Caleb Runciman was the only friend they knew outside the gates of Granite Lodge, for Queenie had long ago broken with the old acquaintances whom she had known when her father was alive. Some had been offended at her independence and unwillingness to take their advice, others had merely cooled, a few had forgotten the orphans. Queenie was too proud to remind them of her existence; but she and Emmie clung to their old friend Caleb Runciman. He was the old confidential clerk of their uncle, Andrew Calcott, who was still the principal solicitor in Carlisle. Andrew Calcott had never forgiven his sister her marriage with Frank Marriott. She had chosen between them, he said, and must abide by her decision. The hard, jealous nature had received a secret blow from which it never recovered. In a moment of bitter passion he had uttered a terrible oath, which only poor Emily Calcott and Caleb Runciman heard, that neither she nor any child of hers should ever have a penny of his money. "It is your money, Andrew, not mine," Emily had answered very sadly and meekly, for after her unfortunate marriage much of her old spirit had died out; "but you should not be so hard on me, my dear," and as she spoke Andrew Calcott's cheek had turned very pale. "Depend upon it, my dear young lady, he repented of his speech the moment it had passed his lips," Caleb had said more than once to Queenie as he narrated this circumstance, which he was fond of doing with a great deal of dramatic energy. "Aye, that was a terrible oath be took, and enough to blacken any man's soul; no wonder he grows harder every year; and his temper is enough to try a saint, let alone a poor sinner like me, till we daren't answer him for fear of flying in a passion." Mr. Calcott lived in a large handsome house in Botchergate. Queenie and Emmie had often met him when they walked out in double file to take the air, as Miss Titheridge termed the daily exercise, and Emmie had always shrunk nearer to her sister at the sight of the tall, austere-looking man, who sometimes eyed them so sternly. Mr. Calcott knew the little girl in the shabby garment, who always walked last in the procession, holding so tightly to her companion's hand, was his dead sister's only child; he knew as well that the older girl was Frank Marriott's daughter, but he never acknowledged the relationship save by a deeper frown. Poor old Caleb Runciman could only befriend them in secret. On their rare holidays the sisters would slip through the streets in the twilight, and steal into the small, two-storied house, with its dark entry and small wainscoted parlour looking out on the winding street.