“Don’t be afraid, Cissy. I have no intention of keeping it up. The very first opportunity I have, I mean to tell the whole truth to —— you know whom, for if I ever see him again, he will have a right to hear it.” “Thank you for telling me this,” said Cissy, “I only wish he knew it already! In any case, Marion, however things turn out, you will write and tell me?” “Yes, in any case. I promise you I will,” replied the girl. “But here we are at my home! Oh, how unhomelike it looks, Cissy! Papa must be away, but that I don’t mind. Oh, my dear, my darling Cissy, if only you were not going so far! Whatever shall I do without you, my kind sweet sister?” And all her composure broken down, poor Marion clung to the only near woman friend she had ever known. She had not thought she would feel this parting so acutely; and when at last she had torn herself away, and stood watching the cab drive off slowly, out of sight round the corner of the square, it seemed indeed to her that she had parted for ever with her dear, sweet friend. It was a small comfort to remember that the faithful Foster, now transformed into Mrs. Robinson, was to meet poor little Charlie and his mother at the station, and not forsake them till she saw them off on their long journey eastward; for Cissy was already half worn out with fatigue and anxiety, and the parting with Marion had been almost more than she could stand, poor loving little soul that she was. “How thankful I shall be to hear of her being safe with her husband again! My dear, kind Cissy. But oh, how I shall miss her!” thought Marion as she entered her gloomy home, with no one to welcome her but the startled servants; whose faces however did grow brighter when they saw who it was. Which even, to my thinking, was better than no welcome at all. CHAPTER IV. THE END OF SEPTEMBER. “He comes, the herald of a noisy world; News from all nations lumbering at his back. . . . . Messenger of grief Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some: To him indifferent whether grief or joy. THE TASK. “Art thou dead? Dead? . . . . . Could from earth’s ways that figure alight Be lost and I not know ‘twas so? Of that fresh voice the gay delight Fade from earth’s air, and I not know!” MATTHEW ARNOLD. IT was not, certainly, a pleasant change from Altes to London, for poor Marion. For a day or two she was perfectly alone, her father, as she had expected, absent; and she herself too anxious and dispirited to care to announce her return to the few friends, so-called, with whom she was on anything like intimate terms.