"Yes," said Mary; "he has gone."
"And will not come back again?" Then she looked into his face,—oh! so wistfully. "When did it happen?"
"When my father was on his death-bed. He had come sooner than that; but then it was that he went. I think, Mr Whittlestaff, that I never ought to marry any one after that, and therefore it is that I have told you."
"You are a good girl, Mary."
"I don't know about that. I think that I ought to deceive you at least in nothing."
"You should deceive no one."
"No, Mr Whittlestaff." She answered him ever so meekly; but there was running in her mind a feeling that she had not deceived any one, and that she was somewhat hardly used by the advice given to her.
"He has gone altogether?" he asked again.
"I do not know where he is,—whether he be dead or alive."
"But if he should come back?"