A burning blush swept over her face, from forehead to throat, and that was the only answer she gave him. 'Come, tell me,' he persisted. 'Can't you guess?' she asked in a low voice, looking straight before her. 'Perhaps I can.' 'Perhaps? Of course you can. Why do girls ever leave good homes, and come to such a home as mine is now?' 'Then he has left you?' 'No,' she said, hurriedly; 'no, no, I've left him. But I can't talk about it to you.' 'Why not to me, if you can to anyone?' he asked. 'Because--because-- Don't ask me anything else;' and she burst into tears. 'There, there,' he said, 'don't cry, for heaven's sake. I didn't mean to worry you; but you will tell me all about it by-and-by, won't you? What are you doing now?' 'Working.' 'What sort of work? Come, don't cry, Alice. I hate to think I have been adding to your distress.' She dried her eyes obediently, and answered: 'I do tailoring work. It seems to be the only thing I'm good for.' 'That's paid very badly, isn't it?' he asked, some vague reminiscences of "Alton Locke" prompting the question. 'Oh, I manage to get along pretty well,' she replied, with an effort at a smile, which was more pathetic in Dick's eyes than her tears had been. He thought gloomily of the time, not so very long ago either, when her face had been the brightest as well as the fairest in Thornsett village, and his heart was sore with indignant protest against him who had so changed her face, her life, her surroundings. He looked at her tired thin face, still so pretty, in spite of the grief that had aged and the want that had pinched it, and found it hard to believe that this was indeed the Alice with whom he had raced through the pastures at Firth Vale--the Alice who had taken the place in his boyish heart of a very dear little sister. Ah, if she had only been his sister really, then their friendship would not have grown less and less during his school and college days, and his protection would have saved her, perhaps, from this. These foster-relationships are uncomfortable things. They inflict the sufferings of a real blood tie, and give none of the rights which might mitigate or avert such suffering. 'How's mother and father?' she said, breaking in among his sad thoughts. 'They were well when I saw them, but I've not seen them lately. We've been in great trouble.' 'Yes. I saw in the papers. I was so sorry.' 'Then you read the papers?' 'I always try to see a weekly paper,' she said a little confusedly. 'Then you don't know how they are at home?' 'I only know they're grieving after you still.' 'They know I'm not dead. I let them know that, and I should think that's all they care to know.' 'You know better than that. My dear child, why not go home to them? I believe the misery you have cost them--forgive me for saying it--will shorten their lives unless you do go back.' 'Go back? No! I've sowed and I must reap. I must go through with it. I live just down here. Good-night.'