Ann scuttled down-stairs, forgetful of her ankles, in her excitement at the novel position of affairs; the boy took down the shutters and disclosed the cabman still before the door, carefully examining his horse, and rather evilly disposed towards himself for the damage he had done the animal and cab in his excitement. Mattie went into the parlour, where the gas burned still, and stood by the table reflecting on the end--what was to be done now?--whether it were better to keep up the mystery, to allege some reason for Harriet's absence, frame some white lie that might keep Ann Packet and Mr. Hinchford appeased, and save _her_ name for a short while longer? When the boy came staggering in with the third shutter, a new thought--a forlorn hope--suggested itself. "Wait here and mind the shop till I come down, William," she said. She went up-stairs in her bonnet and shawl, and pushed open the door of Harriet Wesden's room. Empty and unoccupied, as she might have known, and yet which, in defiance of possibilities, she had gone up to explore again. The blind was undrawn, and the faint glimmer of the late dawning was stealing into the room, and scaring the shadows back. Mattie gave way at the desolation of the place; and flung herself upon her knees at the bed's foot. "Oh! my darling, God forgive you, and watch over you--oh! my darling, whom I loved more than a sister, and who is for ever--for ever--lost to me!" "_No_--NO--Mattie!" Mattie leaped to her feet, and with a cry scarcely human, rushed towards the speaker in the doorway--the speaker who, white and trembling, opened her arms and received her on her throbbing breast. Harriet Wesden had come back again! CHAPTER XI. EXPLANATIONS. Mattie shed many tears of joy at Harriet's return; she was a strong-minded young woman in her way, but the tension of nerve, and the reaction which followed it, had been too much for her, and she was, for a short while, a child in strength and self-command. For awhile they had changed places, Mattie and Harriet--Mattie becoming the agitated and weak girl, Harriet remaining firm, and maintaining an equable demeanour. "Courage, Mattie!--what have you to give way at?" she said, at last. "There, I'm better now," said Mattie, looking up into Harriet's face, and keeping her hands upon her shoulders; "and now, will you trust in me?--tell me the whole truth--keep nothing back." "From you--nothing!" "And if he has been coward enough to lead you away by the snares of your affection----" "Affection!" cried Harriet. "I hate him! Coward enough!--he is coward enough for anything that would degrade me--and villain enough to spare no pains to place me in his power. Oh! Mattie--Mattie--what had I done to make him think so meanly of me?--to lead him on to plot against me in so poor and miserable a fashion?" "You have escaped from him?" "Thank God, yes!"