"I'd rather go away than you should think that; go away and leave you all for ever. I know," she added, very sorrowfully and humbly, "that my past life isn't a fair prospect to look back upon, and that it stands between you and your trust in me at this time." "No, Mattie." "If you doubt me----" "If I believed that you were not acting fairly by me, I should not have you here an hour," he said. He was carried away by Mattie's earnestness; he forgot his new harshness, which he had inherited with his change of life; before him stood the girl who had nursed his wife through a long illness, and he could not believe in her ingratitude towards him. After that charge and refutation, Mattie and Mr. Wesden were on better terms with each other--the robbery, the visit of Mrs. Watts, appeared all parts of a bad dream, difficult to shake off, but in the reality of which it was hard to believe. And yet it was all a terrible truth, too, and the story, true or false, of Mrs. Watts, late of Kent Street, had left its impression on Mattie, deep and ineffaceable; she could almost believe that from the shadowy past some stranger, cruel and villainous, would step forth to claim her. Meantime the course of Sidney Hinchford's true love flowed on peacefully; he was happy enough now--with the hope of Harriet Wesden for a wife he became more energetic than ever in business; possibly even a young man less abrupt to his companions in office; for the tender passion softens the heart wonderfully. He was more kind and less brusque in his manner. To Mattie he had been always kind, but she fancied that even she could detect a different and more gentle way with him. When he returned from Camberwell--Mr. Wesden always shut him out at early hours--he generally brought some message from Harriet to the old half-friend and confidante, and at times would loiter about the shop talking of Harriet to Mattie, and sure of her sympathy with all that he said and did. On one of the latter occasions, about six in the evening, he remarked, "When Harriet and I are grand enough to have a large house of our own--for we can't tell what may happen--I shall ask you to be our housekeeper, Mattie." Mattie's face brightened up; it had been rather a sad face of late, and Sidney Hinchford had observed it, and been puzzled at the reason. The story of the robbery had not affected him much. "Oh! then I'll pray night and day for the big house, Mr. Sidney," she said, with her usual readiness of reply. "Why, Mattie, are you tired of shop-keeping?" "At times I am," she answered. "I don't know why. I don't see how to get on and feel happy. It's rather lonely here." "You dissatisfied, Mattie! Why, I have always regarded you as the very picture of content."