, for both of us. She is a plucky woman, and a good one according to her lights. She lied about Henry Graves, but then it was not to be expected that she would do anything else; and whatever terms they are on, she is riding straight now, which shows that she must be very fond of him, poor girl.” CHAPTER XX. “LET IT REMAIN OPEN.” Outside the door of Monk’s Lodge, Joan met Emma returning from a walk. As usual she was dressed in white, and, to Joan’s fancy, looked pure as a wild anemone in the April sun, and almost as frail. She would have passed her with a little salutation that was half bow, half courtesy, but Emma held out her hand.