‘You are hard upon me to say that. It gives me such pleasure to thank you, but you deserve at my hands that I should comply with your wishes--after what you have done for me. But you cannot guess what a delightful feeling it is to one so lonely as I, to suddenly discover that there is some one who has been not afraid to stand up for her--and to some purpose.’ ‘I should have thought you would have many friends,’ remarked Myles, endeavouring to change the too-fascinating subject. ‘I--no indeed. I don’t think any one with fewer friends ever lived.’ ‘But you may have left friends behind you on the Continent?’ A momentary pause while he looked at her. It was as though some sudden blow had struck the words back from her lips to her heart--then she said steadily, ‘Some few; but chiefly benefactors rather than friends--benefactors who befriended and helped me in my loneliness and destitution, for my father and I were sometimes almost destitute.’ ‘Destitute?’ echoed Myles, shocked. ‘Oh yes! I have not always lived in Lancashire, you know. No one seems to be poor here. I have known what it is to look at a piece of money worth sixpence, and know that if I spent that upon my supper I should not have a penny in the morning to buy breakfast with.’ ‘But not seriously?’ ‘I assure you it seemed very serious to me. I have sunk lower. I have known what it was to go supperless to bed, wondering what poor little trinket or book I could spare in order to get a breakfast next morning.’ Myles was silent, and Adrienne continued, ‘That, you know, is what is not considered respectable for a young lady.’ ‘Hang respectability!’ was all he said. ‘Not at all! I like it. After all the fever and the turmoils, and the ups and downs, and dreadful uncertainties of that life, my present one is like Paradise. Oh, rest is a very sweet thing--rest and security, and a strong arm to help you.’ (Myles turned to her with parted lips.) ‘Your home is beautiful. That sister of yours is so calm and good. I love her already. She must be very dear to you.’ ‘Ay, I love Mary dearly.’ ‘Yes. Both she and you, and all of you, look as if you had had a home all your lives. Do you think I might go to see them again?’ ‘They’ll only be too glad. I never thought you could sympathise so much--with our sort,’ said Myles, constrainedly. ‘To-morrow you will come to Stonegate, will you not? and then I will tell you my story, and you will perhaps understand how it is that I sympathise with “your sort,” as you call it, and why I think so much of what you have done for me.’ ‘I will come with pleasure.’ ‘To-morrow afternoon, then, I shall expect you.’ They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Myles left her at the gate. CHAPTER X. ‘Deeper and deeper still.’