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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76918 ***
+
+
+Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Mr. Corbet exerted himself to entertain Betty,
+ telling her stories.]
+
+
+
+                 _[The Stanton-Corbet Chronicles.]_
+                           _[Year 1637]_
+
+
+                        _Lady Betty's_
+
+                              _Governess;_
+
+
+                                OR,
+
+
+                       THE CORBET CHRONICLES.
+
+
+                                BY
+
+                      _LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY_
+
+                             AUTHOR OF
+
+        "LADY ROSAMOND," "THE CHEVALIER'S DAUGHTER," "WINIFRED,"
+                      "FOSTER SISTERS," ETC.
+
+
+                           NEW EDITION.
+
+
+                             _LONDON:_
+                        JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.
+                     48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E. C.
+
+
+
+                          [Illustration]
+
+                             CONTENTS.
+
+                          [Illustration]
+
+
+                             CHAPTER I.
+
+           BROTHER AND SISTER
+
+                             CHAPTER II.
+
+           THE LAST SUNDAY
+
+                             CHAPTER III.
+
+           MY NEW CHARGE
+
+                             CHAPTER IV.
+
+           A WELCOME VISITOR
+
+                             CHAPTER V.
+
+           EASTER TIDE
+
+                             CHAPTER VI.
+
+           MAKING PROGRESS
+
+                             CHAPTER VII.
+
+           THE BISHOP'S VISIT
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII.
+
+           MORE THAN A FRIEND
+
+                             CHAPTER IX.
+
+           TRAVELLING MERCHANTS
+
+                             CHAPTER X.
+
+           A SON AND HEIR
+
+                             CHAPTER XI.
+
+           NEWS FROM HOME
+
+                             CHAPTER XII.
+
+           EBENEZER
+
+                          [Illustration]
+
+
+
+                          [Illustration]
+
+                           THE PREAMBLE.
+
+                              ——————
+
+WHEN I was a young maid and just about to be married to my excellent
+husband, with whom I have lived so long and so happily, my dear and
+honored mother-in-law gave me as a wedding present, a chronicle (if I
+may so call it) which she herself had received in like manner, from her
+grandame, who brought her up. She said it had for some generations been
+the custom in her family to keep such annals, and in this way had many
+facts and circumstances been preserved which would otherwise have been
+lost.
+
+I have always preserved this chronicle with great care, and shall
+make a copy of it (if time and opportunity present) for the use of my
+daughters, feeling that my dear and honored cousin, Lord Stanton, hath
+the best right to the original manuscript.
+
+Thinking upon doing the same put it into my mind to make a similar
+chronicle for the use of mine own daughters. I feel that it will
+interest them (especially when I am dead and gone, as I soon shall be)
+to know what their mother was at their age. I am able to make this
+account the more full and particular, as during the year or two before
+I was married, and specially while I was living in the family of my
+dear and honored lady at Stanton Court, it was my habit to keep a
+journal, in which I wrote down not only what most concerned me, but a
+vast deal besides.
+
+In these pages I have transcribed a part of that journal, sometimes
+supplementing the text with my present recollections of events in those
+days.
+
+It hath been my lot to see many and sad changes. The Archbishop who
+was so great with king and court when these pages were written, I
+saw mobbed, insulted, and finally thrust into prison, from which he
+was delivered only by death. In him was fulfilled those words of the
+prophet, "When thou shalt cease to oppress, then shall they oppress
+thee; and when thou shalt cease to deal treacherously, then shall they
+deal treacherously with thee!" I could never get over the way Mr.
+Prynne treated the old man. 'Twas not like a Christian nor a gentleman,
+however great had been his wrongs, and no one can deny that they were
+bitter enough.
+
+Then came that terrible event, the death of the king. My husband never
+approved of Cromwell's course in that matter, though he said, and as
+I believe truly, that there was a time when Cromwell would have saved
+him, had the king only been true to himself. But there alas! was his
+great failing—sorrowfully acknowledged by friends as well as foes. With
+all his virtues, the king knew neither truth nor gratitude. His want of
+the first he called kingcraft like his father before him: and as for
+the last, I do believe he felt himself raised too far above ordinary
+mortals to owe them anything. If they served him, even to the laying
+down of their lives, it was well—they did no more than their duty. If
+they did not, then were they rebels and traitors. But he hath gone to
+his account, and I will not judge him. My lord adhered to him always
+and afterward went abroad to the court of the young king, Walter taking
+the charge of his estates and sending him money.
+
+Since the Restoration, my husband has lived in retirement, though he
+has had more than one offer of office and preferment. But he loves this
+quiet country life, and so do I.
+
+My lord is back at the hall with the second lady and her children and
+his own boys, and we are all good friends. She is an excellent woman,
+but no more like my own dear lady than a cabbage is like a lily. Yet we
+are good friends always, and she is very kind to me and my children.
+
+I feel that my time is short, and that I must soon leave my dear
+husband and children. I pray my precious girls to receive this volume
+as a legacy from their mother, and to remember her last words—that the
+path of duty, though its way be hard and thorny, is always the path of
+safety—the path which leads to honor here and happiness hereafter. "To
+do his duty in that state of life to which it hath pleased God to call
+him," is the sum and substance of a Christian's work. A poor plowman
+or milk-maid can do as much with God's help, and the greatest king on
+earth can do no more.
+
+                                           MARGARET CORBET
+
+
+
+                          [Illustration]
+
+                      LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS
+
+                          [Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+_BROTHER AND SISTER._
+
+                                                _March 1, 1637._
+
+SO it is really all settled, and I am to leave this little parsonage,
+where I have spent all my days hitherto, and go to Stanton Court to
+live among lords and ladies and to be companion or governess to a poor
+little hunchbacked girl. I wonder how I shall like it? However, as
+Felicia says, that is the least part of the matter. Felicia need not
+have put it so bluntly, I think. That is always her way, but it does
+not help to make matters easier. As old Esther says, if she wanted to
+hammer a nail into a board, she would begin head foremost. She thinks,
+forsooth, it is all because she is so very sincere, but I don't see
+that she is any more so than other folks. I am sure, when she tells
+mother after she and I have had a quarrel, she manages to turn things
+to her own advantage as well as anybody I ever saw. Mother understands
+her pretty well, that is one comfort.
+
+It really does not matter much, however, whether I like it or not.
+We cannot all stay at home, that is clear, especially now that my
+dear father is gone, and we must leave the dear old parsonage for the
+cottage at the other end of the village, which will hardly hold us all.
+I don't mind leaving home so much, now that "home" no longer means this
+queer old pile of stone, all angles and corners and outside stairs, and
+all overgrown with ivy and traveller's joy, and what not. I don't think
+I can ever take root in any place again, even though it were far finer
+than this; and the cottage is by no means so pleasant, though very good
+for a cottage.
+
+But some of us must earn our own bread, that is plain. Poor Dick is
+doing so already, with all the cheerfulness in the world, as clerk to
+old Master Smith, the great stationer in Chester. He never complains,
+though all his hopes and projects are disappointed, and, why should I?
+Felicia is older and stronger than I am, 'tis true. But then, as mother
+says to me: "Who would ever live with her that could help it? She has
+such an unhappy temper!" So they all say. When "I" get vexed and in a
+fury, I have a "bad" temper. That is all the difference. As long as
+I can remember, every one in the house has given way to Felicia, on
+account of her "unhappy temper," but I don't see that it makes her any
+happier.
+
+"Felicia!" Never was any one more completely misnamed. That is the
+worst of these significant names which people are so fond of giving
+nowadays. A child is named Grace, Mercy, or Peace, and Grace grows up
+more awkward than a cow, Mercy takes delight in tormenting, and Peace
+keeps the whole house in an uproar from morning till night.
+
+I would not for the world say anything to reflect upon my honored
+father, especially now that he is gone from us, but it does seem a pity
+that he should have risked all his savings for so many years, and all
+mother's little fortune, in such an adventure as that ship to the Spice
+Islands. 'Tis true, no doubt, that some great fortunes have been made
+in that way, like that of Mr. Gunning in Bristol. But I believe it is
+also true that for one ship that comes home laden with pepper, mace,
+and nutmegs, at least four go to the bottom or are taken by pirates.
+
+Master Smith says, however, that no such wild scheme is got up, but
+the foremost to rush into it, and risk their little alls, are masters
+and fellows in colleges, country clergymen, and widows with a little
+property—just the people who have the least chance of understanding the
+matter. I will say that dear mother was as much against it as she could
+ever be against any scheme of my father's. But he was so sanguine, and
+he ever thought little of the opinion of women on any subject.
+
+But there is no use in going over all that now. What is done is done.
+What is "to do," is to make the best struggle we can to live decently
+and honestly, keep out of debt, and—I don't know what else, I am sure.
+
+
+                                                _March 3._
+
+Dick is come home, by favor of Master Smith, to spend my last Sunday
+with us. I must say he is very kind to Dick. Indeed, every one has been
+very kind to us so far, even the new rector. 'Twas he got me my place
+at Stanton Court, where I am to go the day after to-morrow. To-day we
+have a new instance of his goodness. He allows mother to take what
+furniture she chooses from the parsonage, as he means to replenish it
+entirely. That will be a great help toward fitting up the cottage.
