"I'd have gone down--down--down, if it hadn't been for Mr. Claridge at
the cross-roads."

"Does thee think I shall like her that will live yonder?" She nodded
towards the Cloistered House. "There's none but likes her. She will
want a friend, I'm thinking. She'll be lonely by-and-by. Surely, she
will be lonely."

Faith looked at her closely, and at last leaned over, and again laid a
soft hand on her shoulder. "Thee thinks that--why?"

"He cares only what matters to himself. She will be naught to him but
one that belongs. He'll never try to do her good. Doing good to any but
himself never comes to his mind."

"How does thee know him, to speak so surely?"

"When, at the first, he gave me a letter for her one day, and slipped a
sovereign into my hand, and nodded, and smiled at me, I knew him right
enough. He never could be true to aught."

"Did thee keep the sovereign?" Faith asked anxiously.

"Ay, that I did. If he was for giving his money away, I'd take it fast
enough. The gold gave father boots for a year. Why should I mind?"

Faith's face suffused. How low was Eglington's estimate of humanity!

In the silence that followed the door of her room opened, and her father