"Suppose him successful, and Sidney well again--what are we to do?" asked the curious Mattie. She was anxious to sift this theory to the bottom--to know upon what facts, or fancies, Maurice Hinchford based his cruel idea. She spoke coolly and sisterly now; no evidence of intense excitement was likely to betray her again that day. On the inner heart had shut, with a clang which vibrated still within her, the iron gates of her inflexible resolve. "First of all, let me ask you a question. You have lived with Miss Wesden--you understand her--you have loved her. You can assure me that there was no doubt of her affection for him being true and fervent?" "There was no doubt of that." "I can answer for the present time." "You can?" said Mattie. She spoke very quickly, but her heart leaped into her throat for an instant, and took away her breath. "Miss Wesden confessed to me, only a week back, that she loved Sidney Hinchford still." "Impossible!" "You doubt my word, Miss Gray. Why should I attempt to deceive you?" "What possible object could she have in telling you that?" "I made her an offer of marriage," said Maurice, coolly, "and she rejected me. She did not scruple to confess to me her reasons; she was excited I must own, and, therefore, thrown off her guard." "What did she say?" "That she had never loved me, and that she would have died for Sidney. That it was all my fault--my wickedness--which had parted them." "A singular confession for her to make," said Mattie, thoughtfully; "all my life I have been endeavouring to find the truth--the whole truth--and have always failed." "You were not the confidante that I believed, then?" "Harriet Wesden and I loved each other very dearly--in our hearts there is no difference yet. For my sake, were I in danger, she would do much." "And for her sake--what would you do?" "Everything." "Well spoken," cried Maurice heartily; "I knew that I was not deceived in you." "She is unhappy and loves Sidney. Sidney is unhappy and loves her, you think. It is a story of the truth of which we must be certain in the first place." "Yes, and then?" "Then we will do our best--God willing," murmured Mattie. "I rely upon you, Miss Gray--I am obliged by the evidence of interest in those two old lovers, parted by mistake. Both very unhappy, and both with a chance of being happy together, there is no difficulty in guessing where our duty lies." "No." "Think of the gratitude of those two in the days when we have helped to clear the mists away, Miss Gray. The last chapter in the novel; the last scene in the five-act comedy, where the stern parent joins the hands of the happy couple, will be nothing to the glorious ending of _our_ story. Boundless gratitude to you, full forgiveness for me--and all going merry as a marriage bell. Miss Gray, I engage your hand for the first dance in the evening--we'll wind up with a ball that day--is it a bargain between us?"