+Indeed, I hardly know what we should have done without it, for mother
+hath but little of her own, and most of the furniture here belongs
+to the house, though my father had it all refitted and repaired more
+than once. I wish I could stay here to help them move, but that is
+impossible. I am to go southward with the new rector and his servants,
+and I may not have such a good opportunity again in a long time.
+
+I have showed Dick what I have written. I do so sometimes, though no
+one else knows that I keep a journal. Dick has known of it from the
+first. It was he that put me upon keeping it and gave me this large
+fair blank book. Before that I used to write upon such scraps as I
+could find.
+
+When he came to that—"I don't know what else."—Dick demurred. "You have
+left out the gist of the whole matter Peggy," said he. "Your summing up
+is like the playbill Master Smith told me of—'The play of Hamlet with
+the part of Hamlet omitted.'"
+
+"What have I left out?" I asked.
+
+"Tell me, Peggy, what do you suppose we were made for?" said he. "Why
+were we put into this world, and assigned certain parts and duties
+therein? Who has put us here, and for what?"
+
+"Our Heavenly Father has put us here, of course," I replied. "But Dick,
+if you ask me why, I am not sure that I have an answer ready."
+
+"Do you remember when our Lord shall come in His glory and all the holy
+angels with Him, what will be the invitation to those on His right
+hand?"
+
+"'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you
+from the foundation of the world,'" I repeated.
+
+"Then, sweetheart, since such a kingdom is prepared for us—a kingdom
+of Everlasting Life—does it not seem likely that we are placed here as
+a school of preparation for that glorious heritage? And looking at it
+in that light, may it not give us a key whereby to understand at least
+some of the tasks and exercises which are set us in that same school?"
+
+"I suppose it may," said I.
+
+Dick said no more. It is not his way to say a great deal, and perhaps
+that may be one reason why his words dwell in my mind and I cannot
+get rid of them if I would. I wish I could think and feel as he does
+on these subjects. It is the only point on which we do not fully
+sympathize. Of course I believe in the Christian religion, and say my
+prayers night and morning. I "fear" God, and I wish I could honestly
+say that I "love" Him, but I cannot think of Him as Dick does, as a
+loving Father, ever watching over us for good, ordering all things for
+the best, and always ready to hear our requests and sympathize with our
+troubles. It does seem to me as though He were very far off—too far to
+see or care for all the little joys and sorrows which make up the lives
+of every-day people.
+
+To-day we are beginning to pull up and pull down, and the house puts on
+an aspect of mourning. I had been working as hard as I could all the
+morning at mending the old tapestry hanging (and dusty, disagreeable
+work it is), when mother came in, and I called her to see the new head
+I had added to Goliah.
+
+"You have made him as good as new," says my mother.
+
+Dick, who had been helping us, came and looked over my shoulder to
+admire the truculent aspect of my giant.
+
+"Your work gives one a new notion of the courage of David," said he.
+"You have made Goliah a regular Cornish giant, like Cormoran and
+Blunderbore in Jack's story-book."
+
+"Unluckily David himself is not very much handsomer," I rejoined. "I
+must say I do not much like this fashion of putting pictures from Holy
+Scripture upon tapestry and Dutch tiles, and the like. One gets odd
+notions from them. I shall all my life have no other idea of Saint
+Peter than that I gained, before I can clearly remember, from the
+painted window in the church."
+
+"Peggy is growing quite a Puritan lately," said Felicia, who was
+working upon another part of the hangings. "She objects to the painted
+windows in the church."
+
+"Not to all of them," said I. "Only to the chancel window, and I do
+think that is profane. I cannot bear to look at it, since I knew for
+whom that old man in the clouds was intended. Surely if the second
+commandment means anything—"
+
+"Don't you suppose the good man who gave that window to the church
+ever so many hundred years ago, knew as much about the meaning of the
+commandments as you do?" interrupted Felicia.
+
+"Probably not," said Dick, as I did not answer. "It is very likely the
+poor man had never seen, in all his life, a perfect copy of the Holy
+Scripture."
+
+"And, moreover, I do not think that anything painted upon a window
+can be so beautiful as the sky and the clouds seen through it," said
+I. "I admit that the colors in the old window are very wonderful and
+beautiful, but I think the sky more beautiful still, and besides I like
+to see out."
+
+"Every one does not care to be staring abroad in service time,"
+retorted Felicia. "But you are a regular Puritan. I advise you to keep
+your notions to yourself at Stanton Court, or you will soon get into
+trouble. The lady will not care to have her daughter's head filled with
+such fancies."
+
+"I trust my daughter will have sufficient modesty to prevent her
+intruding her opinions on anybody, whether at home or abroad," said my
+mother, not without emphasis.
+
+"I dare say she will soon learn it," said Felicia, who is the only
+one in the family that ever answers mother back. "Poor relations and
+waiting gentlewomen get plenty of snubbing."
+
+Whenever any one checks Felicia in the least, she always begins to talk
+about poor relations. I do honestly think that she presumes upon her
+position as a dependent, knowing that mother will never utterly lose
+patience with her, because she is my dear father's youngest sister.
+She has been in one of her worst moods all day, and nothing pleases
+her. She found fault with the dinner, and snubbed me and the children,
+till mother at last roused herself and gave her such a setting down as
+reduced her to silence and sulks for the rest of the meal.
+
+After dinner, I was going to sit down to my work again, but mother
+stopped me.
+
+"No, my dear. This is your last Saturday at home, perhaps for a long
+time, and you shall not spend it all over the needle. Do you and Dick
+go out together and have a fine long walk. 'Tis a pleasant afternoon,
+and you can visit all your old haunts before dark."
+
+"But then you and Felicia, will have all the work to do," I objected,
+though my heart leaped at the thought of one more long solitary walk
+with Dick—a thing I had hardly dared to hope for.
+
+"Oh, never mind 'me,'" said Felicia, in a voice which trembled with
+rage. "'I' am nobody—only fit for a drudge and slave. Nobody cares for
+me, or thinks of me, now that my poor dear brother is gone." And with
+that she began to cry.
+
+Mother checked me as I began to speak, and sent me for my hood and
+cloak. When I came back, she met me at the door.
+
+"It is best not to answer Felicia when she is in one of these moods,"
+said she. "Poor thing, she suffers more than any one else from her
+unhappy temper."
+
+I am not so sure of that. I do think she finds a certain enjoyment in
+being miserable and making others so. It is rather too bad in her,
+thus to try to spoil Dick's holiday, but she was always jealous of his
+fondness for me. However, I said nothing, of course, and Dick and I
+were soon out in the lane. We meant to go and see the old people at the
+almshouses, and then across the deer-park to the spring, and so home by
+the church.
+
+We found Goody Crump sitting up reading her Bible, as usual, with
+everything tidy and pleasant about her, but she complained sadly of the
+weather.
+
+"Why, Goody, I thought it seasonable weather for March!" said I. "You
+know they say a peck of dust in March is worth a king's ransom."
+
+"And so it is to the farmers, especially since the winter hath been so
+wet," replied the old woman, "but these east winds rack my poor old
+bones sadly. However," she added, with her pleasant smile, "I reckon,
+children, 'tis the old bones which are in fault more than the weather.
+I dare say the east wind doesn't trouble you."
+
+"How old are you, Goody?" I ventured to ask.
+
+"I was ninety-eight my last birthday, my dear. I was a good big girl
+when the great Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, and I well remember
+when I was a little thing, like your Jacky, seeing the fires lighted
+which were to burn two poor men at the stake, for reading their English
+Bibles. Ah! Children, you don't know what it is to live in troublous
+times. But those were grand days, too—grand days!" she repeated, and
+her old face did so light up as she spoke. "'Twas a new world, as it
+might be, what with the discoveries by sea and land, and fighting the
+Spaniards, and the spread of the True Gospel all over the land. Why,
+children, I remember when a copy of Holy Scripture was like treasure
+hid in a field. They that had it, kept it with jealous care, and
+resorted to it with fear and trembling, yet with heartfelt joy, knowing
+that it as good as sealed their death-warrant if found in their hands.
+Then came the days of Queen Elizabeth, when we dwelt under our own
+vines and fig-trees, as it were, and none to make us afraid. Then the
+ships went away beyond seas.
+
+"My master he sailed with Captain Drake, as was the first Englishman
+who went round the world—sailed away, and left me a six months wife,
+to tend his widowed mother, that was ever the best of mothers to me.
+Eh dear! 'Twas weary waiting and never knowing whether he were dead or
+alive. My oldest child was two years old and more before it ever saw
+its father's face. But back he came at last, and brought what kept us
+comfortable for many a long year. But all is gone now—the gold, and the
+brave sailor lad, and all my fair children—and I shall soon follow.
+These be good and quiet times, children, but not like those days."
+
+"None so quiet, either; what with Star Chamber prosecutions, and fines,
+and the ship-money, and the troubles in Ireland," said Dick, who hears
+all the news, being as it were at head-quarters in Master Smith's shop.
+"There is trouble enough, both at home and abroad, and many even fear a
+civil war."
+
+"I trust I shall not live to see it," said Goody Crump. "Few and
+evil—no, but I'll not say that, either!" said she, catching herself up.
+"'Tis true, I have seen many and sad changes, but I've had my share
+of happiness, too. And 'tis no small thing to have such a snug harbor
+in which to end my days at last, with the church near by, and kind
+friends to close my eyes and see me decently laid under ground. No! No!
+I've naught to complain of. Little I thought once to end my days in an
+almshouse, and now I am thankful for the almshouse itself."
