Mr. Gray was in a passion, and, like most men in a passion, went the wrong way to work. He was jealous of this new rival to his daughter's love that had sprung up, and angered with Mattie's attempt to justify her new determination. He believed in Mattie's obedience, and his own power over her yet; and he was an obstinate man, whom it took a long while to subdue. He went out of the room wildly gesticulating, and Mattie sat panting for awhile, and trying to still the heaving of her bosom. She had gone beyond herself--perhaps betrayed herself--but she had expressed her intention, and nothing that had happened since had induced her to swerve. If it were a choice between her father and Sidney, why, it must be Sidney, if he would have her for his friend and companion in the future. "I must go--I must go at once!" she whispered to herself; and then hurriedly put on her bonnet and shawl, and made for the staircase. She thought that she was doing right, and that good would come of it; and she did not hesitate. Before her, in the distance, sat the solitary figure of him she loved, friendless, alone, and benighted; and her woman's heart yearned to go to him, and forgot all else. Thus forgetting, thus yearning to do good, Mattie made a false step, and turned her back upon her father's home. CHAPTER II. MATTIE'S ADVISER. Mattie reached Chesterfield Terrace as the clock was striking nine. Ann Packet almost shouted with alarm at the sight of the new visitor, and then looked intently over Mattie's shoulder. "_He_ hasn't come back again, has he? Mr. Sidney's been in such a dreadful way about him, Mattie. Blind as he is, I think he'll try to murder him." "I have come instead. He will see me, I hope." She did not wait to be announced, but turned the handle of the parlour-door and entered. Sidney Hinchford, in a harsh voice, cried out, "Who's there?" "Only Mattie. May I come in?" "Mattie here at this hour! Come in, if you will. What is it?" He was seated in the great leathern arm-chair, that had been his father's favourite seat, in the old attitude that Mattie knew so well now. She shuddered at the change in him--the wreck of manhood that one affliction had reduced him to, and the impulse that had brought her there was strengthened. "Mr. Sidney," she said, approaching, "I have come to ask a favour of you." "I am past dispensing favours, Mattie. Unless--unless it's to listen patiently to that horrible father of yours. Then I say No--for he drives me mad with his monotony." "I have come to defend you from him, if he call again--to live here, and take care of you as a dear brother who requires care, and must not be left entirely to strangers." "I am better by myself, Mattie--fit company only for myself." "No, the worst of company for that." "It must not be."