Julian hesitated for a moment, but she was already leading the way, and he could not refuse to follow. They went up to the top of the house, and entered a little chamber which might have been more tidy, but was decently furnished. The bed was made in a slovenly way, the mantelpiece was dusty, and the pictures on the walls hung askew. Harriet closed the door behind them, and proceeded to point out the new picture, and discuss the various positions which had occurred to her. Julian would have decided the question as speedily as possible, and once or twice moved to return downstairs, but each time the girl found something new to detain him. Opening a drawer, she took out several paltry little ornaments, which she wished him to admire, and, in showing them, stood very close by his side. All at once the door of the room was pushed open, and a woman ran in. On seeing the stranger present, she darted back with an exclamation of surprise. "Oh, Miss Smales, I didn't know as you wasn't alone! I heard you moving about, and come just to arst you to lend me--but never mind, I'm so sorry; why didn't you lock the door?" And she bustled out again, apparently in much confusion. Harriet had dropped the thing she held in her hand, and stood looking at her cousin as if dismayed. "I never thought any one was in," she said nervously. "It's Miss Mould, the lodger. She went out before I did, and I never heard her come back. Whatever will she think!" "But of course," he stammered, "you will explain everything to her. She knows who I am, doesn't she?" "I don't think so, and, even if she did--" She stopped, and stood with eyes on the ground, doing her best to display maiden confusion. Then she began to cry. "But surely, surely there is no need to trouble yourself," exclaimed Julian, almost distracted, beginning to be dimly conscious of all manner of threatening possibilities. "I will speak to the woman myself, and clear you of every--. Oh, but this is all nonsense. Let us go down at once, Harriet. What a pity you asked me to come up here!" It was the nearest to a reproach that he had ever yet addressed to her. His face showed clearly how distressed he was, and that on his own account more than hers, for he could not conceive any blame save on himself for being so regardless of appearances. "Go as quietly as ever you can," Harriet whispered. "The stairs creak so. Step very softly." This was terrible to the poor fellow. To steal down in this guilty way was as bad as a confession of evil intentions, and he so entirely innocent of a shadow of evil even in his thought. Yet he could not but do as she bade him. Even on the stairs she urged him in a very loud whisper to be yet more cautious. He was out of himself with mortification; and felt angry with her for bringing him into such ignominy. In the back parlour once more, he took up his hat at once.