+
+"Then it does not make you unhappy to be dependent, as some folks say?"
+said I, thinking of Felicia.
+
+The old woman smiled again.
+
+"Bless your dear heart, no! We are all dependent, child. One almost as
+much as another, for that matter."
+
+"You mean upon God," said I.
+
+"Aye, and upon one another. If not for bread yet for pleasant looks,
+and kind words, and little acts of service, such as go to make our
+lives happy. I have done for others in my time, and now others do for
+me. I did not grudge my service, and no more do they grudge theirs.
+And all comes from God, first and last, and may be given again to Him
+if we will. When I lived with my mistress down in Devonshire, and up
+to London, I had many times to put up with whims and fancies, and hard
+words. Not from her, though—she was ever a sweet-tempered lady—but from
+others of the family. But I said to myself, ''Tis all in the day's
+work,' and strove to take all cheerfully."
+
+"Aye, that is it!" said Dick. "''Tis all in the day's work,' and what
+matter, so we but serve our Master faithfully, and are rewarded of Him
+at the last."
+
+"How cheerful Dame Crump is," said I, when we had finished our walk,
+and were lingering in the church, looking at our father's pulpit, and
+his tablet on the chancel wall. "I wish I were like her."
+
+"You do not wish you were ninety-eight years old, do you?" asked my
+brother.
+
+"Why, I don't know—yes! If I were as ready to go as she, I think I
+would like to be as old. I always do envy good old people, they are so
+near home."
+
+"We none of us know how near home we may be," said Richard.
+
+I assented, thinking of my poor father. Never had he seemed stronger or
+more sanguine than on the very day he had that fatal seizure.
+
+"But, Peggy, my love, why not take the old woman's motto for your own?"
+continued Richard. "Is it not a good one? ''Tis all in the day's work!'"
+
+"Can 'you' take it, Dick?" I asked, in wonder. "Standing here before my
+father's pulpit, in which you so ardently hoped to preach, can you be
+content to say—'It is all in the day's work'?"
+
+"Yes, I can, Peggy!" replied Richard, firmly, though I saw his eyelash
+twinkle. "Standing here—even here—I can say, 'God's will be done!'"
+
+"Well, I can't!" said I, passionately enough. "It does seem very hard
+to me, and I can't help it!"
+
+"That is because you do not consider well the nature of the service,
+Peggy. Have I not vowed to fight manfully under Christ's banner against
+sin, the world, and the devil, and continue His faithful soldier and
+servant unto my life's end? A soldier does not choose the nature of his
+service. 'Tis the very essence of a good soldier that he hath no will
+of his own, but goes cheerfully wherever he is sent by his commander,
+whether to lead a forlorn hope, or to stand sentinel at a distance from
+the field, or to work at an entrenchment, whether to die in a place
+where all men shall see and honor him, or in some obscure service,
+where no man shall so much as hear of him. It is all the same to him,
+so he does his work well.
+
+"But Christ's soldier hath this advantage, that he never can perish
+forgotten and unknown. He fights, conquers, and dies, if need be, under
+the eye of the Captain of his salvation, and when that Captain shall
+appear, he will receive a crown which fadeth not away. And so I say I
+can serve Him as well in Master Smith's shop, as here in my father's
+pulpit; and though I don't deny that it is a great cross to give up the
+thought of taking orders, yet I mean to try to bear it cheerfully, and
+say, through all, 'God's will be done!'"
+
+"Amen!" said a deep and sweet voice behind us, which sounded so like
+my father's that both Dick and I started and turned round in a hurry.
+There stood a grave and comely gentleman, a dignified clergyman, by his
+dress. He had a most reverend and noble air, but his face was full of
+kindliness, not without a shrewd suspicion of humor and even of sarcasm.
+
+"I crave your pardon, my young ones, for listening to your
+conversation," said he, with a courteous air, "but I caught a few
+words, and was really too much interested to interrupt you. I
+conclude," he added, glancing at my mourning dress, "that you are the
+children of the late excellent rector of this parish. I knew him at
+college, and can see some resemblance in your faces. But may I ask you,
+my young friend," he said, turning to Richard, "why you give up the
+thought of taking orders?"
+
+"Surely, sir," answered Dick, "it is no secret. My father died poor,
+and I have no means of gaining the necessary education."
+
+"But there are places—however, we will not talk longer here, since
+the air is something damp," said the strange gentleman, interrupting
+himself. "My friend Mr. Carey hath made me free of his study, where
+there is a fire, and we can talk there with more comfort and propriety."
+
+As he spoke, he opened the door of the little vaulted room next the
+vestry, which my father had caused to be fitted up as a study. He had
+spent a great deal of money upon it, for dear father knew not how to
+save when he had the gold to spend.
+
+The stranger invited us to sit, and placed a chair for me, as if I had
+been some great lady.
+
+"I was about to say," he went on, "that there are positions at both the
+universities at which a scholar can get on with little or no expense.
+I have some little interest, and I doubt not I could use it for your
+advantage, if on trial it should appear that you have a true call to
+preach the gospel."
+
+I saw Dick's cheek flush, and something seemed to swell in his throat.
+As for me, I did not know whether I were dreaming or awake, so bright a
+ray of hope seemed to beam from this door which the strange gentleman
+had opened. It was but for a moment, and then Dick answered, quietly:
+
+"I thank you, honored sir, from the bottom of my heart, for your kind
+offer, but I must not accept it, at least not now. My mother is poor,
+and hath younger children to educate. She needs all the help which both
+my sister and I can give her, and for that reason we must both go into
+the world to earn our own living. If the call I feel is indeed from
+above, I doubt not that He who gives it will find a way to accomplish
+His own ends; and I should be disposed gravely to doubt its reality,
+should it lead me away from my duty toward my mother."
+
+So here was my door closed again, and that by the very person for whom
+it had been opened. The tears came into my eyes, and I had much ado to
+keep myself from sobbing. The stranger rose and walked to the window
+in silence, and I feared that Dick had given him great offence. But he
+presently came back again, and his face was calm and benign as ever.
+
+"What you say hath much reason in it," said he, addressing himself to
+Richard, "but would not your mother be willing to make the sacrifice?"
+
+"She would, without doubt; and therefore it must not be so much as
+mentioned to her," answered Dick, decidedly. "No, Margaret," for he
+read the entreaty in my face: "not so much as mentioned. My dear mother
+is growing old, and it is no longer fit that she should sacrifice to
+her children. Wherefore, pardon me, honored sir, if I decline, with
+many thanks, your generous offer."
+
+"No pardon is needed when no offence hath been committed or taken,"
+said the stranger. "But, my son, I am loth that such an one as you seem
+to be should be lost to the Church, which now, as much as at any time
+in her history, needs zealous and faithful ministers. Therefore I would
+entreat you not to dismiss the thought of taking orders, but, as it
+were, to put it away in your mind for some future time. Believe me, you
+may still be preparing for the sacred office. In your master's shop,
+in the street, and at the fireside, you may be gaining a knowledge of
+'men.' 'Tis a kind of knowledge which is worth more to a pastor than
+any which can be learned out of books, and one in which we college
+fellows are apt to be deficient. Do you have any time to yourself to
+read or study?"
+
+"Yes sir," replied Dick. "My master is very kind in that respect, as in
+every other. I have the most of my evenings."
+
+"I will, if you please, set down a list of books for your reading. Many
+of them, no doubt, will be found in your master's shop, and for the
+others, I dare say you may find them here," he said, looking round on
+my dear father's books, which have not yet been removed. "On my word,
+my friend has a fine collection."
+
+"These are my father's books," said Richard. He seemed as if he would
+have added more, but paused and gazed steadfastly at the fire.
+
+The stranger glanced at him for a moment, and then, taking a sheet of
+paper from the table, he began to write, now and then glancing up at
+Dick or me.
+
+For myself, I sat as mum as a mouse, wondering more and more what was
+to be the end of it all. The stranger was no common man, I felt sure,
+but I would not even give a guess as to who he might be.
+
+Presently he folded the paper and gave it to Dick.
+
+"There," said he, "I have written down a list of books, according to
+the best of my judgment, which you can study at your leisure. Meantime,
+let me impress upon you the importance of a close daily walk with
+God, which is the best preparation of all. Drink daily and deeply of
+the fountain of all grace, by resorting to God in humble prayer. Be
+diligent in your daily calling, and you may be sure that a blessing
+will rest upon you!"
+
+"And you, my fair maiden," said he, turning to me with a kindly smile.
+"So you are to make your first flight from the nest, and go out into
+the world to seek your fortune!"
+
+"I suppose so, sir," I replied.
+
+"'Tis a hard necessity," said he, gravely. "The best place for a girl
+is by her mother's side till she hath a household of her own. But where
+are you going? Tell me all about it."
+
+His manner was so kind, and made me think so of my dear father that I
+choked for a moment. But recovering myself, I told him that I was going
+to wait upon, and be in some sort, I supposed, a governess to my Lady
+Elizabeth Stanton of Stanton Court in Devonshire.
+
+He looked very grave.
+
+"A hard place—a hard place!" he muttered. "An honest service would have
+been better."
+
+Then catching my eye: "My child, you are going to a place where both
+your temper and your principles are likely to be put to the test. I
+would not discourage you, but 'forewarned is forearmed,' they say,
+though I have not always found it so. Are you, like your brother,
+furnished with the armor of a soldier of Christ?"
