"The letter which has been on the mantel-piece all the week—it was Miss Harriet's—she wishes to have it back, to put something else in it."
"Bless my soul!—very odd," said Mr. Hinchford; "I'll give it to Miss Harriet myself—there's no occasion to rummage my boy's desk about. I don't like it, Mattie—I am extremely displeased."
"I am very sorry," said Mattie, submissively; "I did not think what I was doing. And you will give the letter to Miss Harriet?"
"It's in the breast-pocket of my coat—I'll give it her."
Mattie cowered before the flushed face, and the stern look thereon; this man was a friend of hers, too—one of the rescuers!—whom she would always bear in kind remembrance; she went softly across the room to the door, veering suddenly round to lay her hands upon his arm.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Hinchford," she said; "it was all done without a moment's thought. You, for the first time in your life, will not be angry with me?"
"No, no, no, no," repeated the old gentleman, taken aback by this appeal, and softening at once; "I don't suppose you meant anything wrong, Mattie."
"Thank you."
Mattie went down-stairs in a better frame of mind, and yet ashamed at having been detected in a crooked action by a gentleman who always spoke so much of straightforwardness, and had a son who excelled in that difficult accomplishment. She was vexed at the impulse now—what would any man less generous in his ideas have thought of her?
"Never mind," was Mattie's consolation, "I meant no harm—I meant well. And all will end well now, and everybody be so happy. What a change from the terrible thoughts of only a few hours ago!"