could not believe in it. But the possibility of it dazzled and
bewildered me, so powerful was the fascination he possessed for me.

When I went to bed that night I felt my heart strangely softened and
opened. I thought a great deal about my mother and my home, of which I
knew so little, and for the first time feared that I had done very
wrong, and resolved to write to my mother surely on the morrow. I felt
myself to be an impostor and a liar, and I trembled, thinking of her
just anger at my falsehood and cowardice. I felt that when writing to
her I must make up my mind to confess to Mrs. Hill that I had deceived
her respecting my name and condition, and bribed my schoolmistress to
deceive her also. I knew that my mother would not tolerate the deceit;
but the thought of the confession was insufferable to me.

The next day, while we sat together, Mrs. Hill talked to me about Arthur
Noble. He was a great pet of hers, and at present she was particularly
interested in his circumstances. He had a cousin in England who was a
great heiress, and whom his father wanted him to marry. Arthur disliked
the idea extremely; and as the lady was supposed to be very well
inclined towards him, he was anxious to avoid danger by prolonging his
tour abroad. He had arranged to go on to Rome with them, the Hills; but
only yesterday, his father, Sir Arthur Noble, had met him in Paris,
urging him to give up the project, and return at once to England. He,
Sir Arthur, had lost heavily by the failure and bad conduct of a London
banker--a gentleman who had been his personal friend. My heart beat
thickly as I heard her say this; but I did not dare to ask the name of
that banker. In the midst of my dismay, Arthur Noble came in to assure
Mrs. Hill that he still intended to be of the party to Rome. His
father's ill-humour would subside by and by. He was only a little upset
by the shocking conduct of his friend Mr. Hollingford. Then Mrs. Hill
asked questions on the subject, and I sat by stitching at my embroidery
while Arthur described my father's disgrace.

My letter to my mother was not written that day. In the afternoon we
went out, and in the excitement of shopping I tried to forget
everything--who I was, what I was, what I had done, and what I ought to
do. In the evening Arthur Noble appeared again, and with him came his
father. Sir Arthur and Mr. Hill conversed apart, but I could hear the
fiery old baronet giving vent to his anger against my fathe