I was rather later than usual at the Halletts', and on going upstairs, full of my good news, I found that Mrs Hallett was in bed, and Linny with her brother. I ran up, tapped, and went in according to my custom, and then drew back for it was evident that something was wrong, but Hallett called me to stay. "We have no secrets from you, Antony," he said excitedly. "You know what has taken place from the first, and you are as much Linny's friend as mine." "Then if he is," cried Linny, stamping her little foot, "I'll appeal to him." "Why, Linny," I said, "what is the matter?" "Matter!" she cried, sobbing passionately, "have I not given up to him in all he wished? have not I obeyed him and been more like a prisoner here than his sister? And now he is not satisfied." "I am satisfied, my child," he said kindly. "But go on: what have I done?" "Done?" cried Linny; "wounded me where you knew my heart was sore; looked upon my every act with suspicion." "No, my child," he said quietly, as he watched the pretty, wilful little thing more in grief than anger. "You know how happy we have been, these last few weeks, since you have had confidence in me, and listened to my words." "Happy?" she cried piteously, and with her hand upon her heart. "Yes," he said; "happy till this letter came to-day--a letter that has swept all your promises to the winds, and sown dissension between us. Once more, will you show me the letter?" "Once more," cried Linny passionately, "no! You assume too much. Even if you were my father, you could do no more." "I stand to you, my dear child, in the place of your dead father. Your honour is as dear to me as it would have been to him." "My honour!" echoed Linny. "Stephen, you degrade me, by talking in this way before a comparative stranger." "Antony Grace is not a comparative stranger," said Hallett quietly. "If he were your own brother he could not have acted better to us both. I speak out before him, because I look to Antony, boy though he be, to help me to watch over you and protect you, since you are so weak." "To act as your spy?" "No," he said sadly, "we will not degrade ourselves by acting as spies, but you force it upon me, Linny, to take stern measures. You refuse to show me this letter?" "I do. I would die first!" cried Linny. "My poor child," he said sadly, "there is no need. I can read it in your transparent little face. You thought, I believe, in the first hot sting of your wrong that night, that you had plucked this foolish love from your breast; and so long as he remained silent you were at rest. But now he writes to you and says--" "Hush, Stephen! You shall not before Antony Grace." "Why not?" he cried. "He says in this letter that he has been wretched ever since; that he begs your pardon for the past; that upon your forgiveness depends his future; and he implores you, by all you hold sacred, to grant him an interview, that he may be forgiven."