The door clanged to and left him alone. She had hurried from the room, shocked at the folly, the mockery of affection which had risen to his lips. Ah! he was a fool still, he thought; he had frightened Mattie by hovering on the verge of that proposal, which he had considered himself bound to make perhaps, out of gratitude for the life of servitude Mattie had chosen for herself. He had been wrong; he had taken a mean advantage, and rendered Mattie's presence there embarrassing; his desire to be grateful had scared her from him, as well it might--he, a blind man, prating of affection! He had been a fool and coward; he would seal his lips from that day forth, and be all that was wished of him--nothing more. Harriet had made her escape into the narrow passage, had contrived to open the street-door, and was preparing to hurry away, when Mattie came towards her. "Going away without a good-bye, Harriet!" "I had forgotten," she said coldly. "What have you said to him?--have you--have you----" "I have said nothing at which you have reason to feel alarmed," said Harriet; "I have not taken your advice. He thinks and speaks only of you, and I did not break upon his thoughts by any harsh reminiscences." "You are excited, Harriet; don't go away yet, with that look. What does it mean?" "Nothing." "Has he offended you?" "No." "Have I?" "No," was the cold reiteration. "I am not well. I ought not to have intruded here. I see my mistake, and will not come again." "I hope you will, many, many times. I build upon you assisting me in the good work I have begun here. You and I together, in the future, striving for the old friend, Sidney Hinchford." "I am going away to-morrow--it is doubtful when I shall return, or what use I shall be to either you or him. You understand him better than I." "I do not understand you this afternoon," said Mattie, surveying her more intently; "what have I done? Don't you," she added, as a new thought of hers seemed to give a clue to Harriet's, "think it right that I should be here!" "If you think so, Mattie, it cannot matter what my opinion is." "Yes--to me." "You came hither with the hope of befriending him, as a sister might come? On your honour, with no other motive?" "On my honour, with none other." "Why deceive him, then?" was the quick rejoinder; "why tell him that your father gave his consent for your stay here, when he was so opposed to it?" "He thought so from the first, and I did not undeceive him, lest he should send me away. Have you seen my father?" "He called last night at our house. He is anxious and distressed about you." "I am sorry." "He thinks that you have no right to be here--I think you have now." "Oh! Harriet, you do not think----" "Hush! say nothing. You are your own mistress, and I am not angry with you. You have been too good a friend of mine, for me to envy any act of kindness towards him I loved once. I don't love him now." "You said you did."