+
+"I am afraid not," said I.
+
+"But why not, sweetheart? Do you not need it as much?"
+
+"I need it even more, if that were possible," said I, "for my temper
+is not naturally as good as Richard's. But I know not how it is, these
+things are not as real to me as to him. I have not the faith which he
+has."
+
+"Well, well. You are but young. But, my child, you are now going
+among strangers, into the midst of trials, vexations, and temptations
+of which you know nothing. Let me beg of you to pray your Heavenly
+Father to give you that perfect trust in Him, and that consecration
+to His service, which alone can preserve you in the perils of the
+way. Remember that you are Christ's vowed servant and soldier, as
+well as your brother; and must fight manfully under his banner. 'Tis
+the Christian paradox that peace is found only in warfare!" he added,
+smiling.
+
+"I cannot make Peggy understand that," said Richard. And I saw by his
+using my pet name, how much he felt at ease with the strange clergyman,
+for he seldom called me anything but Margaret before strangers. "Her
+only notion of peace consists in having nothing to disturb her."
+
+"Aye, but that is peace never to be found in this world. I am glad
+your sister is going into Devonshire. I am sometimes at Stanton Court
+myself, and may be able to befriend her. My dear child," said he,
+turning to me, "will you make me one promise?"
+
+"Yes sir," I replied, feeling that I might safely do so.
+
+"Then promise me solemnly that you will never let a day pass without
+reading some portion of Holy Scripture, be it never so short, and
+praying for God's blessing on yourself and all that you do. Bring all
+to this test, and permit yourself no employment that will not endure
+it. Will you promise me this?"
+
+I did so.
+
+"That is well!" said he. "I will send you a little book which will
+perhaps help you to understand better what you read. Remember now that
+you have promised."
+
+"And she will keep her word, I am sure," said Richard. "But may we
+venture to ask who it is that hath been so kind?"
+
+The stranger smiled. "My name is Joseph Hall, and I live in Exeter,"
+said he, simply, yet with the air of being mightily diverted at
+something.
+
+I saw Dick rise up hastily with a deep blush, and while I was trying to
+think what could be the matter, the door opened.
+
+"I crave your pardon, my Lord, for leaving you so long alone," said Mr.
+Carey, and then he stopped, as if he were amazed at seeing us in such
+company.
+
+For myself, I felt as if all the blood in my body rushed to my face,
+when it flashed across me that the stranger was no other than Bishop
+Hall of Exeter, one of the most learned men in England. I might have
+guessed before, for I had heard that Mr. Carey the new rector was
+nephew to the Bishop of Exeter.
+
+"I have not been alone, as you see, nephew," said the Bishop. "I
+encountered those young people in the church, and having played the
+eavesdropper to a part of their discourse, I could do no less than ask
+them in here to finish it. Go now, my children! I shall perhaps see you
+again; and you, Margaret, since that is your name, remember what you
+have promised."
+
+I was not likely to forget it. It is not every day that one talks
+freely with so great a man. When we got outside, we were startled to
+see how low the sun was, and hastened home with little talk by the way.
+At another time, I should have met a reproof for being out of bounds so
+late. But dear mother is one who knows when to relax the reins and when
+to draw them tightly. She had even kept our supper hot by the fire.
+
+"Have you heard who is to preach for us to-morrow?" asked Felicia. "No
+less a person than the Bishop of Exeter, Mr. Carey's uncle."
+
+"We have seen him," I replied, not without a mischievous enjoyment of
+the amazement in her face and mother's. "It was he who kept us talking
+so long in the vault room."
+
+Felicia looked from one to the other as if she suspected a plan to
+mystify her. Dick hastened to relate a part of what had passed at
+the church. Dear mother was much pleased, especially when Dick said
+that the Bishop had advised him not to give up the thought of being a
+minister, but to continue his studies as he had opportunity.
+
+Felicia smiled scornfully.
+
+"I do not see anything either very great or very good in that," said
+she. "I dare say the Bishop, if he were so minded, might easily procure
+Dick some place, where he might earn thrice as much as he is ever like
+to do with Master Smith, and without the work. Court favor can do a
+great deal more than that."
+
+"If all tales be true, my Lord does not enjoy much of court favor,"
+said Richard. "I have heard that he is no favorite with the archbishop
+who rules all about the king nowadays."
+
+"I cannot help feeling, however, as though the children had made a
+valuable friend," said my mother.
+
+"And do you really suppose he will ever think of them again, or that
+he will even know Peggy, if by chance he meets her at Stanton Court?"
+asked Felicia, with her exasperating superior smile, as if she pitied
+my mother's weakness. "That is not the way with great people, I fancy."
+
+"I suppose there may be a difference in great people as well as in
+little ones," observed my mother.
+
+"I fancy they are much alike in that respect," said Felicia.
+
+"Do you judge others by yourself, Felicia?" I could not help asking.
+"Suppose you were suddenly to make a great match, or to inherit a great
+fortune, would you forget all about us, and never come near us?"
+
+"If I did, I should have a good excuse," returned Felicia, sharply. "To
+you at least, Peggy, I should owe no debt of kindness."
+
+I might have said more, but I saw Dick look at me, so I bit my lip and
+was silent. I dare say she would, though.
+
+When I went to my room, I remembered my promise, and took my Bible to
+read. The first words my eye fell upon were these: "'Take my yoke upon
+you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall
+find rest to your souls.'"
+
+I wonder if it is a want of meekness and lowliness which makes me so
+easily disturbed? I should not wonder.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+_THE LAST SUNDAY._
+
+                                                _March 6._
+
+HERE I am at home, if the cottage can be called home. I have not
+written a word for a week, and how many things have happened! In
+the first place, Felicia has left us for good. My words to her were
+like a prophecy, for if she hath not the great fortune already, she
+is like to have it. An aunt of my father's passing through Chester,
+came to see us, and she hath carried Felicia off with her to London,
+where she is to make her home henceforth, and be as a daughter to Mrs.
+Willson—such is the lady's name. She is a widow, childless, and very
+rich. So if Felicia can but please her aunt, her fortune is secure. I
+have my doubts whether Felicia can keep her temper in check, even when
+her interest is concerned, but a change may do much for her. At any
+rate she is gone, and it is wonderful what a vacancy she leaves behind
+her, and how freely we all seem to breathe without her. I can't help
+thinking that dear mother has grown younger. And for my own part, I
+feel much more comfortable about leaving home, now that mother hath
+only Jacky and the twins to keep in order and provide for.
+
+I must say Mrs. Willson has been very liberal to us. When she heard
+that I was going to Stanton Court, nothing would serve but she must
+look over my clothes, and having done so, she insisted on taking
+me with her to Chester, and furnishing me with two new gowns and
+petticoats complete, with shoes, gloves, kerchiefs, and hoods, and all
+things answerable, the finest I ever had, though all black, of course.
+I would have remonstrated at the expense, but she shortly, though
+kindly, too, bid me hold my tongue.
+
+"May I not do what I will with mine own?" said she. "And if I choose to
+bestow a little of my superfluity on my brother's grandchildren, why
+should you grudge me the pleasure? Learn to be obliged with grace and
+humility, chick, and so oblige others in your turn."
+
+I held my tongue, but I was pleased too with the words, and the thought
+passed across my mind: "If this good woman should adopt me, I could
+make her much happier than Felicia is like to do."
+
+Aunt Willson did not confine her bounty to me. She bought mother a gown
+and cloak, which she needs, and new frocks, beside toys and sweets
+for the little ones. We then went to Master Smith's shop, where she
+purchased for me what I value more than all the fine clothes, namely, a
+handsome Bible. I have never possessed one of my own before, and this
+is truly splendid, being bound in red with silver clasps. Aunt Willson
+had a deal of talk with good Master Smith and his wife, and before we
+left, she took Dick and me aside.
+
+"I want to see you young ones together," said she. "I desire to explain
+somewhat to you, for though young folks should not sit in judgment on
+their elders, I can see that you both have sharp wits, and I have a
+mind you should understand me. I dare say you, Richard, are wondering
+why I should choose Felicia for my companion, instead of one of the
+little girls, or Peggy here."
+
+"I confess I did think of it," said Richard, as Aunt Willson seemed to
+pause for a reply.
+
+"Well, then, I'll tell you," said she. "I can see as far into a
+mill-stone as another, and I can see that Felicia—plague take the name,
+it sounds like a stage play—is one by herself among you and is no
+help to any one. She hath just the disposition of her father, my poor
+brother, who was wont all his life-long to take the poker by the hot
+end."
+
+I could not help laughing. It was such an apt illustration.
+
+"I see plainly that she is no help to your poor mother, and also that
+she could never go out and earn her living like you and Peggy here,"
+continued Aunt Willson. "The fact is, children, she is just one of
+those who seem born to exercise the forbearance and patience of their
+friends. The best we can do is to make a means of grace of them."
+
+"That don't seem to be a very flattering use to which to put our
+fellow-creatures!" said I.
+
+"'Tis all we are any of us fit for, at times, chick."
+
+"But do you really think," I asked, "that we have any right to think
+so—to think that people are made bad only for means of grace to us?"
+
+"By no means, child!" replied my aunt. "That were spiritual pride, and
+presumption worse than that of the Pharisees. But we must be either
+better or worse for the faults of the people we live with. If we learn
+from them patience, forbearance, and watchfulness not to give any just
+offence, we are the better; and whatsoever makes us better, is a means
+of grace, is it not, sweetheart?"
