part with you; but you must go.'

"Robinson didn't say much, she was always rather haughty, a reserved
sort of girl; but soon after--I always hear everything--I heard that
she had not gone back to her people, but was living in lodgings in
Brighton, and that West used to go and see her. I didn't say anything
about it to West, but he saw there was something wrong. When I told
him to put the carriage to, he said, 'Yes, mum, where to, mum?'
'Brighton.' I could see he saw there was something wrong, and when I
told him not to put the carriage up, but to drive up and down the
King's Road, and that I would meet him in about an hour at the bottom
of West Street, he looked so frightened that I could hardly help
laughing; he did look so comical, for he knew now that I was going to
see Robinson. (Here the remembrance of West proved too much for Aunt
Mary, and she shook with laughter.) Of course if I had let him put up
the horses he would have run round to Robinson's and warned her that I
was coming. Oh, I shall never forget that day! It was broiling, the
sun came down on the flagstones in those narrow little back streets,
and there was I toiling, toiling up that dreadful hill, inquiring out
the way. I found the street, it was on the very top of the hill: such
a poor, miserable place you never saw. Such a dreadful old woman
opened the door to me, and I said, 'Is Miss Robinson in?' She said,
'Yes.' I could hear Robinson whispering over the banisters, saying,
'No, no, no, say I am out.' And then I said, 'It is no use, Robinson,
I must see you, and I will not leave this place until I have seen
you.' I went upstairs to her room. At first she was rather haughty,
rather inclined to impertinence. She said, 'Mum, you have no right to
come after me--you sent me away; I am looking out for a place in
Brighton--I don't want to go back to my people.' I said, 'Robinson, it
is no use trying to deceive me, I know very well why you are in