"Why, how very romantic!" said Hilda, with a smile. "You seem, from such circumstances, to have brought yourself to consider our very prosaic housekeeper as almost a princess in disguise. I, for my part, look upon her as a very common person, so weak-minded, to say the least, as to be almost half-witted. As to her accent, that is nothing. I dare say she has seen better days. I have heard more than once of ladies in destitute or reduced circumstances who have been obliged to take to housekeeping. After all, it is not bad. I'm sure it must be far better than being a governess." "Well, if I am romantic, you are certainly prosaic enough. At all events I love Mrs. Hart dearly. But come, Hilda, if you are going to write you must do so at once, for the letters are to be posted this afternoon." Hilda instantly went to the desk and began her task. Zillah, however, went away. Her chagrin and disappointment were so great that she could not stay, and she even refused afterward to look at the note which Hilda showed her. In fact, after that she would never look at them at all. Some time after this Zillah and Mrs. Hart were together on one of those frequent occasions which they made use of for confidential interviews. Somehow Zillah had turned the conversation from. Guy in person to the subject of her correspondence, and gradually told all to Mrs. Hart. At this she looked deeply shocked and grieved. "That girl," she said, "has some secret motive." She spoke with a bitterness which Zillah had never before noticed in her. "Secret motive!" she repeated, in wonder; "what in the world do you mean?" "She is bad and deceitful," said Mrs. Hart, with energy; "you are trusting your life and honor in the hands of a false friend." Zillah started back and looked at Mrs. Hart in utter wonder. "I know," said she at last, "that you don't like Hilda, but I feel hurt when you use such language about her. She is my oldest and dearest friend. She is my sister virtually. I have known her all my life, and know her to her heart's core. She is incapable of any dishonorable action, and she loves me like herself." All Zillah's enthusiastic generosity was aroused in defending against Mrs. Hart's charge a friend whom she so dearly loved. Mrs. Hart sadly shook her head. "My dear child," said she, "you know I would not hurt your feelings for the world. I am sorry. I will say nothing more about _her_, since you love her. But don't you feel that you are in a very false position?" "But what can I do? There is the difficulty about the handwriting. And then it has gone on so long." "Write to him at all hazards," said Mrs. Hart, "and tell him every thing." Zillah shook her head. "Well, then--will you let me?" "How can I? No; it must be done by myself--if it ever is done; and as to writing it myself--I can not."