"Perhaps it is hardly a report," said the clerk, correcting himself; "for I doubt if any one else knows of it. I met Sir Richard to-day, my dear young lady," he continued, advancing and taking her hands, his tone full of indignant commiseration; "and in answer to some remark I made about your marriage, he said the marriage was not to take place; it was at an end. I did not believe him." "It is quite true," replied Mary, with difficulty controlling her voice. "I am glad that it is at an end." "Glad?" he repeated, looking into her face with his kindly old eyes. "Yes. It is much better so. Sir Richard, in the altered state of my fortunes, would never think me a sufficiently good match for his son." "But the honour, Miss Mary! Or rather the dishonour of their breaking it off! And your happiness? Is that not to be thought of?" "All things that are wrong will right themselves," she replied with a quiet smile. "At least, Sir Richard thinks so. "And Mr. Blake-Gordon, is he willing to submit to the separation quietly? Pardon me, Miss Mary. If your father were alive, I should know my place too well to say a word on the subject: but--but I seem to have been drawn very close to you since that time of desolation, and my heart resents all slight on you as he would have resented it. I could not rest until I knew the truth." "Say no more about it," breathed Mary. "Let the topic be between us as one that had never had existence. It will be for my happiness." "But can nothing be done?" persisted Thomas Hill. "Should not your uncle go and expostulate with them and expose their villainy--for I can call it by no other name?" "Not for worlds," she said, hastily. "It is I who have broken the engagement, Mr. Hill; not they. I wrote this morning and restored Mr. Blake-Gordon his freedom: this afternoon I bade him farewell for ever. It is all over and done with: never mention it again to me." "And you--what are your plans for the future?--And, oh, forgive me for being anxious, my dear young lady! I had you on my knee often as a little one, and in my heart you have been as dear to me and seemed to grow up as my own daughter. Where shall you live?" "I cannot yet tell where. I am poor, you know," she added, with one of her sweet, sad smiles. "For the present I am going on a visit to my Uncle James." "Greylands' Rest would be your most suitable home now," spoke Thomas Hill slowly and dubiously. "But--I don't know that you would like it. Mrs. Castlemaine----" He stopped, hardly liking to say what was in his mind--that Mrs. Castlemaine was not the most desirable of women to live with. Mary understood him. "Only on a visit," she said. "While there, I shall have leisure to think of the future. My hundred and fifty pounds a year--and that much you all say will be secured to me----" "And the whole of what I possess, Miss Mary."