CHAPTER X.
THE HEATH AND THE HUT.
Letty seldom went into the shop, except to buy, for she knew Mr.
Turnbull would not like it, and Mary did not encourage it; but now her misery made her bold.

Mary saw the trouble in her eyes, and without a moment's hesitation drew her inside the counter, and thence into the house, where she led the way to her own room, up stairs and through passages which were indeed lanes through masses of merchandise, like those cut through deep-drifted snow.

It was shop all over the house, till they came to the door of Mary's chamber, which, opening from such surroundings, had upon Letty much the effect of a chapel--and rightly, for it was a room not unused to having its door shut.

It was small, and plainly but daintily furnished, with no foolish excess of the small refinements on which girls so often set value, spending large time on what it would be waste to buy: only they have to kill the weary captive they know not how to redeem, for he troubles them with his moans.
"Sit down, Letty dear, and tell me what is the matter," said Mary, placing her friend in a chintz-covered straw chair, and seating herself beside her.
Letty burst into tears, and sat sobbing.
"Come, dear, tell me all about it," insisted Mary.

"If you don't make haste, they will be calling me." Letty could not speak.
"Then I'll tell you what," said Mary; "you must stop with me to-night, that we may have time to talk it over.