+
+I confessed that she was right; thinking at the same time that Felicia
+had been anything but a means of grace to me.
+
+"Well, as I was saying," continued my Aunt Willson, "as I have no
+children to be plagued by her, and as I have a pretty even temper of
+my own, besides a good strong will, and plenty of money—why I will
+even take the poor thing in hand, and do the best I can with her. But
+mind, children, not a word of this to Felicia herself. Let her think,
+if she will, that she is doing me a great favor. I am glad I came this
+way, though it was a toilsome journey. I shall think of you all with
+pleasure; and though we may never meet again, you will hear from me.
+You are going into a hard place, Peggy, but keep up a good heart, put
+your trust above, be faithful to God and your mother, avoid all mean
+and little practises of tattling, eavesdropping, and the like, mind
+your own business, be kind to all, but beware of intimacies,—and when
+troubles and vexations come, as doubtless they will, keep a brave
+heart, put a good face on it, and be not discouraged. ''Tis all in the
+day's work!'"
+
+"That is Richard's motto!" said I.
+
+"And do you make it yours; though mind, chick, all depends on the
+master for whom the work is done. But we must soon be jogging. Dick,
+this is for thine own pocket," and she slipped into his hand a purse I
+had seen her buy, and in which she had put some gold and silver pieces
+out of her own. "Now do you two gossip a bit while I say farewell to
+our good host and hostess!"
+
+"Is she not a good old woman?" I said to Dick, after we had looked into
+the purse, and I had told him of aunt's kindness to us all.
+
+"She is indeed, and I thank her with all my heart, specially for all
+she has done for you and mother. 'Tis curious, is it not, that we
+should have made two such powerful friends in one week—the very week to
+which we have looked forward with such dread?"
+
+"Felicia does not think that the Bishop will ever remember us again,"
+said I, "but, as I tell her, she judges every one by herself."
+
+"Oh, Felicia—always Felicia!" said Dick, with some impatience, for him.
+"It was one of my comforts about your going away, Peggy, that you would
+be out of the influence of Felicia."
+
+"I don't think she influences me!" said I, rather testily.
+
+"Why then do you always refer everything to her? Why are you always
+thinking about what she will say, and fretting over what she does
+say? I tell you, Peggy, we are perhaps as much influenced by those we
+dislike and even hate, as by those we love."
+
+Hate is a hard word. I wonder if I do hate Felicia? I am afraid I do,
+sometimes.
+
+"At any rate, I am glad she is going away, for dear mother's sake,"
+said I; "though I do not think Aunt Willson quite knows what she is
+undertaking. But she may do better in a new place, at least for a time."
+
+And then we fell into discourse concerning my journey, and our future
+plans. Dick told me he had already begun to act upon the Bishop's
+advice, and that Master Smith was willing, and commended his plan; and
+he showed me the big book on which he was engaged. It was all in Latin,
+so I was not much the wiser, for though I know a little Latin, which I
+learned to please dear father, yet I cannot read without a Lexicon, as
+Dick can.
+
+Before we had half finished our talk, Aunt Willson was ready to start,
+and we set off homeward, followed by my aunt's serving man, carrying
+our bundles, and well-loaded he was, indeed, poor man.
+
+Felicia did not look overwell pleased at my aunt's bounty to my mother
+and the children. She is already disposed to appropriate Aunt Willson
+as her own property, and shut out the rest of us. If she only knew—but
+of course 'tis best she should not. Mother said something about wishing
+that I also were going with Aunt Willson instead of among strangers—not
+of course expecting any such thing—when Felicia, took her up quite
+sharply.
+
+"That is out of the question, sister! I am surprised that you should
+think of such a thing. It is not reasonable to expect my aunt to burden
+herself with the whole family. I am sure you might be satisfied with
+what she has done already."
+
+"Heighty-tighty!" said my aunt. "In London we don't suffer young folks
+to check and reprove their elders in that kind of fashion, especially
+those who have been kind to them!"
+
+Felicia looked a good deal taken aback, and muttered something about
+not liking to see goodness imposed upon.
+
+Whereupon, my aunt said something sharply. "Take care you don't impose
+upon it, then! As for me, I am able to answer for myself, and I don't
+fancy having words either taken out of my mouth or put into it!"
+
+It was Felicia's cue to seem all amiability before my aunt, so she
+made no reply. But as we went to supper, she took an opportunity to
+say to me, "You have used your time well, Peggy, and played your cards
+cleverly. You have set my aunt against me already, I see."
+
+I would not answer her, for I was determined not to quarrel on the last
+day, and I suppose she thought it would not be very good policy for
+herself, for she put on a very dignified and resentful air, and went
+to bed without speaking to me again. I was not sorry, for I was afraid
+of one of her outbursts, which somehow put me beside myself. The next
+day they went away, and before they left, Felicia told me, with great
+solemnity, that she forgave me for all my ill offices to her, and she
+hoped I should do well in my new station. She thought I might, if I
+would only curb my temper, and learn to forbear mischief-making and
+tale-bearing. All this she said before Aunt Willson. I was very angry,
+but I was determined to keep the peace, so I only laughed and thanked
+her for her good advice.
+
+Aunt Willson kissed me most kindly, and put a little purse into my
+hand, whispering, as she did so:
+
+"This is for thine own pocket, chick. Never mind Felicia. I understand
+all about it. Keep a good heart, and remember that, as long as I live,
+you have a friend at need. I will never see your good mother want, I
+promise you that."
+
+So they rode away, and it has seemed, ever since, as though some heavy
+oppressive vapor had cleared away out of the air. Nobody laments but
+Jacky, who was her special pet, and whom she upheld against everybody,
+mother herself included. I wish we could have hit it off together a
+little better. It seemed as if we ought to have been friends, growing
+up together as we did, and being so nearly related. But I don't know
+how it was, somehow every painful passage in my life almost has been
+connected with her. I might have been to blame too—indeed I know I
+have often been so, but I cannot help being glad that our paths have
+separated, at least for a time. Then I am quite sure mother will be
+happier without her. Not that Felicia could not be a great help when
+she chose, and a pleasant companion as well. But the least thing put
+her out of humor, and then she made the house simply intolerable. She
+has been much worse since the death of my father, who alone could
+control her in her bad moods.
+
+The next great event is that the Bishop hath bought my father's library
+for a good round sum—Master Smith valuing the books. They are to remain
+in their places in the vaulted room, and form a sort of permanent
+library for the use of future rectors, and my Lord has stipulated with
+Mr. Carey that Dick shall have the use of such books as he needs—only
+the great vellum covered Saint Augustine and one or two others my
+Lord has purchased for himself. The price of the books, and my aunt
+Willson's bounty, makes my mother very comfortable.
+
+Mr. Carey made up his mind to remain a week longer, which I did not
+regret, as it gave me just so much more time at home, and enabled me
+to help mother move and settle herself in the cottage. 'Tis a pleasant
+little nest enough, with a fair look out over the fields, and a nice
+garden, well-stocked with herbs and common flowers, and some fruit as
+well. In this we reap the advantage of my father's careful habits,
+who would never let the least thing belonging to him go out of order.
+'Twas not his way to anticipate, else I might think that he had stocked
+the garden and kept the little orchard in good bearing order, looking
+forward to the time when it might become a kind of humble jointure
+house for his widow. Be that as it may, now that the place is all put
+to rights, with the hangings up, the old furniture put in place, and
+dear mother's piled up workbasket in the window, I must say it looks
+very much like home. The children are pleased, of course, with any
+change, but dear mother looks very sad at times. Oh, if I could but
+stay! I said once that I should not so much mind leaving home, now that
+"home" no longer meant the rectory, but I find, as the time draws nigh,
+that home means the place where the dear ones are.
+
+
+                                                _March 13._
+
+'Tis settled now that we go on Monday. My clothes and other possessions
+are all packed, and I have naught to do but to enjoy my last Sunday as
+well as I can.
+
+I have already bid good-by to the old folks at the almshouse. Goody
+Cramp was very solemn as she kissed and blessed me, and prayed that
+I might be kept from every snare. She would needs give me a keepsake
+also—a little gilded glass bottle which her son brought home from
+foreign parts on his last voyage. It is no bigger than my little
+finger, and is all but empty, but it still exhales a sweet odor of
+roses. Dame Higgins would give me a token too, in the shape of a little
+tarnished silver medal, having, as near as I can make out, the figure
+of the Virgin or some female saint, and a Latin legend, of which I can
+make out nothing but "Ave." Dame Higgins is a Roman Catholic.
+
+"Take it and wear it—take it and wear it!" said she. "It has the pope's
+blessing. An' it does you no good, it can do no harm."
+
+That I fully believe, and I would not hurt the poor old creature by
+refusing her gift. When I showed it to old Esther, however, she was
+not well-pleased, called it a Popish trinket, and bade me beware of
+the sin of idolatry. I could not but laugh, at which she was yet
+more displeased. But I coaxed her round at last to say that after
+all it might do me no great harm. She herself has given me a charm—a
+stone with a hole in it, sovereign against witches—so I am like to
+have charms enow. The Bishop hath also given me a token—namely the
+book he promised me. It is called "Contemplations on the Old and New
+Testaments," and is a considerable volume. I hope to get much good
+from it, for 'tis writ in a plain and simple style, much like his
+sermons—not what one would expect from such a deeply learned man. I
+am glad to have it, and glad too that my Lord remembered me, though
+Felicia said he would never think of me again.
