f her impurity, she might again be almost pure, and this was
his reward! He deposited the poor woman at the spot at which he had
taken her up, almost without a word, and then drove himself home with
a heavy heart. "I believe it will be best to be like her father, and
never to name her again," said he to his wife.

"But what has she done, Frank?"

"Gone back to the life which I suppose she likes best. Let us say no
more about it,--at any rate for the present. I'm sick at heart when I
think of it."

Mrs. Brattle, when she got over the stile close to her own home, saw
her husband standing at the mill door. Her heart sank within her, if
that could be said to sink which was already so low. He did not move,
but stood there with his eyes fixed upon her. She had hoped that she
might get into the house unobserved by him, and learn from Fanny what
had taken place; but she felt so like a culprit that she hardly dared
to enter the door. Would it not be best to go to him at once, and ask
his pardon for what she had done? When he spoke to her, which he did
at last, his voice was a relief to her. "Where hast been, Maggie?" he
asked. She went up to him, put her hand on the lappet of his coat and
shook her head. "Best go in and sit easy, and hear what God sends,"
he said. "What's the use of scouring about the country here and
there?"

"There has been no use in it to-day, feyther," she said.

"There arn't no use in it,--not never," he said; and after that there
was no more about it. She went into the house and handed the bundle
to Fanny, and sat down on the bed and cried. On the following morning
Frank Fenwick received the following letter:--

London, Sunday.

HONOURED SIR,

I told you that I would write if it came as I was going
away, but I've been forced to go without writing. There
was nothing to write with at the cottage. Mrs. Burrows
and me had words, and I thought as she would rob me, and
perhaps worse. She is a bad woman, and I could stand it no
longer, so I just come up here, as there was nowhere else
for me to find a place to lie down in. I thought I'd just
write and tell you, because of my word; but I know it
isn't no use.

I'd send my respects and love to father and mother, if I
dared. I did think of going over; but I know he'd kill me,
and so he ought. I'd send my respects to Mrs. Fenwick,
only that I isn't fit to name her;--and my love to sister
Fanny. I've come