re, and stood staring at me as if I was something
very extraordinary.

'Your grandmother doesn't know?' repeated Harry, 'nobody knows? How
could you come away like that? Why, your grandmother will be nearly out
of her mind about you!'

'No, she won't,' I replied, 'she doesn't care for me now, it's all quite
different from what it used to be. Nobody cares for me, they'll only be
very glad to be rid of the trouble of me.'

The tears had got up into my eyes by this time, and as I spoke they
began slowly to drop on to my cheeks. Harry saw them, I knew, but I
didn't feel as if I cared, though I think I wanted him to be sorry for
me, his kind face looked as if he would be. So I was rather surprised
when, instead of saying something sympathising and gentle, he answered
rather abruptly--

'Helena, I don't mean to be rude, for of course it's no business of
mine, but I think you must know that you are talking nonsense. I don't
mean about Mr. Vandeleur, or any one but your grandmother; but as for
saying that she has left off caring for you, that's all--perfectly
impossible. _I_ know enough for that; you've been with her all your
life, and she's been most awfully good to you----'

'I know she has,' I interrupted, 'that makes it all the worse to bear.'

'We'll talk about that afterwards,' said Harry, 'it's your grandmother
you should think of now--what do you mean to do?'

I stared at him, not quite understanding.

'I meant to stay here,' I said, 'with Kezia. If I can't--if you count it
your house and won't let me stay, I must go somewhere else. But you
can't stop my staying here till I've seen Kezia.'

Harry gave an impatient exclamation.

'Can't you understand,' he said, 'that I meant what are you going to do
about letting your grandmother know where you are?'

'I hadn't thought about it,' I said; 'perhaps they won't find out till
to-morrow morning.'

And then in my indignation I went on to tell him about the lonely life I
had had lately, ending up with an account of my fall down the stairs
and what I had overheard about being sent away to school.

'Poor Helena,' said Lindsay.

Harry, too, was sorry for me, I know, but just then he did not say much.

'All the same,' he replied, after listening to me, 'it wouldn't be right
to risk your grandmother's being frightened, any longer. I'll send a
telegram at once.'

The village post and telegraph office was only a quarter of a mile from
our house. Harry turned to leav