There was the little room, looking just as of old. I had dusted it and tidied it that morning, and put a few fresh flowers in one or two vases, and made it look quite gay and pretty. I knew where Aunt Penelope kept her note-paper; I opened her Davenport and took out a sheet now and began to write. I wrote straight to Vernon Carbury. My letter was very short. "I have to give you up, Vernon," I wrote; "there is no other way out. My father, Major Grayson, has told me his true story. I never heard it until to-day. I understand everything now, and I wish you, Vernon, clearly to understand that I, Major Grayson's daughter, take his shame, and bind it on me, and not for all the world will I loosen that badge of shame from my heart. So, because of this very thing, I can never be your true wife. You are a brave soldier of the King, and my father has been cashiered, because of a crime, from the King's Army. Is it likely that you and I can be husband and wife? Good-bye, dear. It gives me dreadful pain to write this letter, but all the same, I am glad we have met, and that you have put me into your gallery of heroines, as I have put you into my gallery of heroes. Forget me soon--find a girl who has no shame to bind round her heart, and be happy. Dearest darling, best beloved,--Your little "HEATHER." I knew his address, and put it on the letter. I stamped it, and ran out with it myself. Jonas saw me going, and called after me: "Miss Heather, I'll post that for you." "No, thank you," I answered; "I'd like to go." The letter was dropped into the post-box before my father came downstairs again after his interview with Aunt Penelope. His face was pale, and he looked tired. "Upon my word, this has been a trying day to me. She's the best of women, Heather; I don't wonder you're proud of her. She reminds me wonderfully of your poor mother; not in appearance, of course, for I never saw your mother except with the glint and the glamour of youth on her face; but she's what your poor mother would have been had she lived. She's a right-down good woman. She wants you to go on living with her, but I have got her to see reason, and she is satisfied that you shall return to me as soon as she is well. Take care of her, child--here's a ten-pound note to spend on her, and when you want more money you have only to write to me." "But--but I thought you had no money?" I answered. "I have, and I haven't. As long as I live with Lady Helen I have more money than I know what to do with. Don't take that little drop of honey out of my cup. I can spend that money as I please, and no questions asked; and now, my child, I'm going back to London. I'll write to you in a day or two; you needn't fear her ladyship, she'll go on giving you a good time, and some day perhaps you'll marry." "No," I said. "You know that--father--you know that I won't."