"I am--at least, I was; for I know I am ever so much better than I was when I came here. I ran away from home!"

"Ran away!" exclaimed Mrs. Kent, appalled at the words.

"Yes; and I did even worse than that."

"Dear me! I hope not. I thought it was strange that a young lady like you should have so much money; but my heart was so full that I didn't think much about it."

"Mrs. Kent, I stole that money!" added f.a.n.n.y, her face crimson with the blush of shame.

"Mercy on me! I can't believe it."

"It is true."

"It was wrong of me to take the money," added Mrs. Kent, actually trembling with apprehension at the thought. "I will pay it all back some time, f.a.n.n.y. I can work now. I'm sure I wouldn't have taken the money if I had thought you did not come rightly by it."

f.a.n.n.y then told the whole story, and described her feelings from the time she had first seen Mrs. Kent in front of the house.

"I am so sorry!" said the poor woman, wringing her hands as she thought of her own partic.i.p.ation in the use of the stolen property. "I would rather have been turned out of the house than be saved by such money."

"Don't cry, Mrs. Kent. I am almost sorry I told you anything about it."

"I'm glad poor Jenny didn't know it."

"So am I; but I am sure she knew how guilty I had been, though she didn't know exactly what I had done."

"I think there is hope for you, f.a.n.n.y. You must have a kind heart, or you couldn't have done what you did for Jenny. I'm sure I feel very grateful to you."

"Now you know me as I am, Mrs. Kent; but I tell you most solemnly, that I mean to be good always after this. I am sorry for my wicked deeds, and I am willing to be punished for what I have done. I shall always bless poor Jenny for saving me from error and sin--if I am saved."

"What are you going to do, f.a.n.n.y?"

"I am going back to Woodville to-morrow morning. I will give up all the money I have, confess my fault, and let them do with me as they think best."

"You can tell them I will pay back all the money you spent for me, just as soon as I can."

"Mr. Grant is very rich, and he will not ask you to do that. He is very kind, too."

"But I must do it, and I shall have no peace till it is done,"

protested the poor woman. "I'll tell you what I will do. I will give you a note for the money."

Mrs. Kent was in earnest. She was sorely troubled by the fact that she had even innocently received any of the stolen money. In the evening she wrote the note, which was made payable to Mr. Grant, and insisted that f.a.n.n.y should take it. They talked of nothing but the guilt of the runaway, though rather of the means of making reparation for the wrong, than of the consequences of the wrong acts. Mrs. Kent was fully convinced that f.a.n.n.y was sincerely penitent; that her intercourse with Jenny had ushered her into a new life. She was even willing to believe, before they retired that night, that it was all for the best; that He who brings good out of evil, would bring a blessing out of the wrong which f.a.n.n.y had done.

The next morning the wanderer bade farewell to Mrs. Kent, and took the train for Woodville.

CHAPTER XI.

PENITENCE AND PARDON.

f.a.n.n.y arrived at the station near Woodville by the early train from the city. On the way, she had been thinking of her own guilt, and considering what she should do and say when she stood in the presence of her injured friends. She was not studying how to conceal or palliate her offence, but how she could best tell the whole truth. She gave herself no credit for any good deed she had done during her absence; she did not flatter herself that she had been benevolent and kind in using the stolen money as she had used it; she did not believe that her tender vigil at the bedside of the dying girl made her less guilty.

She felt that she deserved a severe punishment, and that it would do her good to suffer for what she had done. She was even willing to be sent to prison, to be disgraced, and banished from the happy home at Woodville, whose hospitality she had abused. She felt that the penalty of her errors, whatever it might be, would do her good. She was filled with contrition and shame as she left the station; she hung her head, and did not dare to look the people she met in the face. The f.a.n.n.y who went from Woodville a few days before had returned an entirely different being.

Slowly and gloomily she walked down the road that led to the residence of Mr. Grant. It seemed as though she had been absent a year, and everything looked strange to her, though the change was all in herself.

All the currents of her former life had ceased to flow; the movements of the wheel of events had been abruptly suspended. What gladdened her before did not gladden her now, and what had once been a joy was now a sorrow. She felt as though she had been transferred from the old world, in which she had rejoiced in mischief and wrong, to a new world, whose hopes and joys had not yet been revealed to her.

She approached the cottage of Mr. Long, the constable, who had probably been engaged in the search for her since her departure. She went up to the door and knocked. Mr. Long had just finished his breakfast, and she was shown into the little parlor.

"So you have got back, f.a.n.n.y Grant," said he, very coldly and sternly, as he entered the room where she stood waiting for him.

"I have," she replied, just raising her eyes from the floor.

"Where have you been?"

"In New York city."

"Where did you stay?"

"At the house of a poor woman in the upper part of the city."

"I thought so; or I should have found you. You have been a very bad girl, f.a.n.n.y."

"I know it, sir. You may send me to prison now, for I deserve the worst you can do to me," replied f.a.n.n.y, choking with her emotions.

"You ought to be sent there. What did you come here for?"

"I stole the money, and I suppose you were sent to catch me. I am willing to be sent to prison."

"You are very obliging," sneered the constable. "We don't generally ask people whether they are willing or not when we send them to prison."

"I give myself up to you; and you can do with me what you think best."

"I know I can."

"You didn't catch me. I come here of myself; that is what I meant by saying that I was willing to be sent to prison."

"What have you done with the money you stole?" asked the constable, who was very much astonished at the singular conduct of f.a.n.n.y.

"I have spent most of it."

"I suppose so," replied Mr. Long, who deemed it his duty to be stern and unsympathizing. "How did you spend it?"

"I will tell Mr. Grant all about it," answered f.a.n.n.y, who did not care to repeat her story to such a person as the constable; and she felt that he would be fully justified in disbelieving her statements.

"Perhaps you will tell me, if I wish you to do so."