When those whom we love are away, we are full of wonder concerning them; speculations on their acts in the distance, bridge over the dreary space between us and them. "I wonder what they are doing now!" and the suggestions that follow this, wile away a great share of the time that would seem dull and objectless without them. You who are loved and are away from us, do justice to our thoughts of you, and keep worthy of the fancy pictures wherein ye are so vividly portrayed! A week after Sidney's departure, Maurice Hinchford appeared once more in the neighbourhood of Peckham. This was in the afternoon, and he had reached Peckham in the morning, and therefore wasted a considerable portion of the day. But then Mr. Gray had been at home in the morning, and it had struck Maurice that that gentleman's excitable temperament would not allow of a long sojourn in-doors, with no one to preach to but his daughter. He would not chance meeting Mr. Gray yet a while; he would wait and watch. Mr. Gray really found it dull work that afternoon, and business being slack, he started immediately after his dinner in search of a convert of whom he had heard in the neighbourhood of his chapel. Maurice, who had noted him turn the corner of the street, uttered a short prayer of thanks, and crossed over to the stationer's shop. Mattie turned very pale at the first sight of Maurice. "I am wanted--and, oh dear, my father has just gone out!" "No, you are not wanted yet a while, Miss Gray. Pray, compose yourself, I bring you very little news." "Sidney--he is well?" "Very well--Dr. Bario has not given him notice to prepare for the great experiment yet awhile," said Maurice; "but I thought that you might be anxious about him, Miss Gray, and that any little news might be acceptable." "You are very kind--yes, any news of Sidney is ever most acceptable." "Even from such a scamp as I am?" he said, with his eyes twinkling. "Sidney has forgiven you--that is enough, sir." "Ah! but yours was a left-handed wrong, and the heaviest share of it might have fallen to your lot." "But it has not. Pray don't talk of it again." "All's well that ends well," said Maurice, taking his seat on the high chair on the shop side of the counter, facing our heroine, "and if it has ended in my doing no harm, and turning out a better fellow myself, why there's not much to regret. And you would not believe to what an extraordinary pitch of excellence I am attaining." "I shall believe nothing if you jest, sir." "It was not a jest--I've a way of talking like that." "It's a very stupid way." "Is it, though?--well, perhaps you're right enough."