, you are the right person.'

'She will not let herself dwell on it. She never even looked at Mrs.
Morton's letter.'

'And I really hope they won't find the poor little dear, to have all the
fuss and heart-rending.'

'Oh, Birdie!'

'There's only one thing that would make me wish it. I'm quite sure that
that Miss Ida knows more about it than she owns. No, you need not say,
"Oh, Birdie" again; I don't suspect her of the deed, but I do believe she
saw the boy and kept out of his way, and now wants that poor Ellen to
have all the blame!'

'You will believe nothing against a girl out of an orphanage!'

'I had rather any day believe Ellen Mole than Ida Morton. There's
something about that girl which has always revolted me. I would never
trust her farther than I could see her!'

'Prejudice, Birdie; because she is in bad style.'

'You to talk of prejudice, Addie, who hardly knew how to go on living
here under the poor stick!'

'Don't, Birdie. He has earned esteem by sheer goodness. Poor man, I
don't know what to wish for him when I think of the pang that awaits
him.'

'You know what to wish for yourself and Northmoor! Not but that Herbert
may come to good if he doesn't come into possession for many a long
year.'

'And now I must write to that poor child, Constance. But oh, Bertha,
don't condemn hastily! Haven't I had enough of that?'

CHAPTER XXXIII
DARKNESS

Full a week later, Frank looked up from his pillow, and said, 'I wonder
when it will be safe to have Mite back. Mary, sweet, what is it? I have
been sure something was burthening you. Come and tell me. If he has the
fever, you must go to him. No!' as she clasped his hand and laid her
face down on the pillow.

'Ah, Frank, he does not want us any more!'

'My Mary, my poor Mary, have you been bearing such knowledge about with
you? For how long?'

'Since that worst day, yesterday week. Oh, but to see you getting better
was the help!'

'Can you tell me?'

She told him, in that low, steady voice, all she knew. It was very
little, for she had avoided whatever might break the composure that
seemed so needful to his recovery; and he could listen quietly, partly
from the lulling effect of weakness, partly from his anxiety for her, and
the habit of self-restraint, in which all the earlier part of their lives
had been passed, made utterance come slowly to them.

'Life will be different to us henceforth,' he once said. 'We have had