The next day Andrew came again, and this time with great news. There was a certain estate in Devonshire which should have descended to my mother by the will of her grandmother, but which had long been in dispute, and had threatened to eat itself up, as the saying goes, in law expenses. Andrew brought word that by the discovery of some new evidence—a later will, I believe—the matter was definitely settled, and that when our honest share of the expenses was paid the estate would be worth no less than three hundred a year to my mother and me. He proposed to go at once to Exeter to attend to the final settlement, if my mother wished it and would give him proper powers. "But that is hardly fair," said my mother. "It will take a week or more out of your short remaining time at home." "That does not matter," answered Andrew abruptly; and then added, "Besides, the sailing of the ship is put off another two weeks. I begin to think she will never go at all." "Are you, then, in such a hurry to be gone?" I said, without thinking. I could have bitten my tongue with vexation a moment after. "Sailors soon grow tired of life on shore," said he not unkindly. "The sea never lets go of any one it has once taken hold of, and you know the saying is that it always draws those whose parents it has drowned." Then, after a little silence, "Vevette, will you walk up the church-path with me? I want to show you a new plant I have found." I was in two minds to refuse, but after a moment's consideration I agreed, and went to fetch my mantle and hood. We walked a little while in silence, enjoying the fresh evening air and the breeze perfumed with that strange, sweet scent of the cave and the moorland together which one meets nowhere but by the sea. Then Andrew said— "Vevette, if you could tell me one thing it would ease my mind wonderfully." "Well," said I, "what is it?" "Was the other day the first time you—the first time—" "The first time I ever deceived my mother?" I said, to help him out. "Was that what you want to know?" Then, as he nodded assent, "No, Andrew, it was not. When I was quite a child, not more than twelve years old, my Uncle Charles sent my mother some tales and play-books, and I stole two or three of them and read them in secret. I had them till the day before we went to the supper at the grange, and then I burned them all. Since then I have read nothing of the sort till that day Betty persuaded me to read with her the book my Aunt Jem gave me." "And this is the whole truth!" said he. Then, as I withdrew a step and looked at him, he added eagerly, "Forgive me, Vevette, but this matter is of such great importance to me. So much depends upon it." "So much depends upon it!" I repeated. "What?"