"Yes, but _his_ father--his father is a gentleman, and would never let him marry a poor, deplorable stationer's daughter." "Ah! his father does not know you, and his father didn't have the chance of trying, I'm inclined to think," was the shrewd comment here. "Never mind that," said Harriet, "I don't see that that's anything to do with the matter just now. I wouldn't run away; I was very frightened; I loved father and mother, and I knew how they loved me. And when I cried, he said he had only done it to try me, and then--and then--he went away next day for ever!" "And a good riddance," muttered Mattie. "Oh! Mattie, you cruel, _cruel_ girl, is this the sympathy you talked about a little while ago?" "I've every sympathy with you, my own dear young lady," said Mattie; "I'm sorry to see how this is troubling you--you so young!--just now. But I don't think _he_ acted very properly, Miss Harriet, or that you were quite so careful of yourself as--as you might have been." "I'm a wretched, wretched woman!" "Does he know where you live?" "Ye--es," she sobbed. "And where did he live before he went to India?" "Surrey." "That's a large place, I think. I haven't turned to geography lately, but I fancy it's a double map. If that's all the address, it's a good big one. May I ask his name?" "Never," was the melodramatic answer. "Ah! it does not matter much. I hope, for the sake of all down-stairs, you will try and forget it. It's no credit; you were much too young, and he too old in everything. Oh! Miss Harriet, you and the other young ladies must have been going it down at Brighton!" "It all happened suddenly, Mattie; I'm not a forward girl; they're all of my age--oh! and ever so much bolder." "A very nice school that must be, I should think," said Mattie, leaving the bed for the box, which she proceeded to uncord; "if I ever hear of anybody wanting to send their daughters to a finishing akkademy," Mattie was not thoroughly up in pure English yet, "I'll just recommend that one!" "Mattie," reproved Harriet, "you've got at all that you wanted to know, and now you're full of bitter sarcasm." "I'm full of bitter nothing, Miss," was the reply; "and oh!--you don't know how sorry I feel that it has all happened, making you so old and womanly, before your time--filling your head with rubbish about--the chaps!" Harriet said nothing--she sat and watched with dreamy eyes the process of uncording; only, when Mattie attempted to turn the box on its side, did she spring up and help to assist without a word. "There, that'll do," she said peevishly; "let me only unlock the box, and get at my night-things, that's all I want. Mattie, for goodness sake, don't keep so in the way!" Mattie stood aside, and Harriet Wesden, with an impatient hand, unlocked the box, and raised the heavy oaken lid. Mattie's eyes, sharp as needles, detected a small roll of written papers, neatly tied. "Are these the letters, Miss Harriet?"