ith it, Marian! Your father is too hard with me.

I was wrong, I dare say, and I might have known what would have come of
it, but he couldn't speak to me worse if I did him all the harm I could
on purpose. It's all about Annie, because I found a place for her at Mrs
Goby's in the 'Olloway Road; and now Mrs Goby's been here and seen your
father, and told him she's been insulted by the Rudds, because Annie
went off home, and she went after her to make inquiries. And your
father's in such a passion about it as never was. That woman Mrs Goby
rushed into the study when he was working; it was this morning, when I
happened to be out. And she throws all the blame on me for recommending
her such a girl. And I did it for the best, that I did! Annie promised
me faithfully she'd behave well, and never give me trouble, and she
seemed thankful to me, because she wasn't happy at home. And now to
think of her causing all this disturbance! I oughtn't to have done
such a thing without speaking about it to your father; but you know how
afraid I am to say a word to him about those people. And my sister's
told me so often I ought to be ashamed of myself never helping her and
her children; she thinks I could do such a lot if I only liked. And now
that I did try to do something, see what comes of it!'

Marian listened with a confusion of wretched feelings. But her
sympathies were strongly with her mother; as well as she could
understand the broken story, her father seemed to have no just cause
for his pitiless rage, though such an occasion would be likely enough to
bring out his worst faults.

'Is he in the study?' she asked.

'No, he went out at twelve o'clock, and he's never been back since. I
feel as if I must do something; I can't bear with it, Marian. He tells
me I'm the curse of his life--yes, he said that. I oughtn't to tell you,
I know I oughtn't; but it's more than I can bear. I've always tried to
do my best, but it gets harder and harder for me. But for me he'd
never be in these bad tempers; it's because he can't look at me without
getting angry. He says I've kept him back all through his life; but for
me he might have been far better off than he is. It may be true; I've
often enough thought it. But I can't bear to have it told me like that,
and to see it in his face every time he looks at me. I shall have to do
something. He'd be glad if only I was out of his way.'

'Father has no right to make you so unhappy,' said Marian. 'I