'Come, Emily, it is time to go to bed; you let your imagination run away
with you.'

'Julia, you are not cross because----'

'No, dear, I'm not cross. I'm only a little tired. We have talked too
long.'

Emily's allusion to music-teaching had revived in Julia all her most
painful memories. If this man were to cast them penniless out of Ashwood!
Supposing, supposing that were to happen? Starving days, pale and haggard,
rose up in her memory. What should she do, what should she do, and with
that motherless girl dependent on her for food and clothes and shelter? She
buried her face in the pillow and prayed that she might be saved from such
a destiny.

If this man--this unknown creature--were to refuse to help them, she and
Emily would have to go to London, and she would have to support Emily as
best she might. She would hold to her and fight for her with all her
strength, but would she not fall vanquished in the fight; and then, and
then? The same thoughts, questions, and fears turned in her head like a
wheel, and it was not until dawn had begun to whiten the window-panes that
she fell asleep.

A few days after, the post brought a letter for Julia. After glancing
hastily down the page she said: 'This is a letter from Mr. Grandly, and it
is good news. Oh, what a relief!...'

'Read it.'