Mattie troubled him. She had awakened his gratitude; the last day her father had aroused in him his fears that she had rendered herself open to the suspicions of the world by her efforts in his service--he had not thought of _that_ before! Mattie's character was worth studying--it was so far apart from the common run of womankind--she had treasured every past action that stood as evidence of kindness to her, and made return for it a thousandfold. Who would have dreamed of all this years ago, when he tracked her with the police to the Kent Street lodging-house, and was moved to pity by her earnest eyes? Hers had been a strange life; his had been exceptional--his had ended in blank monotony, that nothing could change--what was in store for her? He thought of the mistake that he had committed on the day that Harriet had personated her unwillingly, and blushed for the error of the act. He had been moved too much by gratitude, and had almost offered his blank life to Mattie, as he thought; Mattie who would have shrunk from him like the rest, had she believed that he had had such thoughts of _her_. His blindness had affected his mind; he had grown heedless, foolish, wilful. Then his thoughts revolved to Harriet Wesden again--to the girl who had not lost her interest in him with her love, but had stolen to his solitary house, to ask about him, and to note the change in him. She had been always a generous-hearted girl--moved at any trouble, and anxious to take her part in its alleviation--there was nothing remarkable in it. He was still the old friend and playfellow, after all, and in the future days, when their engagement lay further back from the present, he should be glad to hear her voice of sympathy again. These thoughts, or thoughts akin to these, travelled in a circle round the blind man's brain, hour after hour, day after day. Thoughts of business, Mattie, Harriet Wesden--varied occasionally by the reminiscences of the dead father, and the relations who had sought him out, whom he had sought, and then turned away from. Mattie and her father came to see him three days after their formal withdrawal from his home; that was a fair evening, which changed the aspect of things, and which he remembered kindly afterwards, notwithstanding a prayer of some duration, that Mr. Gray contrived to introduce. Something new to think of was always Sidney Hinchford's craving, and the day that followed any fresh incidents bore less heavily upon him, as he rehearsed those incidents in his mind. Still they had said nothing of the business; they had been more anxious to know how he had spent his time since their departure, and whether Mattie's absence had made much difference to him. Sidney spoke the truth, and Mattie was pleased at the confession. It was an evidence of the good she had done by resisting her father's will, and she was woman enough not to be sorry for the result.