"But when you go home to Littleburgh?" "I am not going to Littleburgh. I have no home there now," she answered. I was that startled with her words, I came to a standstill on the pavement. "Not got any home in Littleburgh?" "No," said she. "That's one of the things that are changed." But what was to become of Walter, all alone there? "Kitty, I haven't spoken of my brother to you lately," said she, as I was thinking this. "No," I said, "not once." "I thought it might be best not," she said. "Perhaps the time is come now to speak." "I saw him at Littleburgh station to-day," I said. "You did?" said she. And I looked up, and our eyes met. Mary must have seen something in my face which pleased her, for she broke into a smile. "He was on the platform," I said; "and we had a few words. I didn't say much; I thought mother would rather I shouldn't. He talked about hoping I didn't bear malice. I fancied he meant the watch, you know, but he didn't; and I don't know what he did mean. And he asked if we could be friends still; and I said he had been my enemy. He seemed sure I had heard something about him from you, and I said I had not. And then I walked away." "Right!" Mary said. "But what did he mean?" "He meant—that he has treated you as he has treated a good many girls," she said. "He is married." "Married!" I didn't feel as if it was a blow, or hard to bear. I almost felt like laughing, when I remembered the things I had said, and how he had looked. "Yes. Are you sorry for your own sake, Kitty?" asked she. "I think you have had an escape to be thankful for." "I do think so too," I answered; and I spoke from my heart. "Ah, that is right, that is right," said she. "Then you understand now. But I have not told you all. Walter married three weeks after I left him, to take care of you and your mother. My dear, it would have been just the same if I had stayed there," says she. "He was bent on having the girl, and I knew it. He married her, saying nothing to me. And a week later—" "Is she a nice girl?" I asked. "No; not a nice girl at all," Mary said; and her face took its stern look for just a moment. "Not a girl I could wish to live with, even if she wished to have me; which she does not." "And they are living at Littleburgh," I said in a sort of dreamy way. It all seemed so queer. "At Littleburgh, but not in our old home. Walter was dismissed from his situation within a week of being married. Yes, dismissed. He had been falsifying the school accounts. Of course he quite forfeited all hope of another situation as schoolmaster." "And he has nothing to live on?" "He has something just now. His wife has a few hundreds of her own. She is an orphan. I suppose they will spend all they have, and then—" Mary sighed. "My poor Walter!" she said. "Yes, I love him still— unhappy boy! But I do not respect him. How can I?"