+
+
+                                                _March 14._
+
+The last Sunday! The very last, for Heaven only knows how long! My
+heart would break if I dared think about it. Mother and all of us went
+to church. Mr. Carey preached a very learned and fine sermon, but
+not so much to my mind as that of Bishop Hall. Last Sunday my Lord's
+text was, "Enoch walked with God," and there was not a sentence that
+any poor person could not understand. Mr. Carey's had a great many
+quotations from the Father's and from learned authors, yet the end was
+simple and plain enough, and I was much pleased at his kindly ways
+after church, and his courtesy to my mother. 'Tis a great comfort to
+think that so good a man is come in dear father's room.
+
+Well, I must needs put away my book and pen. When I take them again, I
+shall be far enough from here.
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+_MY NEW CHARGE._
+
+                                    * * * * * * SHIRE,
+
+                                                _March 19._
+
+I HAVE been here three days, and have not been able before to write in
+my journal. I will say naught of the leave-taking at home. It was bad
+enough, and I don't want to live it over again. Oh, how weary I was
+when I arrived here, though I enjoyed the journey, too. I rode part of
+the way on horseback by myself, and sometimes on a pillion behind Mr.
+Carey's servant, as far as Exeter, and from thence I came in the wagon.
+
+They were all very kind to me, and at Exeter, where I stayed two days,
+Mrs. Carey made me most kindly welcome; so that it was like a new grief
+to part with her. She asked me many questions about the parish, and
+specially about the poor people. She would know something of the gentry
+and farmers as well, but here Mr. Carey checked her.
+
+"Don't tempt the child to gossip, my love," said he.
+
+Mrs. Carey blushed and laughed, but took all in good part. For my part
+I was not sorry, for I know my tongue sometimes runs too fast, and I
+hardly ever talk about "people" without saying something I am sorry for
+afterwards.
+
+I saw the Cathedral, which is very grand and beautiful. I hoped we
+might meet the Bishop, but he is away on his visitations.
+
+From Exeter I came in my Lord's wagon to Stanton Court. It was late
+when we arrived, and I could see little of the house, save that it was
+a grand one, with many lighted windows, and with large trees about it.
+We went up a long avenue, and round to a side door which opened into
+a square paved hall. Here I waited a good while, till I was ready to
+faint from weariness and hunger.
+
+At last, an elderly woman appeared, and seeing me standing there alone,
+she asked me very kindly what I wanted, and whom I wanted to see. I
+made myself known to her, and gave her the note for my Lady which I had
+brought from Mr. Carey.
+
+"Oh yes. You are the young lady from Chester, who is to live with my
+Lady Betty. But you should not be here among the servants. Come with
+me, and I will show you your room, and provide you some supper, for I
+am sure you must be tired and hungry."
+
+I followed her through a door, across the great hall, up-stairs, and
+through passages, till I was thoroughly turned round and did not
+know where I was at all. At last we entered a turret room, where was
+a bright fire, which was all I could see at first, my eyes were so
+dazzled.
+
+"I caused a fire to be kindled, lest the room might be damp, as it has
+not been used lately," said my companion. "You will find everything
+comfortable. 'Tis my Lady's pleasure that all under her roof should be
+so, each according to their degree. I will cause your mails to be sent
+up, as well as some refreshment, and you will do well to change your
+travelling dress, and be ready in case my Lady should wish to see you
+to-night."
+
+"Is my Lady Betty's room near to this?" I ventured to ask.
+
+"Yes, but I was not speaking of her, poor dear child, but of her
+mother, my Lady Stanton."
+
+She lingered a moment, arranging the furniture, and then coming near
+me, she said, in a low tone:
+
+"My dear, I do hope you will be kind and patient with poor Lady Betty.
+She is one by herself, and she hath so few pleasures, poor thing. You
+will, wont you?"
+
+"Indeed I will," said I. "I love children dearly."
+
+"That is well. But she is not like a healthy child, you see, and I
+sometimes think that her mind is as badly twisted as her body. Her late
+governess was very sharp with her, and I know she did her harm: and so
+my Lady thought, for she sent her away very soon. But I will say no
+more. I am the housekeeper, my dear. I am a far-away cousin of my Lord,
+but I never presume on my relationship, though they are all very kind
+to me. Do you ask for Mrs. Judith, if you wish to find me. Mr. Carey,
+with whom you travelled, is a nephew of mine. Now I must send your
+supper, and let my Lady know that you are come. She has asked for you
+to-day."
+
+She went out, and presently came up a man with my mails, followed by a
+maid with a tray containing hot soup and other good things.
+
+"Here is your supper, mistress," said she, pertly enough. "'Tis easy to
+see you have already got into Mrs. Judith's good graces."
+
+"Set it on the table," said I, thinking her freedom very impertinent.
+
+She gave her head a toss, but said no more, and presently I heard
+her laughing with the man outside the door. "Pretty well for a poor
+parson's daughter," I heard them say. I opened my mails, and dressed
+myself neatly in one of my new gowns, and then sat down to enjoy the
+good supper provided for me. I had hardly finished, when Mistress
+Judith opened my door.
+
+"You are to go to my Lady in her dressing-room at once," said she.
+"Dear me, how nice you look! But come, follow me, and mind the steps
+at the door of my Lady's room, and don't be over bashful when my Lady
+speaks to you."
+
+Mrs. Judith was so evidently flurried, that I felt flurried myself,
+but I tried to compose myself. It came over me, that here was one of
+the occasions on which I needed the help of that great Master whom I
+was to serve, and I murmured the prayer for grace I was accustomed to
+use every morning; and I don't know how it was, it seemed to quiet me
+directly.
+
+"Mind the steps," said Mrs. Judith, as she opened the door; and it
+was well she did warn me, or I should have greeted my new mistress by
+falling on my nose before her.
+
+As it was, I made my courtesy, and followed my conductor into the
+room where sat my Lady Stanton. She almost dazzled my eyes, she was
+so beautiful and so richly dressed. She sat by her toilet-table, and
+seemed to be about undressing for the night, for her maid was getting
+out the things, and honored me with a stare behind her mistress' back.
+
+"Come near to me, Mistress Merton," said my Lady, speaking with a
+clear, sweet voice, which struck me at once as having a ring of sadness
+in it. "You need not wait now, Brewster," she added, speaking to the
+dressing-maid. "I will call when I need you."
+
+My Lady asked me kindly about my journey, and my mother, as if she
+meant to set me at my ease. Then she said:
+
+"I suppose you have very little notion of what you are to do?"
+
+"Very little, my Lady," I answered, which was the truth.
+
+My Lady smiled. "You will find out by degrees. You are to spend most of
+your time with my little daughter—to amuse her and keep her contented,
+and to teach her what you can, and what she is able to learn without
+too much trouble. You will take your meals with Mrs. Judith, or else
+with the family, when we have no company. You will have certain hours
+to yourself, and are at liberty to walk out, so you go not too far
+from home, and I shall be glad if you can persuade Lady Betty to go
+out also. You will come to prayers with the rest of the family every
+morning. Mrs. Judith will show you where you are to sit. That is all I
+have to say to you at present, but I will see you again. I dare say you
+are wearied with your ride, and it is late."
+
+She signed for me to go, and I followed Mrs. Judith back to my room,
+which was quite in another part of the house.
+
+When I was alone again, I thought over all I had heard, and I could not
+but feel that my position would probably be a hard one. It did not seem
+that I was to have any authority over the child, though I was expected
+to teach her. I was to have nothing to do with the servants, and yet I
+was not to be one of the family.
+
+I did not see my way at all, but I remembered what dear mother once
+said—that if we could see but one step before us, we were to take that
+step, and then the next would be made plain.
+
+So I consoled myself with thinking that at any rate I had nothing to do
+to-night but to make myself comfortable. I unpacked some of my chief
+treasures—my few books, my work-box, and especially my new Bible, and a
+pretty Prayer-book which Mr. Smith gave me. My room is a very neat and
+pretty one—a turret room, with a closet, and two deep, narrow windows.
+There is a small bed with green hangings, a chair, table, and chest of
+drawers, and what I prized most, a kind of desk, or cabinet, with a
+place on which to write, and a good many little drawers and shelves.
+
+I liked the aspect of my room, and after I had said my prayers, and
+read my Bible verses, I began to feel more at home, and to think that
+perhaps I might be happy here after all. I could not but shed a few
+tears when I thought how far-away were mother and all my friends, and
+then the thought came across me, that we were all in the presence of
+the same Heavenly Father, and that His eye sees all at one glance, as
+it were. I never so strongly felt his presence as at that moment; and
+I did pray earnestly that He would make me to love Him more, that He
+would guide me, and make my way plain before me.
+
+I did not sleep till late—there seemed to be so many strange noises,
+the wind did so roar in the chimney and among the great trees; and when
+it fell, there was another sound which I could not understand—a kind of
+long, low roar, which rose and fell, but never wholly ceased. At last,
+my weariness overcame me, but it seemed as if I had not slept more than
+half an hour, when I was wakened by the loud, passionate crying of a
+child.
+
+I saw the sun was shining, and springing up, I hastened to dress. I had
+hardly done so, the child crying all the time, when there came a knock
+at the door, and some one hastily opened it.
