The fact is, Miss Carden had been tormenting herself:  and when beauty suffers, it is very apt to make others suffer as well.

“I am glad you are come, Mr. Little,” said she, “for I have been taking myself to task ever since, and I blame myself very much for some things I said.  In the first place, it was not for me” (here the fair speaker colored up to the temples) “to interfere in your affairs at all:  and then, if I must take such a liberty, I ought to have advised you sensibly, and for your good.  I have been asking people, and they all tell me it is madness for one person to fight against these Unions.  Everybody gets crushed.  So now let me hope you will carry out your wise intention, and leave Hillsborough; and then my conscience will be at ease.”

Every word fell like an icicle on her hearer’s heart.  To please this cold, changeful creature, he had settled to defy the unchangeable Unions, and had been ready to resist his mother, and slight her immortal and unchanging love.

“You don’t answer me, sir!” said Miss Carden, with an air of lofty surprise.

“I answered you yesterday,” said he sullenly.  “A man can’t chop and change like a weathercock.”

“But it is not changing, it’s only going back to your own intention.  You know you were going to leave Hillsborough, before I talked all that nonsense.  Your story had set me on fire, and that’s my only excuse.  Well, now, the same person takes the liberty to give you wise and considerate advice, instead of hot, and hasty, romantic nonsense.  Which ought you to respect most—­folly or reason—­from the same lips?”

Henry seemed to reflect.  “That sounds reasonable,” said he:  “but, when you advised me not to show the white feather, you spoke your heart; now, you are only talking from your head.  Then, your beautiful eyes flashed fire, and your soul was in your words:  who could resist them?  And you spoke to me like a friend; now you speak to me like an enemy.”

“Oh, Mr. Little, that is ridiculous.”

“You do, though.  And I’m sure I don’t know why.”

“Nor I. Perhaps because I am cross with myself; certainly not with you.”

“I am glad of that.  Well, then, the long and the short is, you showed me you thought it cowardly to fly from the Trades.  You wouldn’t, said you, if you were a man.  Well, I’m a man; and I’ll do as you would do in my place.  I’ll not throw my life away, I’ll meet craft with craft, and force with force; but fly I never will.  I’ll fight while I’ve a leg to stand on.”

With these words he began to work on the bust, in a quiet dogged way that was, nevertheless, sufficiently expressive.

Grace looked at him silently for half a minute, and then rose from her chair.

“Then,” said she, “I must go for somebody of more authority than I am.”  She sailed out of the room.

Henry asked Jael who she was gone for.

“It will be her papa,” said Jael.