"Why, it is brightening all round," said Mattie; "we shall have no secret in the midst of us, and all will be well now!"
Both had forgotten the letter, wherein absence of all true affection was asserted; Harriet believed it destroyed, and Mattie did not think to remind her of the danger—in her heart believed it even far removed from her.
They parted hopefully; Mattie made the best of the position, and was really trustful in a good result. Sidney Hinchford loved Harriet, and she could not understand a man loving on, and yet holding aloof from the idol he would fain worship still.
Sidney Hinchford, a few days afterwards, came to make his last inquiries concerning Mattie's health—had he waited another day he would have found empty rooms and a desolate hearth—and Mattie seized that opportunity to say a word. The grass never grew under the feet of Mattie Gray, and the dark look—new to his face in its intensity of sternness—did not deter her.
"I am sorry to hear the last news, Mr. Hinchford."
"It was to be expected," he replied shortly. He would have hastened away from a subject that distressed him, but Mattie was not deterred by his harsh voice.
"Not to be expected, you mean, Mr. Sidney," she said; "for she and you, who have been together all your lives, should——"
"Pardon me, Mattie," he interrupted, decisively; "I cannot bear a third person's interference in this matter. It lies between her and me, and both she and I have thought it better to part, without reproach or ill-will. She has made up her mind——"
"But——"
"And had she not," he said, catching at Mattie's wrist and holding it firmly with his hand, as though to stay her defence by that means, "I have made up mine, and there is nothing on earth, or in heaven, to alter it, I swear!"