+
+"I crave your pardon, mistress, but will you please come to my young
+Lady directly?" said a decent, kind-faced woman, who looked like a
+servant. "She has heard that you are come, and is determined to see
+you. Do make haste, before my Lord is waked by her noise."
+
+"I will come at once," said I. And I laid down my Bible, having read
+only one verse—"'Call upon me in the day of trouble, so will I hear
+thee.'"
+
+"Is that Lady Betty crying?" I asked, as the screams struck more loudly
+on my ear, upon opening the door.
+
+"Yes, she is in one of her takings, poor thing. Do pacify her if you
+can, for I can't, and that's the truth. You see her old nurse is lately
+dead, and she don't take to me yet."
+
+She opened, as she spoke, first a door covered with green baize, and
+then one of wood, and ushered me into a large, airy room. It was
+the finest I had over seen, except my Lady's, but I had no eyes for
+anything except the child who sat upright in the bed, her face red with
+passion, her poor little hands, as thin as bird's claws, clutching the
+bed hangings, as if she would pull them down, while she screamed at the
+top of her voice, like one distracted.
+
+"See here, Lady Betty! Here's a pretty young lady come to see you. Now
+be good, and speak prettily to her, wont you?"
+
+But Lady Betty only screamed out some inarticulate words.
+
+"There, see what you can do with her," said the maid, in a low voice.
+"I dare not go near her, that is the truth. She is like a wild-cat."
+
+I remembered how mother used to deal with me in my "tantrums," as
+Esther used to call them, and going up to the bed, I quietly sat myself
+down upon it, and looked at Lady Betty, without saying a word. At first
+she did not seem to notice me, but as I sat quite still and looked
+steadfastly at her, she presently ceased crying, and looked at me in a
+kind of wonder.
+
+"Who are you?" she asked.
+
+"I am Margaret Merton," I answered. "I have come to see you, but I can
+tell you no more till you stop crying."
+
+"I want my mother," she said, pitifully.
+
+"My Lady is not awake yet, I dare say," I answered. "I am sure you
+would not like to wake her with crying. That is not a pleasant way of
+being roused."
+
+I saw I had gained her attention. "Did I wake you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, and I could not think at first where I was. I am not used to hear
+children cry."
+
+"Haven't you any children at your house?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, I have two twin sisters about as old as you, and a little
+brother, but they do not cry."
+
+She was interested directly, and began to ask me questions. I talked to
+her till she was quiet, and had forgotten her passion, and then I said,
+"I will tell you more when you are dressed."
+
+"But I don't want to be dressed," said she, putting up her lip. "Mary
+hurts me so. I want my own old Mary!"
+
+"But you can't have her, my Lady, because she is not here," argued the
+maid. "She is dead and gone, as you know very well." Then to me:
+
+"Do persuade her. My Lady will be displeased."
+
+"Will you let me dress you, Lady Betty?" I asked.
+
+"Won't you take hold of my arms hard and hurt me?" she asked, looking
+doubtfully at me.
+
+"Not if I can help it. But if I do, you must tell me, and I will be
+more careful."
+
+She submitted with a good grace, and I took her in my lap and dressed
+her like a baby, Mary handing me the things. The tears were very near
+my eyes as I was doing it, for I remembered how I used to dress my poor
+little sister Phillis, the one next older than the twins, who died of a
+waste a year before my father.
+
+I did not wonder that Lady Betty dreaded to be touched, when I saw how
+thin she was—nothing but skin and bone. She is terribly hunchbacked,
+too. Her backbone is turned to one side, and curves out so that she has
+a great bunch on her shoulders. She cried out once or twice, but on the
+whole we got through pretty well. When I had done, she put up her poor
+face and kissed me, saying that I had hardly hurt her at all. I was
+glad to see that Mary looked relieved and pleased instead of seeming
+jealous.
+
+"That is my good little Lady!" said she. "Now, I will bring your
+breakfast." And she hastened away.
+
+"Don't you say your prayers?" I asked the child, when we were alone
+together.
+
+"Why, no!" she said, as if surprised. "I cannot go to the chapel."
+
+"But you might say them here. Your Heavenly Father will know what you
+say as well here as in the chapel."
+
+"Well, I will say them, if you will hear me, as Mary used. I like you,
+and I will do as you bid me."
+
+I thought I had made a good beginning. I set her on the side of the
+bed, as she could not kneel, and kneeling by her, with her hands
+clasped in mine, I made her say after me the Lord's prayer, and
+another, which dear mother taught me as a child. Then I made her say,
+"God bless my father and mother, and all my friends, and make me a good
+girl."
+
+She was very serious and reverent. After we had finished, she asked me
+to carry her to the window that she might look out.
+
+"Cannot you walk?" I asked.
+
+"Yes, but it hurts me. I like to be carried best."
+
+She was nothing to lift, so I humored her by carrying her to the
+window. It was the first chance I had to look out, and I exclaimed
+at the beauty of the view which met my eyes. The green grass of the
+lawn—oh, so green—stretched away to the woods, of which the buds were
+at least two weeks in advance of those I had left at home, and in
+some places showed a faint tinge of their summer's hue. On one side I
+could just catch a glimpse of a fine formal garden, with statues, and
+a fountain, and high clipped hollys and yews. The church tower peeped
+from the trees at the end of the long avenue, and away at the horizon
+lay a broad belt of glittering blue. I was so taken by surprise that I
+did not think what it was, and asked Lady Betty.
+
+"Why, that is the sea!" said the child. "Did you never see the sea
+before? I love to sit and look at it, and at night I lie and listen to
+the sound of the waves, till I long to fly away over there, where the
+birds go. Would you not like to fly, Margaret Merton?"
+
+"You are to say Mistress Merton," said Mary, who now came in with the
+breakfast.
+
+"I shall say what I like!" retorted the peevish child. "Margaret is a
+pretty name, and I love to say it. I may call you Margaret, may I not?"
+
+"Surely, my love, if your mother does not object."
+
+"My mother wont care. Every one lets me do as I please, only my aunt
+Jemima, and you need not mind her."
+
+"Come now and have your breakfast," said I.
+
+"I don't want my breakfast. I am not hungry."
+
+"But you will be hungry by and by," I urged. "And besides, your mother
+will not be pleased if you do not eat your good bread and milk. It is
+that which makes little girls fat and rosy."
+
+"I shall never be fat and rosy, I know!" said Lady Betty, in so sad
+a tone for a child, that the tears came to my eyes. "But never mind,
+Margaret, I will eat it if you want me to. Only please sit by me and
+talk to me!"
+
+I was quite ready to do that, and we grew very merry over the bread and
+milk, Mary putting the room to rights meantime. I was telling my Lady a
+long story about our old cat and her kittens, and how she carried them
+all back to the rectory in her mouth when we moved.
+
+I had just come to the most interesting part of the story, when the
+door opened, and a lady entered whom I had not seen before. She seemed
+to me about thirty-five, though I have since learned that she is not
+nearly so old. She was very plain, with hair, eyes and skin which
+seemed all of a color, and there was a wonderful formal, precise air
+about her.
+
+I broke off my story and rose, of course, while Lady Betty greeted the
+new-comer with:
+
+"Now, Aunt Jemima, do go away! Margaret is telling me such a pretty
+tale, and I want to hear the end of it."
+
+"Margaret, forsooth! And pray who is this young person with whom you
+are so intimate already?" asked the lady, glancing at me, as if she
+suspected me of committing some great impropriety.
+
+"Why, Margaret Merton, of course!" answered the child, pettishly.
+
+"Oh, I understand. The young damsel who was expected a week ago. How
+did it happen, Mistress Margaret Merton, that you did not arrive at the
+time appointed?"
+
+I explained to her that I had waited for Mr. Carey, who had changed his
+plans at the last moment.
+
+She seemed to consider my excuse as of little consequence, for she
+hardly heard me through before she turned to Lady Betty.
+
+"Well, child, and how do you find yourself this morning?" Then, without
+waiting for an answer, she turned again to me:
+
+"It appears to me, Mistress Merton, that it would be more seemly for
+you to 'stand' in attendance upon your young mistress, than to be
+sitting thus familiarly by her side."
+
+I felt my face grow scarlet at the reproof. The truth is that I had
+never thought of Lady Betty as my mistress at all, but only as a poor
+suffering child who was to be made comfortable. And I had treated
+her just as I would have treated one of our own twins, or one of the
+village children in a fit of the earache. I knew not what to say, but
+Lady Betty answered for me:
+
+"I choose to have her sit by me, Aunt Jemima, and that is enough. She
+is good to me, and I love her, and she shall do as 'I' choose, wont
+you, Margaret?"
+
+I did not know what to say or do, for I had never heard a child speak
+to a grown person in that way. I thought the best way was to say
+nothing.
+
+Lady Jemima reproved the child sharply for her impertinence, and even
+went so far as to shake her. The child screamed loudly, at which I
+could not wonder, for the shaking must have hurt her very much, so thin
+and weak as she was. I thought, for my part, Lady Jemima deserved the
+shaking quite as much as Lady Betty; and I confess I should like to
+have given it her myself. At that moment my Lady Stanton appeared at
+the open door.
+
+"What is all this?" she asked.
+
+Lady Betty at once began to tell her story, and Lady Jemima hers.
+
+My Lady said nothing till it came to the shaking. Then her great dark
+eyes flashed, and she turned upon her sister-in-law, and bade her never
+to touch the child again at her peril.
