"Well," said she, "I suppose we must write separate answers, and both say we shall be very happy."
"You'll go, of course, Mary," said he; to which she readily assented. "I cannot," he continued, looking serious and gloomy; "I wish I could, with all my heart."
"And why not, John?" said she. She had as yet heard nothing of the new-found abuse which her brother was about to reform; at least nothing which connected it with her brother's name.
He sat thinking for awhile till he determined that it would be best to tell her at once what it was that he was about: it must be done sooner or later.
"I fear I cannot go to Mr. Harding's house any more as a friend, just at present."
"Oh, John! Why not? Ah, you've quarrelled with Eleanor!"
"No, indeed," said he; "I've no quarrel with her as yet."
"What is it, John?" said she, looking at him with an anxious, loving face, for she knew well how much of his heart was there in that house which he said he could no longer enter.
"Why," said he at last, "I've taken up the case of these twelve old men of Hiram's Hospital, and of course that brings me into contact with Mr. Harding. I may have to oppose him, interfere with him, perhaps injure him."
Mary looked at him steadily for some time before she committed herself to reply, and then merely asked him what he meant to do for the old men.
"Why, it's a long story, and I don't know that I can make you understand it. John Hiram made a will, and left his property in charity for certain poor old men, and the proceeds, instead of going to the benefit of these men, goes chiefly into the pocket of the warden, and the bishop's steward."
