"Oh! nothing is settled--there was a little talk of appointing me a missionary abroad some time ago--a preacher at a foreign station, where the benighted require stirring words, and the preacher is expected to be continually stirring--preaching, I mean. But it is only talk, perhaps--they may have found a better man," he added, a little tetchily. "Should you care to leave England?" "Care, sir!--it is my great ambition to do good--to make amends for the evil of my early life." "Ah!--yes." Sidney had become absent in his manner--Mr. Gray, who had become voluble, discoursed at great length on his peculiar principle of doing good, but Sidney heard but little of his argument, and was engrossed by thoughts of the change coming unto him again, and to which he could not offer opposition. Discoursing thus, and thinking thus, when Mattie returned, and stood in the doorway, looking from father to friend. "Father," she ejaculated at last. "Don't say that you are sorry to see me, after this long parting!" he exclaimed, as he rose in an excited manner, and went towards her with both hands outstretched. "Not sorry--no--but very, very glad!" She held his hands, and leaned forward to kiss him. He caught her to his heart then, and the tears welled into his eyes at this evidence of the past parting having been forgotten and forgiven. "Mattie," he said, "I have been thinking of all this again--over and over again, patiently, and not in anger--and I still think that it is wrong to stay here." "And he--what does he think?" looking towards Sidney. Sidney answered for himself. "That, perhaps, we are both too young--blind though I am, and pure as you are, Mattie--to keep house together after this fashion. For your sake, I will ask you to go back with your father. I have been wrong and selfish." "I said that I would go when you wished it, Mr. Sidney." "I wish it, then!" "Very well." "Go--to return again very frequently with your father, and see that I am well, and likely to do well. Mattie, for ever after this understand that I cannot do utterly without you. Wrong and selfish also in that wish, perhaps, but I am sure of you forgiving me!" "Yes--yes," she said, hurriedly. "It is strange that we three should all have been thinking of going away to-day--and perhaps," with a blush, "it was scarcely right to come. But," evincing here her old rebellious spirit, with a suddenness that made her father and Sidney leap again, "if he were the same man I found here first, I would have stopped--mark that!" "Yes, but he isn't, my dear!" said Mr. Gray, cowed into submission, and afraid of Mattie talking herself into a change of mind; "so it's all happened for the best, and we are all thankful, and--all friends!" "I will be ready when you wish, then." "I have ordered a cab to come round at twelve. You see I was sure that you would not turn against me ever again." "I never turned against you--don't think that."