"And how about Mr.Winterborne ?" she asked.
"I mention it, father, not as a matter of sentiment, but as a question of keeping faith." The timber-merchant's eyes fell for a moment.

"I don't know--I don't know," he said.

"'Tis a trying strait.

Well, well; there's no hurry.
We'll wait and see how he gets on." That evening he called her into his room, a snug little apartment behind the large parlor.

It had at one time been part of the bakehouse, with the ordinary oval brick oven in the wall; but Mr.
Melbury, in turning it into an office, had built into the cavity an iron safe, which he used for holding his private papers.