a venture the envelope which she believed
to have come from her visitor in his hands.

"You sent that to me, Mr Burge," said Hazel firmly.

"Well, it was me, as you know, Miss Thorne; and you won't hurt our
feelings by refusing it, will you?"

"I could not take it, sir; but I do appreciate your goodness all the
same. Now help me to decide who sent me these letters."

Hazel's visitors looked at each other, then at the envelopes, and then
back at Hazel.

"Do you want me to say who sent those two letters?" said Mr William
Forth Burge gloomily.

"I should be very grateful if you could, sir."

"This one's from Mr Canninge, at Ardley, I should say; and the other's
the parson's writing, I feel sure. If they've sent you money, Miss
Thorne, of course you won't want mine--ours."

It was an endorsement of her own opinion, and for the moment Hazel did
not notice the dull, heavy look on her visitor's face as she exclaimed--

"I have no doubt these gentlemen had kindly intentions, but I cannot
take their help, and I want to see whether I might risk a mistake in
returning the notes."

"Oh, I think I'd return 'em," said Mr William Forth Burge eagerly.
"I'd risk its being a mistake. Even if it _was_, your conduct would be
right."

Hazel looked at him intently, and then bowed her head in acquiescence.

"Yes," she said thoughtfully, "I will risk its being a mistake. Or no:
Mr Burge, will you be my friend in my present helpless state? I ask
you to return the notes on my behalf."

"That's just what I will do," he cried excitedly, for it seemed to him
that he had won the day.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

MR WILLIAM FORTH BURGE IS INDIGNANT.

You may make money, and you may turn philanthropist giving right and
left, letting not either hand know what the other doeth; but if you
think you are going to make innumerable friends by so doing, you are
mistaken, for you will most likely make enemies.

You will excite jealousy amongst your equals, because you have passed
them in the race; your superiors, as they call themselves, will condemn
you, and hold you in contempt for trying, as they say, to climb to their
level; and even the recipients of your bounty will be offended.

Mrs Dilly will think that Miss Bolly's half-pound of tea was better
than hers, and old Tom Dibley will be sure to consider the piece of beef
his neighbour, Joe Stocks, received "a better cut" than his own.

It was so with Mr William Forth Burge, who g