Joan shook her head, smiling, and returned home, where she busied herself with packing the more valued of her few possessions into the deal box that had been given her when she first went to school. Her wardrobe was not large, but then neither was the box, so the task required care and selection. First there were her few books, with which she could not make up her mind to part—least of all with those that Henry had given her; then there was the desk which she had won at school as a prize for handwriting, a somewhat bulky and inconvenient article, although it contained the faded photograph of her mother and many other small treasures. Next came the doll that some kind lady had given her many years before, the companion of her childhood, from which she could not be separated; and an ink-stand presented to her by the Rectory children, with “from your loving Tommy” scrawled upon the bottom of it. These, with the few clothes that she thought good enough to take with her, filled the box to the brim. Having shut it down, Joan thrust it under the bed, so that it might escape notice should her aunt chance to enter the room upon one of her spying expeditions, for it was Mrs. Gillingwater’s unpleasant habit to search everything belonging to her niece periodically, in the hope of discovering information of interest. Her preparations finished, Joan wrote another letter. It ran thus:— “DEAR AUNT,— “When you get this I shall be gone away, for I write to say good-bye to you and uncle. I am tired of Bradmouth, and am going to try my fortune in London, with the consent of Mr. Levinger. I have not told you about it before, because I don’t wish my movements to come to the ears of other people until I am gone and can’t be found, and least of all to those of Mr. Rock. It is chiefly on his account that I am leaving Bradmouth, for I am afraid of him and want to see him no more. Also I don’t care to stay in a place where they make so much talk about me. I dare say that you have meant to deal kindly with me, and I thank you for it, though sometimes you have not seemed kind. I hope that the loss of the money, whatever it is, that Mr. Levinger pays on my account, will not make any great difference to you. I know that my going away will not put you out otherwise, as I do no work here, and often and often you have told me what a trouble I am; indeed, you will remember that the other day you threatened to turn me out of the house. Good-bye: please do not bother about me, or let any one do so, as I shall get on quite well. Your affectionate niece      JOAN. Mrs. Gillingwater received this letter on the following afternoon, for Joan posted it at the station just before the train left. When slowly and painfully she had made herself mistress of its contents, her surprise and indignation broke forth in a torrent.