Wesden gave a short laugh--a double-knock species of laugh, in which he indulged when more than usually hilarious. "Ah! that's it!" he said; "and as for waiting, why Mrs. Wesden and I are an old couple, and mayn't keep you waiting so long as you fancy, Sidney. It isn't much money, but----" "That will do, sir," said Sidney, hastily; "I must support my wife, not let my wife support me. Harriet," turning to the daughter, with an impetuosity almost akin to fierceness, "is it not time to return to Camberwell?" "Oh! ho!--do you hear that, Wesden?" cried the father. Mr. Hinchford had forgotten the downfall of his son's air-built castle, in the happiness which he believed would make amends for it to Sidney. And if Sidney were content--why, he was. Harriet was glad of an excuse to escape. Two old gentlemen talking of love affairs--her love affairs--before the suitor, was scarcely fair, and her position was not enviable. And besides that, Sidney Hinchford's manner had not been comprehensible, and required explanation; she could almost believe that he did not desire an engagement; there was so little of the impassioned lover in his new demeanour. There was a mystery, and she would be glad to have it dissipated. Harriet went away, escorted by her lover, and the two fathers drew their chairs closer to the fire and drank the health of the happy couple as they went out at the door. "This is a proud day for you and me--to have such children, and to see them growing up fonder and fonder of each other every day--eh, Wesden?" "Yes. I have been uneasy about Harriet, and leaving her alone in the world. She will be always happy with him, and have a good protector." "That she will. How the little girl would have clapped her hands at this!" "What little girl?" asked Wesden. "Why, Mattie, to be sure. Mattie, who used to play the mother almost to those two, her seniors, and be always as interested as a mother in making a match between them." "Ah!--Mattie!--yes!" Mr. Wesden looked about for his pipe and his pipe-lights on the mantel-piece. Mr. Hinchford drew his favourite meerschaum from his coat-pocket. The two old men faced each other, and began to smoke vigorously. "I wonder where that girl has got to?" suggested Hinchford. "It's impossible to say. In good hands, I hope." "I'd lay a heavy wager that she knows whose birthday it is to-day," commented Mr. Hinchford; "she was a girl who never forgot anything." "Ah--perhaps so!" "And I think she might have cleared up the fog, if you had waited a bit, Wesden." "Why didn't she, if she could?" "I don't know. I promised to believe in her, and somehow I do." "Can anything in the world account for a girl her age being out all night?" said Wesden. "Ah! that looks bad--I can't get over that!" said Mr. Hinchford, giving his head one sorrowful shake. Poor Mattie!--poor stray! whose actions, the best and most unselfish, were not to be accounted for, or done justice to in this world. CHAPTER II.