ands set before us, was furnished at my
expense. My own small hoard of silverpieces had, it is true, from the
time of our ruin, more than sufficed for my absolute wants and Mabel's,
confined, as they were, to mere externals of necessary dress; but all
other outlay, even to the payment of Mabel's masters (I taught her
chiefly myself, however), was met by Evelyn.

We, the children of a proud man, were dependent on strangers. Look upon
it as I would, the revolting fact stared me out of countenance. Charity,
the chambermaid, had more right to lift an opposing front to Evelyn than
I had; for she earned the bread she ate, while I--there was no use
concealing the mortifying truth any longer--served the apprenticeship of
pauperdom!

True, the house was legally mine--the furniture I used, the plate I was
served from, the carriage I occasionally drove out in, were all my own
possessions--though, with a slow and moth-like process, I was gradually
consuming these. For, at my majority, it was my determination to pay for
my support in the intervening years, even if I sacrificed every thing in
order to wipe out obligations. Ay, the very corn my horses were eating
(what mockery to keep them at all!) was now furnished by another, and
must eventually be paid for, with interest.

Then, how would it fare with me, beggared indeed? I would take time by
the forelock; I would begin at once.

"Evelyn," I had said, not long after the conversation reverted to, "is
there no way in which my property may be fixed, so as to leave the
principal untouched, and still yield an income sufficient for my
support, and that of Mabel? The bread of dependence is very bitter to
me."

"I ate it long," she said, "and found it passing sweet. You are only
receiving back the payment for an old debt, Miriam. Your father's lavish
generosity can never be repaid, even to his children, by me, who was so
long its happy recipient."

The words seemed unanswerable at the time, inconsistent as they were
with her past reproaches. Again she said--when the same murmur left my
lips upon a later occasion--looking at me sorrowfully as she spoke, and
with something incomprehensible to me in her expression that affected me
strangely: "Wait until you are of age, Miriam: all can be arranged
definitely then; but now, the waves might as well chafe against the
rocks that bind them in their bed, as you against your condition;"
adding with a tragic look and tone, half playful, of cour