to be told, to account for her mournful sadness, yet I was willing to
bear my share in her grief, whatever it might be.

Mrs. Clarke began, as if it was a relief to her to plunge into the
subject.

"We have thought, sir--at least I have thought--that you knew very
little of us, nor we of you, indeed; not enough to warrant the
intimate acquaintance we have fallen into. I beg your pardon, sir,"
she went on, nervously; "I am but a plain kind of woman, and I mean
to use no rudeness; but I must say straight out that I--we--think it
would be better for you not to come so often to see us. She is very
unprotected, and--"

"Why should I not come to see you, dear madam?" asked I, eagerly,
glad of the opportunity of explaining myself. "I come, I own,
because I have learnt to love Mistress Lucy, and wish to teach her to
love me.

Mistress Clarke shook her head, and sighed.

"Don't, sir--neither love her, nor, for the sake of all you hold
sacred, teach her to love you! If I am too late, and you love her
already, forget her,--forget these last few weeks. O! I should
never have allowed you to come!" she went on passionately; "but what
am I to do? We are forsaken by all, except the great God, and even
He permits a strange and evil power to afflict us--what am I to do!
Where is it to end?" She wrung her hands in her distress; then she
turned to me: "Go away, sir! go away, before you learn to care any
more for her. I ask it for your own sake--I implore! You have been