"I'm living here to be a comfort to you all," said Mattie, in a low voice; "I've set myself to be that, if ever I can. Every one in this house helped in a way to take me from the streets; every one has been more kind to me than I deserved--helped me on--given me good advice--done so much for me! I--I have often thought that perhaps my time might come some day to your family, or the Hinchfords; but if to you, my darling, whom I love before the whole of them--who has been more than kind--whom I loved when I was a little ragged girl in the dark streets outside--how happy I shall be!" "Happy to see me miserable, Mattie--that's what _that_ amounts to." "I didn't mean that," answered Mattie, half-aggrieved. "No, I'm sure you did not," was the reply. "Lock the door, my dear, and let me take you into my confidence--I _do_ want some one to talk to about it terribly!" Mattie locked the door, and, full of wonder, sat down by Harriet Wesden's side. The stationer's daughter had always treated Mattie as a companion rather than as a servant; she had but seen her in her holidays of late years--her father had trusted Mattie and made a shop-woman of her--she had found Mattie constituted after a while one of the family--Mattie was only a year her junior, and Mattie's love, almost her idolatry for her, had won upon a nature which, though far from faultless, was at least susceptible to kindness, ever touched by affection, and ever ready to return both. "You must know, Mattie, then--and pray never breathe a syllable of this to mortal soul again--that I'm in love." "_Lor!_" gasped Mattie. "Dreadfully and desperately in love." "Oh! hasn't it come early--and oh! _ain't_ I dreadfully sorry." "Hush, Mattie, not so loud. They'll be coming up to bed in the next room presently, and if they were to find it out, I should die." "They wouldn't mind, after they had once got used to it," said Mattie; "and if it has really come to love in earnest--there's a good deal of sham love I've been told--why, I don't think there's anything to cry about. I should dance for joy myself." "You're too young to know what you're talking about, Mattie," reproved Harriet. "No, I'm not," was the quick answer; "I should feel very happy to know that there was some one to love me better than anybody in the world--to think of me first--pray about me before he went to bed at night--dream of me till the daytime--keep me always in his head. Why, shouldn't I be happy to know this, I who never remember what love was from anybody?" "Yes, yes, I understand you, Mattie," said Harriet; "that's part of love--not all." "What else is there?" Mattie was evidently extremely curious concerning all phases of "the heart complaint." "It's too complicated, Mattie; when you're a woman, you'll be able to find out for yourself. It's better not to trouble your head about it yet awhile."