breath, it'll be."

Mattie, ever ready to console others, received consolation in her turn; and hoped for the best.

Late in the evening, Mr. Wesden departed, and early next day, much to Mattie's surprise, Harriet Wesden, with a box or two, arrived in a cab to the house.

Mattie watched the entrance of the boxes, and looked very closely into the face of the young mistress. Harriet, with a smile that was well got up for the occasion, advanced to her.

"Think, Mattie, of my coming here to spend a week with you—of being your companion. Why, it'll be the old times back again."

"I should be more glad to see you if I thought there were no other reason, Miss Harriet," said Mattie—"but there is!"

"Why, what can there——"

Mattie caught her by the sleeve.

"Your father suspects that I am not honest—the past life has come a little closer, and made him repent of all the past kindness—is not that it?"

"No, no, Mattie, dear—you must not think that!"

"He has grown suspicious of me—I can see it in his looks, in his altered manner; and, oh! I can do nothing to stop it—to show him that I am as honest as the day."

"Patience, Mattie, dear," said Harriet, "we will soon prove that to him, if he require proof. If I have come at his wish, it was at my own, too, and you are exaggerating the reasons that have brought me hither."

"I wonder why I stop here now," said Mattie, thoughtfully. "I, who am a young woman, and can get my own living. If he is tired of me, I have no right to stop."

"You will stop for the sake of those who love you, and who have trust in you, Mattie; you will not think of going away."

"Well, not yet awhile. I think," dashing a rebellious tear from her dark eyes, "that I can bear more than this before I leave you all. And if things do look a little dark just now, I shall live them down, with God's help!"

"There's nothing dark—it's three-fourths fancy. Think of my sorrows, Mattie, and thank heaven that you have never been in love!"

"Dreadful sorrows yours are, Miss Harriet, I must say!"

"People never think much of other people's sorrows," remarked Harriet, sententiously.

Thus it came about that Harriet Wesden and Mattie were thrown into closer companionship for awhile, and that Mattie began to think that the constant presence of the girl she loved most in the world made ample amends for the suspicions which had placed her there, for the absence of Sidney Hinchford, and the mystery by which it had been characterized.

"It's astonishing how I miss Mr. Sidney," Mattie said, confidently, to Harriet, "though we did not say much more than 'good morning,' and 'good evening,' from one week's end to another—but he has been so long here, and become so long a part of home, that it does seem strange to have the place without him."

"And the letter—he never got the letter, after all," sighed Harriet.

"There it is, on the drawing-room mantel-piece," said Mattie; "bad news awaiting his return. I see it every morning there, and think of his coming disappointment."

"He'll soon get over it—men soon get over it," replied Harriet, "they have so much to do in the world, and so many things therein to distract them. It's not like us poor girls, who think of nothing else but whom it is best to love, and who will love us best."

"Speak for your own romantic self, Miss Harriet," said Mattie, laughing.

"You never think of these things!—you, close on eighteen years of age!"

"Never," said Mattie, fearlessly; "I seem a little out of the way of it—it's not in my line. But—I understand it well enough."

"Or you would have never taken my part against poor old Sid," said Harriet.

"And that reminds me that I am neglecting poor old Sid's father, and I promised not."

Sid's father required no small amount of attention Mattie very quickly discovered; the absence of his son preyed upon the old gentleman, and left him entirely alone. The place was a desert without "the boy;"—with all his love for him, he could not have imagined that his absence would have led to such a blank. He thought that he could have put up with it, and jogged along in his old methodical way until Sid's return; but the horrors seized him in the attempt, and it was more of a struggle to keep time from killing him, than to kill the hoary enemy by distraction of pursuits.

He became absent over the account-books at the builder's office, and the clerks laughed at him and his mistakes; whilst the employers, who had found him slow in his movements for some time, thought he was getting past work and becoming unendurable. These old-fashioned clerks will get in the way, when the hand grows feeble, and the memory betrays them. Commerce has no fine feelings, and must sweep them aside for better men without compunction.

Mattie, remembering her promise to Sidney, and favoured in the performance of it by Harriet's extra service, played her cards well, and helped to wile away many hours that would have weighed heavily with Mr. Hinchford. An excuse to enter the room led to a remark concerning Sidney, which rendered the old gentleman voluble—and the presence of Harriet Wesden down-stairs, his son's future wife, formed a good excuse to lure him into the parlour, and persuade him to smoke his pipe there. Then Mattie began to think that she should like to know backgammon, and Mr. Hinchford condescended to instruct her, as he had instructed her, when she was younger, in orthography and syntax. And finally, when he was becoming excited about Sidney's non-appearance, and resolved one night to sit up for him, as he was positive of his return, Mattie essayed that difficult and delicate task which Sidney had confided to her—a task which Harriet was inclined to take upon herself—and somewhat jealous of Mattie being entrusted with it in her stead.

"He wrote to me the night he left—why didn't he ask me to console his father, I wonder?"

Mattie thought it was for the reason that consolation might be required at any moment, and that Sidney was ignorant of Harriet's intention to stay a few weeks at Great Suffolk Street—but Harriet Wesden on the scene was no reason for Mattie to relinquish her rights. Besides, she had confidence in her own powers of breaking the news—and the unopened death-warrant on the mantel-piece was evidence of Harriet Wesden's rights being at an end.

The story was told by degrees then—what Mr. Sidney had said to Mattie and wished her to do,—told with a gentleness and earnestness which did credit to Mattie's powers, and proved what a thoughtful, gentle woman she was becoming. Under the circumstances, also, she made the best of it, and though Mr. Hinchford pulled at his stock, and ruffled his white hair, and took a long while to understand it, yet it was a successful revelation.

"Always considerate, Mr. Sidney is," said Mattie, in conclusion; "most sons would have spoken out the truth at once, and gone away, leaving their fathers wholly miserable; he went at the subject like a daughter almost—didn't he, sir?"

Mr. Hinchford had felt inclined to believe himself treated childishly, till Mattie put the question in this new light.

"Ah! he did——" he burst forth with; "he's a dear lad! What a lucky girl that Harriet Wesden is!"

Time passed on, and no Sidney's return. The nights drew in closer yet, and with their lengthier darkness deepened the shadows round the lives of all our characters. Sidney had stated his intention to write no letters, but they were expected nevertheless, and Harriet began to fancy that it was a little strange—as strange as her interest in Sidney and his movements, now that she had given him up for ever! A letter for herself, from Miss Eveleigh, diverted her attention somewhat—it had been sent to Camberwell and posted on by her father.

"Miss Eveleigh is very anxious to see me for a few minutes," said Harriet. "She and her mother think of getting up some private theatricals at New-Cross,