Mr. Wesden had never seen Mattie in a passion before; her frenzy alarmed him, and he backed against the drawers behind him lest she should attempt some mischief. His confidence in the righteousness of his cause was more shaken also; but he did not know how to express it, having been ever a man whose ideas came slowly. "Upstairs, a little while ago, Mr. Wesden," continued Mattie, "I thought that we were quits with each other--that casting me back to the streets made amends for the rescue from them years ago. I thought almost that I could afford to hate you--but you must forgive me that--I was not myself then! I know better now; and if I go back alone and friendless, still I take with me all the good thoughts which the latter years have given me, and no misfortune is likely to rob me of." "But--but----" "But this is strange talk in a woman who cannot account for missing property, and keeps out all night," said Mattie; "you can't think any better of me now--some day you will. Good-bye, sir--may I shake hands with you?" "I--I don't bear any malice, Mattie. I--I wish you well, girl," he stammered, as he held forth his hand. Mattie's declamation had cowed him, softened him. He was the man of the past, who had faith in her, and whom late events had not changed so much. He thought it might be a mistake just then--he did not know--he understood nothing--his brain was in a whirl. Mattie shook hands with him, and then went away without another word. Outside in the streets the traffic was thickening--it was Saturday morning, when people sought the streets in greater numbers. Mattie's slight form was soon lost in the surging stream of human life; Mr. Wesden, who had followed her to the door, noticed how soon she was submerged. Five years ago he had taken her from the streets--a stray. Again in her womanhood, at his wish, he had cast her back to them a stray still--nothing more! A stray whom no one would claim as child, sister, friend; who went away characterless in a world ever ready to believe the worst. She had spoken of her strength to do battle now alone, but she did not know with what enemies she had to fight, or what deadly weapons to encounter; watching her from that shop door, she looked little more than the child God had once prompted him to save. He could have run after her again, as in the old times, and cried "Stop!"--he could have taken her to his heart again, and began anew with her, sinking the incomprehensible bygones for ever. But he moved not; and Mattie, the stray, drifted from his home, and went away to seek her fortunes. END OF THE THIRD BOOK. BOOK IV. "WANT PLACES." CHAPTER I. "ONE AND TWENTY."