Mattie had a will of her own when it was needed. A little did not disturb her, but a great deal of opposition could never shake that will when once made up. She had resolved upon her next step, and would proceed with it; we do not say that she was in the right; we will not profess to constitute her a model heroine in the sight of our readers, who have had enough of model heroines for awhile, and may accept our stray for a change. We are even inclined to believe that Mattie was, in this instance, just a little in the wrong--but then her early training had been defective, and allowance must be made for it. All the evil seeds that neglect has sown in the soil are never entirely eradicated--ask the farmers of land, and the _farmers of souls_. "Must be!" repeated Mr. Gray, looking in a dreamy manner at his daughter. "I promised his father to think of him--to study him by all the means in my power. I see that no one understands him but me, and I hear that he is sinking away from all that made him good and noble. I will do my best for him, and there is no one who can stop me here." "Your father!" "--Is a new friend, who has been kind to me, and whom I love--but he hasn't the power to make me break my promise to the dead. That man is desolate, and heavily afflicted, and I will go to him!" "Against MY wish?" "Yes--against the wishes of all in the world--if they were uttered in opposition to me!" cried Mattie. "Then," looking very firm and white, "you will choose between him and me. He will be a friend the more, and I a daughter the less." "It cannot be helped." "You never loved me, or you would never thus defy me. Girl, you are going into danger--the world will talk, and rob you of your good name." "Let it," said Mattie, proudly. "It has spoken ill before of me, and I have lived it down. I shall not study it, when the interest and happiness of a dear friend are at stake. He is being killed by all you!" she cried, with a comprehensive gesture of her hand; "now let me try!" "Mattie, you are mad--wrong--wicked!--I have no patience with you--I have done with you, if you defy me thus." "I am doing right--you cannot stop me. I have done wrong to remain idle here so long; I will go at once." "At once!--breaking up this home--you will, then?" "If I remain here longer, you will set him against me--me, who would have him look upon me as his sister, his one friend left to pray for him, slave for him, and keep his enemies away!" "I won't hear any more of this rhodomontade--this voice of the devil on the lips of my child," he said, snatching up his hat again. "Stay here till I return, or go away for ever."