man--that is to say, the gentleman--takes it into his head
to make me an allowance, it will take me off your hands, and I shall
not be always feeling that I am an awful expense to you. All right,
mother. I think I can promise that I will be on my best behavior, and
will try hard to get on even with his sisters. I wish he had asked
Phil Landrey to go down with me. Two fellows can get on anywhere."

"I should have very little hope of your making a good impression if
you went there with your friend Phil," Mrs. Conway said, smiling. "I
can believe in your good conduct while you are alone, but I should
have no hopes whatever of you if you and he were together."

"But how am I to go, mother? It seems such a tremendous way from here
down into Dorsetshire."

"I have not thought anything about it yet, Ralph; but probably Mr.
Penfold will give some instructions as to your journey when he hears
from me that you are coming."

CHAPTER II.

A COUNTRY VISIT.

When Ralph had gone off to school again Mrs. Conway sat down to answer
the letter--by no means an easy task--and she sat with the paper
before her for a long time before she began. At last, with an air of
desperation, she dipped her pen into the ink and began:

"MY DEAR HERBERT PENFOLD: It is difficult to answer such a letter
as yours--to say all one feels without saying too much; to express
the gratitude with which one is full, but of which one feels that
you do not desire the expression. First, a word as to the past.
Now that it is irreparable, why should I not speak freely? We were
the victims of a mistake! You were misled respecting me. I
foolishly resented the line you took, failed to make sufficient
allowances for your surroundings, and even doubted a love that
seemed to me to be so easily shaken. Thus my pride was, perhaps,
as much responsible for what happened as your too easy credence of
tales to my disadvantage. At any rate, believe me that I have
cherished no such feelings as those with which you credit me
toward you. Now that I know the truth, I can only regret that your
life has been, as you say, spoiled, by what can but be called a
fatal misunderstanding.

"Next, I must thank you, although you make no allusion to it in
your letter, for your kindness during past years. Of these,
believe me, I never suspected that you were the author; and I need
hardly say how deeply I have b