"Why, mamma lent it to her, at different times, when she so warmly promised a home for us; but then, unfortunately, my dear mamma lost the written promise to repay it, which she had for the money; but then, that makes no difference between relations--a debt of honor must be binding; only I am uncomfortable about asking for the money, as my aunt would find it difficult to get such a large sum, I fear. And this is another reason which has kept me so passive." "You were not once so unsuspicious," said Hargrave, "as to think a debt of honor as good as a security." "No; but then I had those to care for who made me feel as cautious as a man. Once more, I am a weak woman. But what do you think of my plan?" "I think it a very good one, if you can get your money, but private security is always bad, and you have not even that. Do you consider to what a life you are dooming yourself." "Not so bad as thousands, for, remember, I shall confer, as well as receive a benefit, for my friend cannot afford a governess, and is too unwell to educate her children herself. So I shall place her under a slight obligation." "And doom yourself to a life of drudgery." "Be quiet," said she, raising her whip playfully, "you ought to inspirit, and not discourage me--you should speak of the advantages of such a situation, of the influence it affords--of, in short, any thing but what you are talking of." "You are a strange girl, Mabel," he said, looking steadily down upon her glowing face, "were I you, I should be rebelling, proud, or grovelling in despair." "I am afraid you might." "Why do you think so," he returned, in a tone of pique; "have you charity for all, and none for me?" "Because," said she, almost sadly, "I should be so, if, like you, I trusted solely to my own strength." He was silent for a few minutes, and then he said, thoughtfully. "I am afraid there is no one like you." "Yes, thousands, who have shewn in the world far more brilliant examples of the truth of what I believe, who have died unheeded and unrewarded on earth." They were here interrupted by Caroline, who trotted up to them, leaving poor Selina by herself. "I wish," she said to Mabel, "you would let me have a canter on that horse; mine is such a stupid animal." Mabel looked puzzled. "How dull you are," said Caroline, in a voice which she believed only reached her ear. "Cannot you see that Henry wanted a _tete-a-tete_ with me; did he not say as much, though I was not going to let him have me whenever he liked."