hall think all that of you, Fred, if you give me
good reasons. But please to tell me at once what you have done. I
would rather know the painful truth than imagine it."

"I owed money--a hundred and sixty pounds. I asked your father to put
his name to a bill. I thought it would not signify to him. I made
sure of paying the money myself, and I have tried as hard as I could.
And now, I have been so unlucky--a horse has turned out badly--I can
only pay fifty pounds. And I can't ask my father for the money: he
would not give me a farthing. And my uncle gave me a hundred a little
while ago. So what can I do? And now your father has no ready money
to spare, and your mother will have to pay away her ninety-two pounds
that she has saved, and she says your savings must go too. You see
what a--"

"Oh, poor mother, poor father!" said Mary, her eyes filling with tears,
and a little sob rising which she tried to repress. She looked
straight before her and took no notice of Fred, all the consequences at
home becoming present to her. He too remained silent for some moments,
feeling more miserable than ever. "I wouldn't have hurt you for the
world, Mary," he said at last. "You can never forgive me."

"What does it matter whether I forgive you?" said Mary, passionately.
"Would that make it any better for my mother to lose the money she has
been earning by lessons for four years, that she might send Alfred to
Mr. Hanmer's? Should you think all that pleasant enough if I forgave
you?"

"Say what you like, Mary. I deserve it all."

"I don't want to say anything," said Mary, more quietly, "and my anger
is of no use." She dried her eyes, threw aside her book, rose and
fetched her sewing.

Fred followed her with his eyes, hoping that they would meet hers, and
in that way find access for his imploring penitence. But no! Mary
could easily avoid looking upward.

"I do care about your mother's money going," he said, when she was
seated again and sewing quickly. "I wanted to ask you, Mary--don't
you think that Mr. Featherstone--if you were to tell him--tell him, I
mean, about apprenticing Alfred--would advance the money?"

"My family is not fond of begging, Fred. We would rather work for our
money. Besides, you say that Mr. Featherstone has lately given you a
hundred pounds. He rarely makes presents; he has never made presents
to us. I am sure my father will not ask him for anything; and even if
I chose to beg of hi