"To be sure you will. But why do you not settle your mind to one business? Every day, Mr. Sidney, you think of a new one!" "You must not blame me for that, Mattie," he replied; "I want to make sure of the most suitable, to find one in which I could take part myself." "What do you think of the old business in which Mr. Wesden made money?--think of that whilst I am gone." "Where are you going now?" he asked a little irritably. "To scold the butcher for yesterday's tough joint," said Mattie. "Butchers make money, but how the deuce could I chop up a sheep without personal damage?" he said, rambling off to a new idea. Mattie hurried to the door. The butcher was certainly there; but, crossing the road in the direction of the house, Mattie had seen Harriet Wesden. The butcher was dismissed, and Harriet admitted silently into the passage. "How long have _you_ been here?" Harriet exclaimed. "A month now. I promised his father that I would do my best for _him_ left behind in trouble. You--you don't blame me?" "Blame you!--no. Why should I?" "My father thought that I was wrong to come here--exceeding my duty to my neighbour, and outraging my duty towards him. But I am not sorry." "And Sid--how is he now? Why does he bear so much malice in his heart against me, as to refuse me admittance to his house?" she asked. "He bears no malice, Harriet; but the past is painful to him. Presently he will come round, and judge all things truly. Every day he is less morbid--more resigned." "I am glad of that." "After all, everything has turned out for the best, Harriet," said Mattie. "Prove that," was her quick answer. Mattie was attempting the difficult task of deciphering the real thoughts of Harriet Wesden;--what she regretted, and what she rejoiced at, now the picture was finished, and all its deep shadowing elaborated. "For the best that the engagement was ended, Harriet. Think of the affliction that has befallen him, and which would have parted him and you at last." "Why parted us?--do you think, had it befallen me, that he would have turned away with horror--that he would not have loved me all the better, and striven all the harder to render my trouble less heavy to be borne? Mattie, I knew that this would come upon him years ago, and I did not shrink from my engagement." "You could never have married him--he is a poor man, and may be poorer yet; it is impossible to say." "It is all over now, and this is idle talk, Mattie. I have given up all thought of him, as he has given up all thought of me--and perhaps it is for the best," she added. "We will hope so, Harriet." "I was always a foolish and vain girl, prone to change my mind, and scarcely knowing what that mind was," she said bitterly. "It is easy enough to forget."