“Do not ask me,” said she, stopping the question which was on his lips; “we are not the formers of our own destiny. It is painful to talk on such a subject; but for once, and for ever, let me tell you that I should have done Mr. Hartley wrong, if, even to secure his assistance to my father, I had accepted his hand, while my wayward affections did not accompany the act.” “But wherefore do I see you here, Menie?--Forgive me, Miss Gray, my tongue as well as my heart turns back to long-forgotten scenes--But why here?--why with this woman?” “She is not, indeed, every thing that I expected,” answered Menie; “but I must not be prejudiced by foreign manners, after the step I have taken--She is, besides, attentive, and generous in her way, and I shall soon”--she paused a moment, and then added, “be under better protection.” “That of Richard Middlemas?” said Hartley with a faltering voice. “I ought not, perhaps, to answer the question,” said Menie; “but I am a bad dissembler, and those whom I trust, I trust entirely. You have guessed right, Mr. Hartley,” she added,--colouring a good deal, “I have come hither to unite my fate to that of your old comrade.” “It is, then, just as I feared!” exclaimed Hartley. “And why should Mr. Hartley fear?” said Menie Gray. “I used to think you too generous--surely the quarrel which occurred long since ought not to perpetuate suspicion and resentment.” “At least, if the feeling of resentment remained in my own bosom, it would be the last I should intrude upon you, Miss Gray,” answered Hartley. “But it is for you, and for you alone, that I am watchful.--This person--this gentleman whom you mean to intrust with your happiness--do you know where he is--and in what service?” “I know both, more distinctly perhaps than Mr. Hartley can do. Mr. Middlemas has erred greatly, and has been severely punished. But it was not in the time of his exile and sorrow, that she who has plighted her faith to him should, with the flattering world, turn her back upon him. Besides, you have, doubtless, not heard of his hopes of being restored to his country and his rank?” “I have,” answered Hartley, thrown off his guard; “but I see not how he can deserve it, otherwise than by becoming a traitor to his new master, and thus rendering himself even more unworthy of confidence than I hold him to be at this moment.” “It is well that he hears you not,” answered Menie Gray, resenting, with natural feeling, the imputation on her lover. Then instantly softening her tone she added, “My voice ought not to aggravate, but to soothe your quarrel. Mr. Hartley, I plight my word to you that you do Richard wrong.” She said these words with affected calmness, suppressing all appearance of that displeasure, of which she was evidently sensible, upon this depreciation of a beloved object. Hartley compelled himself to answer in the same strain.