Well, on the following week, my sweetheart went to Sunderland, and I felt as widowed as though I had been his wife and he had died. He crossed from Sunderland to Liverpool, and was absent a fortnight. From Liverpool he wrote to tell me that he was very well satisfied with the _Arab Chief_, and had agreed with her owners, who did business in Liverpool, to take command of her and purchase a share to the value of three thousand pounds. The influence of his love was very strong upon me while he was away. He had hinted, but gently, that he thought my aunt right in objecting to my old love of rambling--I mean to the excursions I used to make down the river and to other parts, often sleeping out for a night or two at a time, as you have heard; and during his absence I went nowhere, save to my aunt’s or to the houses of some of my particular friends. Meanwhile you will not suppose that I saw nothing of Mr. Stanford. We lived in the same house, and were, therefore, bound to meet, not, indeed, in our separate apartments, but upon the staircase or in the passages. When Tom had been gone about a week, my stepfather knocked upon my door one morning as I sat at breakfast. I bade him enter, and he sat down at the table. ‘I met Mrs. Johnstone yesterday,’ said he, ‘and she gave me a piece of news. Allow me to congratulate you,’ and he inclined his head. I bowed slightly in return, keeping silence. ‘I am aware that I have no claim upon you, Miss Johnstone,’ said he. ‘None whatever,’ I cried. ‘But I am your stepfather, and, as a matter of courtesy, not to say more, you should, I think, have favoured me from your own lips with the news of your engagement.’ ‘My affairs have nothing to do with you, Mr. Stanford.’ ‘Miss Marian, I am not here to quarrel, but to congratulate you,’ he said. ‘Our relations have long been uncomfortable. I should have quitted this house some time ago, but for the difficulty I find in meeting with one equally suitable. My practice is of the utmost importance to me not for my sake only; it is my duty to make a provision for your mother’s child.’ ‘She is your child!’ I cried, hotly. ‘I do not need to be told that, Miss Marian. It is very painful to me to reflect that your antipathy should have no other basis than your lamented mother’s love for me. Your mother, I hope and trust, was dear to you, Miss Marian, and it is most regrettable that there is nothing in her memory to soften your violent prejudice.’ ‘I beg you will not speak to me of my mother.’ He eyed me askant; he had a way of looking at you with his head half turned. ‘I am here primarily to congratulate you,’ said he. ‘It is your pleasure to be reticent, and I will therefore not trouble you with any questions about your _fiancé_. But one inquiry you will forgive--it is a matter of business. When, pray, are you to be married?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘You will probably settle in this house with your husband?’