“No, my dear,” said Mrs. Easton; “you are wrong.  He does not send me away; I go by my own wish.”

“Oh, nurse, you desert me! then you don’t know what has happened.”

“Oh yes, I do; I know all about it; and I’m leaving because I can’t do what he wishes.  You see it is this way, Miss Mary—­your father has been very good to me, and I am his debtor.  I must not stay here and help you to thwart him—­that would be ungrateful—­and yet I can’t take his side against you.  Master has got reasons why you should not marry Walter Clifford, and—­”

“He told me so himself,” said Mary.

“Ah, but he didn’t tell you his reasons.”

“No.”

“No more must I. But, Miss Mary, I’ll tell you this.  I know his reasons well; his reasons why you should not marry Walter Clifford are my reasons why you should marry no other man.”

“Oh, nurse! oh, you dear, good angel!”

“So when friends differ like black and white, ’tis best to part.  I’m going to my sister Gilbert this afternoon, and to-morrow to my sister Sally, at her hotel.”

“Oh, nurse, must you? must you?  I shall have not a friend to advise or console me till Mr. Hope comes back.  Oh, I hope that won’t be long now.”

Mrs. Easton dropped her hands upon her knees and looked at Mary Bartley.

“What, Miss Mary, would you go to Mr. Hope in such a matter as this?  Surely you would not have the face?”

“Not take my breaking heart to Mr. Hope!” cried Mary, with a sudden flood of tears.  “You might as well tell me not to lay my trouble before my God.  Dear, dear Mr. Hope, who saved my life in those deep waters, and then cried over me, darling dear!  I think more of that than of his courage.  Do you think I am blind?  He loves me better than my own father does; and it is not a young man’s love; it is an angel’s.  Not cry to him when I am in the deep waters of affliction?  I could not write of such a thing to him for blushing, but the moment he returns I shall find some way to let him know how happy I have been, how broken-hearted I am, and that papa has reasons against him, and they are your reasons for him, and that you are both afraid to let me know these curious reasons—­me, the poor girl whose heart is being made a foot-ball of in this house.  Oh! oh! oh!”

“Don’t cry, Miss Mary,” said Nurse Easton, tenderly; “and pray don’t excite yourself so.  Why, I never saw you like this before.”

“Had I ever the same reason?  You have only known the happy, thoughtless child.  They have made a woman of me now, and my peace is gone.  I must not defy my father, and I will not break poor Walter’s heart—­the truest heart that ever beat.  Not tell dear Mr. Hope?  I’ll tell him everything, if I’m cut in pieces for it.”  And her beautiful eyes flashed lightning through her tears.

“Hum!” said Mrs. Easton, under her breath, and looking down at her own feet.