Penny's rigid face relaxed; she put out he
hand, and took Mabel's with a grasp that was
almost painful in its strong pressure.

"Thank you, Penelope," said Mabel, softly.

Mrs. Saxelby seated herself beside Miss
Charlewood, and proceeded to question her
gently about her mother's illness, and to express
her sympathy in a common-place, well-behaved
way, which was more agreeable to Penelope
and helped her to regain her self-control more
quickly, than the manifestation of any strong
emotion could have done. Mrs. Charlewood
was still very ill, suffering from nervous depression,
and an exhausting kind of low fever
"She thinks," said Penelope, almost in a whisper,
"that Walter is dead. No one else believes
so. There is really no reason for any such
apprehension, but there is no removing it from
her mind. I dare scarcely leave her for a moment.
When she is alone, she falls into violent
fits of weeping that reduce her strength frightfully.
Yesterday, I believe she was light-headed
for some hours."

"May I see her? Or do you think it is
better I should not do so?" asked Mrs. Saxelby

"No; my impression is that it would be
good for her to have her thoughts diverted even
for a moment from the one topic. I will tell
her you are here."

Penelope left the room, and after a short time
returned, saying that her mother would see Mrs.
Saxelby.

"And I? May I not see her too?" said
Mabel.

"Not at present. You shall come afterwards,
if she bears your mother's visit well."

Mrs. Saxelby and Penelope left the room, and
Mabel sat alone there, contemplating the dreary
waste of building-ground. Some men were
beating carpets on it, and she watched them with
apparently intense interest. But her thoughts
were far away. A key turned in the street door,
a soft footfall was heard in the passage. Mabel
looked round, and found herself face to face
with Clement Charlewood.

      CHAPTER IV. UNFORGOTTEN.

CLEMENT stood gazing at the unexpected
apparition in silent amazement. Indeed, for a
second he half believed Mabel's motionless
figure to be a delusion conjured up by his
heated weary brain. He was worn down in
body and mind with fatigue and anxiety. She
rose and advanced towards him with extended
hand. She tried to smile, but her lips quivered,
and she struggled against violent agitation.
How changed he was! Ah, how changed!

"I have startled you, I fear, Mr.
Charlewood."

"My God, Mabel, is it you?"

His voice went to her heart, there was such
sadness in it, such a yearning regret.

"I heard this morning about about your
brother. We were so sorry. Mamma wished
to see Mrs. Charlewood. She is with her now.
I—I hope you are not angry."

All this time she had been holding out her
hand, of which he had taken no heed. Now she
dropped it, and looked at him piteously, like a
chidden child.

"Angry! No, Mabel, I am not angry."

He answered like one in a dream.

"May I speak to you as an old friend? As
one to whom you were always kind and good,
and who would serve you—if she might—with
all her heart?"

He did not reply, and she went on rapidly.

"You will not be angry with me for saying
what is in my mind? or I shall think you nave
not forgiven me—for—for some pain I caused
you once."

He looked at her with a strange melancholy
smile.

"I have forgiven you, Mabel. You need be
under no apprehension of my anger, if that be
of any importance to you."

"Then—I scarcely know how to say it but
—this is the great favour I have to beg of you.
In this trouble about Walter, and your mother's
illness, if there is any way any way in the
world—in which we can help you, you will not
refuse to allow——"

She stammered and hesitated so as to be
almost inarticulate. Whilst she was yet speaking,
Clement put up his hand hastily to check
her, and walked to the window, turning away
his head.

"What is it you mean, Mabel?" he asked,
after a short pause, which seemed to her to
endure for hours. "Is it," he added, in a
constrained voice—"is it money that you are
offering me?"

"I—I meant—I hoped oh, Mr. Charlewood,
how can you speak so bitterly!"

All the self-command she was capable of
exercising and it was not a little—could no longer
avail to keep back the tears that filled her eyes.
She let fall her face upon her hands with a little
choking sob.

"If it be money which you are proffering,"
pursued Clement, in the same constrained tone,
"I am able to assure you that I do not need
your assistance. But I am grateful to you for
your kind intention."

"You are cruel," she sobbed out—"you are
very cruel. You are resenting some fancied
slight, or avenging a wound innocently
inlicted long ago. God knows I came here
today in all singleness of purpose; filled with
respect for you. I know I well know, how you
lave borne unmerited misfortune, and with the
deepest sympathy and compassion; such
compassion as a woman may feel for a friend whom
he honours, or a dear brother. Any thought
if hurting you of of what your words and
one seem to attribute to me, was as impossible
to me, as I once believed you would have known
that it must be. You said once, that come what
might, you would be a true friend to me and
mine if ever we needed your help. I had hoped
that our next meeting would have been, at least,
kindly; at least, free from bitterness or anger,
and now—now——"