All things have an end; Mattie was free at last. At last the door locked, and the room she had longed for, feared, and longed for again, engulphing her. Mattie took off her bonnet, opened noiselessly the window for the air which she felt she needed, and then dropped into a chair, and looked out at the dark sky, and the bright stars that were shimmering up there, where all seemed peace! The battle was not over, and Mattie was unconvinced still. "Is it true?" she asked again; "is it ALL true!" CHAPTER III. HALF THE TRUTH. Mattie, as we are already aware, had found Mr. Wesden the sole occupant of that house in Camberwell, whither the stationer had retired from the stirring business of life. He was alone, dull and dispirited; Harriet had gone to a thanksgiving festival at her favourite church, and her father, whom night-air affected now, was left to read his newspaper, or to think of old times, as his inclination might suggest. Harriet always offered to remain at home to keep her father company, but old Wesden was not a selfish man; he offered no objection to her departure; it would do her good, and be a change for her. It had long ago suggested itself to him that there was nothing like change to keep Harriet well and all unpleasant thoughts away from her; and if it were only the mild excitement of religious change, it was better than brooding at home over events which had passed and left marks of their ravages. Mr. Wesden brightened up at Mattie's visit; he had put away his pipe, and was sitting with his feet on the fender and his hands on his knees, thinking of his daughter and of the chance she had lost in not marrying Maurice Hinchford, when Mattie intruded on his reverie. The old friends--friends who had quarrelled and made it up, and become the best of friends again--sat down together and talked of the past, of what a business that was in Suffolk Street once, slow, and sure, and money-getting. Mr. Wesden was inclined to talk more in his old age, Mattie fancied, and when he drifted to the usual subject with which all topics invariably ended--his daughter--Mattie did not stop him. She had come to find out the truth, if possible--to make sure! Next to Sidney Hinchford, stood Harriet Wesden in her regard; she remembered all that Harriet had been to her, all that impulsiveness of action combined with steadiness of love which had won Mattie towards her in the early days, and was not likely to turn her from her then. But the truth had been hard to arrive at; Mr. Wesden spoke of Harriet's new pursuits, of her indignation at Maurice Hinchford's offer; he could tell her little more than Maurice Hinchford had done, save that there were times when his daughter seemed very dull and thoughtful. "P'raps it's the church, Mattie," he had said; "I wish you'd come more often and talk to her, like--like you used." "She does not think that I have neglected her--forgotten her?" "Oh! no."