e letter Mrs. Harnham was led to ask questions, and
the answers she received confirmed her suspicions. Deep concern filled
Edith's heart at perceiving how the girl had committed her happiness to
the issue of this new-sprung attachment. She blamed herself for not
interfering in a flirtation which had resulted so seriously for the poor
little creature in her charge; though at the time of seeing the pair
together she had a feeling that it was hardly within her province to nip
young affection in the bud. However, what was done could not be undone,
and it behoved her now, as Anna's only protector, to help her as much as
she could. To Anna's eager request that she, Mrs. Harnham, should
compose and write the answer to this young London man's letter, she felt
bound to accede, to keep alive his attachment to the girl if possible;
though in other circumstances she might have suggested the cook as an
amanuensis.

A tender reply was thereupon concocted, and set down in Edith Harnham's
hand. This letter it had been which Raye had received and delighted in.
Written in the presence of Anna it certainly was, and on Anna's humble
note-paper, and in a measure indited by the young girl; but the life, the
spirit, the individuality, were Edith Harnham's.

'Won't you at least put your name yourself?' she said. 'You can manage
to write that by this time?'

'No, no,' said Anna, shrinking back. 'I should do it so bad. He'd be
ashamed of me, and never see me again!'

The note, so prettily requesting another from him, had, as we have seen,
power enough in its pages to bring one. He declared it to be such a
pleasure to hear from her that she must write every week. The same
process of manufacture was accordingly repeated by Anna and her mistress,
and continued for several weeks in succession; each letter being penned
and suggested by Edith, the girl standing by; the answer read and
commented on by Edith, Anna standing by and listening again.

Late on a winter evening, after the dispatch of the sixth letter, Mrs.
Harnham was sitting alone by the remains of her fire. Her husband had
retired to bed, and she had fallen into that fixity of musing which takes
no count of hour or temperature. The state of mind had been brought
about in Edith by a strange thing which she had done that day. For the
first time since Raye's visit Anna had gone to stay over a night or two
with her cottage friends on the Plain, and in her absence had arrived,