After all, Mattie thought, was she right in staying there? Had she treated her father well in leaving him without a fair confession of that truth which she had breathed into the ears of a dying man, and scarcely owned till then unto herself? She had not come there with any sinister design of winning, by force as it were, a place in Sidney Hinchford's heart; she had never dreamed for an instant--she did not dream then!--of ever becoming his wife, with a right to take her place at his side and fight his battles for him. She had been actuated by motives the purest and the best--but who believed her? Had not her father mistrusted her? Had not Harriet, who understood her so well she thought, regarded her as one scheming for herself?--she whose only scheme was to bring two lovers together once more, and see them happy at each other's side. For an instant she had not thought that she was "good enough" for Sidney Hinchford; she who had been an outcast from society, an object of suspicion to the police, a beggar, and a thief! No matter that she had been saved from destruction and was now living an exemplary life, or that misfortune had altered Sidney and rendered him dependent on another's help, he was still the being above her by birth, education, position, and she could but offer him disgrace. With that conviction impressed upon her, conscious that Sidney had improved and would continue to improve, an object of distrust to her best friends--why not to the neighbours who watched them about the streets and talked about them?--only judged fairly and honourably by him she served, was it right to stop--was there any need for further stay there? She was thinking of this over breakfast--afterwards in her little business round, during which period another visitor had forced himself into Sidney's presence, without exercising much courtesy in the effort. Ann Packet had opened the street-door, and looked inclined to shut it again, had not the visitor forestalled her--she was never very quick in her movements--by springing on to the mat, and thence with a bound to the parlour door. "Oh, my goodness! you mustn't go in there. Master left word that you were never to be shown into him again on any pertence." "Where's Mattie?" "Gone out for orders," said Ann. "Just step in this room, sir, and wait a bit." "Young woman, I shall do nothing of the kind. When my daughter comes in, tell her where I am. That's your business; mind it, if you please." Mr. Gray turned the handle of the door, and walked into the room. "Good morning, Mr. Hinchford." Sidney recognized that voice at least--the voice of a man who had worried him to death with his religious opinions--and his face lengthened. "You here?" "Yes, I have come again," he answered, drawing a chair close to the table, and confronting Sidney. "I suppose you thought that I had given you up as irreclaimable." "I had hoped so," was the dry answer. "Given my daughter up, too." "No; that wasn't likely."