“He’d been with us more than a fortnight before ever I asked him what his name was, and then somehow or other the question came up, and he said his name was Lesley--Robert Lesley; but somehow, looking back upon it afterwards, it seemed to me as if he hesitated a little before he said the name. Well, things went on as comfortable as possible for more than two months, and then he went away, taking all his luggage with him, and paying me very liberal for everything he’d had, besides half-a-crown apiece to the children, which at that time of year came very welcome; and of course I took it from them immediately to go towards their new boots. He went away; and as I thought, somehow, he’d had a kind of a liking for Susan, and Susan for him, I half expected the poor girl would fret a little when he was gone; but she didn’t, and looking at her sometimes as she sat at work opposite to me, I used to fancy there was a kind of happy smile like upon her face. She’d been with me six months by this time, and I paid her the little trifle that was due; and what did she do next day but go out and spend ever so much in toys and such-like for the children, which, as I told her, was very wrong, considering how badly off she was for clothes. But she made no answer, except to look at me with the same smile I’d seen so often on her face since Mr. Lesley had gone.” “Poor girl--poor, helpless, innocent girl!” The dark frown melted into a softer expression as Francis Tredethlyn muttered these few broken words. He was no longer thinking of the stranger--the nameless villain of this common story. He was thinking of his cousin Susy’s innocent face, with the smile of girlish trustfulness upon it.