+
+Lady Jemima at first began to justify herself, but stopped suddenly,
+burst into tears, and ran out of the room.
+
+My Lady tried to quiet the child, who was still crying, and at last
+succeeded by telling her that her father would hear her, and be very
+angry. Then she bade me go and get my breakfast, and she would stay
+with Lady Betty. She followed me to the door and closed it after her.
+
+"This is not a good beginning!" said she. "What did you do to displease
+my sister and make all this trouble?"
+
+"I told her, adding that I was very sorry, but I had no thought of
+doing anything wrong, but only of pleasing Lady Betty, who would have
+me sit down with her, and tell her a story while she ate her bread and
+milk."
+
+"Well, well!" said she. "'Twas no great matter to make such an ado
+about, but you must manage as quietly as you may. I am glad that Betty
+takes to you, and I hope you may be able to teach her something: but be
+very gentle with her, and above all, try to keep her quiet, for nothing
+vexes my Lord so much as her screams. There, go and get your breakfast,
+and look about you if you choose. I shall be with Betty for the next
+hour."
+
+She went back to Lady Betty and shut the door. I did not know what to
+do, for I had been so confused the night before that I had not observed
+which way we had come, and had no notion in what part of the house
+to look for Mrs. Judith's room. As I stood hesitating, Lady Jemima
+appeared again, her eyes red with crying.
+
+"What's the matter?" she asked, in a more gentle voice than I had yet
+heard her use: "Why do you stand here?"
+
+"Because I do not know which way to go, my Lady!" I answered. "I am to
+go to Mrs. Judith's room for my breakfast, and I don't know where to
+find it."
+
+"I will show you," she said. "Follow me."
+
+"But that is taking too much trouble for you, my Lady," said I.
+
+"I choose to do it," she returned. "It is fit that I should humble
+myself as a penance for so forgetting myself before you this morning.
+Let it be a warning to you."
+
+I did not understand what was to be the warning, and there was
+something very strange to my ears in the way Lady Jemima talked of
+doing penance. However I said no more, but followed her down-stairs,
+noting the turns this time, that I might not be at a loss again. We met
+several persons who spoke to Lady Jemima, and looked rather curiously
+at me, especially one tall, stately gentleman, who said to her, in a
+laughing way:
+
+"Good morning, my Lady Abbess. Have you found a new penitent, or
+novice, or whatever you please to call her?"
+
+"Certainly a novice, brother, but I fear not much of a penitent,"
+replied Lady Jemima, primly. "'Tis Betty's new governess, or waiting
+gentlewoman, which ever you please to call her."
+
+"So!" said my Lord, as I now perceived him to be, looking at me with
+more attention. "You have undertaken a hard task, my young lady. I
+would as soon be nurse to a wild-cat. But 'tis no wonder the poor
+thing is cankered and crabbed, considering her misfortune. Be kind and
+faithful to her, and you shall lose nothing thereby, I promise you."
+
+I courtesied, but did not speak. As mother says, "Mumchance is a safe
+game."
+
+"Here is Mistress Judith's room," said Lady Jemima, opening the door.
+
+"Many thanks, madam," I began, but she cut me short at once.
+
+"You owe me no thanks: I did it to please myself." Then more
+graciously: "I will see you again, and perhaps I may be of use to you.
+I daresay you need instruction in your religious duties."
+
+I courtesied again, and she left me. I could not but think that
+pleasing oneself was an odd way of doing penance.
+
+Mrs. Judith was very kind to me, and provided me a nice breakfast.
+
+When I had eaten, I thought I would look about me a little, as my Lady
+had said. The trees of the park came up quite close on this side of
+the house, and I found myself directly in a little wood, where grew in
+profusion primroses and many other flowers which had not begun to think
+of coming out in the North. I gathered two pretty little nosegays, one
+for my own room, and one for Lady Betty. And finding some snail shells,
+I put them in my pocket, thinking that they might amuse the child. I
+could have spent my whole hour in the wood, but I remembered that my
+clothes were yet to be put in order.
+
+So I went back to my room and unpacked all my things, arranging them as
+I was used to do in my old room in the Rectory. Then, having still a
+few minutes, I read the one hundred and third Psalm, which came in my
+regular course, and said my morning prayers. The chaplain is gone away,
+so we have no prayers in the chapel at present.
+
+Then I went back to Lady Betty's room. My Lady was still there, and
+smiled as she saw my flowers, while Betty uttered a cry of delight, as
+she took them in her hands and smelled them.
+
+"Do you then love flowers as well as myself?" said my Lady, gently.
+
+"Yes, my Lady," I answered.
+
+"Margaret used to have a garden when she lived at home," said Lady
+Betty. "She told me so this morning. I wish I could have one, but then
+I could not dig in it myself, as she used to."
+
+"Perhaps you may, some day, when you are stronger," said my Lady. "You
+and Mistress Merton seem to have made friends very readily."
+
+"She is so good to me," said Betty. "She dressed me without hurting me
+a bit. I love her better than anybody but my own old Mary."
+
+"Mistress Merton was very kind to dress you," answered my Lady. "But,
+my daughter, she is not your nurse or waiting-woman—she is your
+governess, and you must be good and obey her, and strive to learn all
+that she can teach you."
+
+I was not sorry to hear my Lady say this. It is much more comfortable
+to understand one's position, be that position what it may. But Lady
+Betty did not seem pleased at all.
+
+"I don't want a governess!" she whimpered. "Mrs. Burley was a
+governess, and she was cross to me: and I want Margaret to dress me and
+tell me tales, as she did this morning."
+
+"Oh, very well! That is as you and she can agree," said my Lady,
+smiling, as did I. "I dare say she will tell you tales if you are good;
+only, Mistress Merton, you must not let this imperious little girl make
+a slave of you."
+
+"But you will dress me, won't you?" asked the child, turning to me.
+
+"Surely, if your mother is willing," I said. "Why not?"
+
+My Lady gave me a sweet smile, and a glance from her beautiful eyes,
+as she kissed Lady Betty, and sat her in her easy chair (for she had
+been all this while on her mother's lap). The child made up a crying
+face, but refrained, as her mother held up her finger, though her poor
+little mouth quivered piteously as my Lady left the room, and I feared
+we might have another scene.
+
+Luckily, I bethought myself of the shells in my pocket, and these and
+the rest of the story about the kittens diverted the impending storm.
+
+But I am running on at too great length with my first day's experiences
+at Stanton Court. I will only add that I dined with Mrs. Judith at
+noon, the house being full of company; and being used to eat my dinner
+earlier, I was hungry enough. Mrs. Judith says, 'tis the fashion now,
+not to dine till noon, and some very modish people put it off an hour
+later, which seems absurd enough. I had no more trouble this day with
+Lady Betty, who was good enough, only she has a pert, fretful way of
+speaking, which I do not at all like.
+
+I have begun making her a great rag baby, such as Phillis and I used to
+play with. Lady Betty is much interested, and I mean the job shall be a
+good long one. I rise before six and thus have an hour to myself before
+I go to my child. I have dressed her every morning and undressed her at
+night, making the condition that she shall learn a Bible verse every
+time, from my repetition. Then we talk a little, and I sing a psalm to
+her, and she goes to sleep quietly enough.
+
+Mary sleeps in the room with her, and is disposed to be very kind and
+faithful: but she does not know how to manage very well.
+
+
+                                                _March 23._
+
+I am getting settled to this way of life, and have begun lessons with
+Lady Betty. She knew her letters, but that was all, so I begin at the
+beginning. We have half an hour's lesson, then an hour of talk and play.
+
+I have had a long conversation with my Lady, whom I like more and more
+all the time. I told her how Phillis and John had died of wasting
+sickness, and how my mother had then taken a different way with the
+others, giving them little or no medicine, and plenty of fresh air and
+good plain food, and how they had improved under the regimen.
+
+She seemed pleased with the notion, and said, as it grew warmer, we
+might perhaps get Betty out of doors. She likes my plan of teaching and
+says I shall manage matters my own way. Beside that, she hath caused my
+place to be fully settled in the family as Lady Betty's governess, and
+yesterday, hearing Anne give me a slighting answer about my room, which
+it is her business to take care of, she gave her a short but sharp
+setting down, and bade her beg my pardon, which she did, sulkily enough.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+_A WELCOME VISITOR._
+
+                                                _March 30._
+
+EASTER is almost here. It has seemed strange not to go to church, as my
+dear father maintained daily prayers all through Lent, but the chaplain
+is come home now, so we shall have prayers in the chapel every morning.
+
+I have quite shaken down into my place, and am beginning to feel at
+home, and even happy. Everybody is kind to me, even Anne. She came to
+me one day with her eyes red with weeping, and looking so sad that I
+asked her what the matter was. So she burst out crying and told me
+that her baby sister was dead. I comforted her as well as I could, and
+seeing her heart was full, I drew her on to talk about the child, and
+its winning ways, and finally read her what our Lord says about little
+children. She left me, quite consoled, and now thinks nothing too much
+to do for me.
+
+As for Lady Betty, I have no great trouble with her, except that I have
+now and then to fight a battle with her selfishness, and assert myself
+a little. The poor thing has taken to me wonderfully.
+
+"I do love you!" she said to me, last night, as I was undressing her.
+
+"And so do I love you!" I answered.
+
+"Really?" said she, looking at me wistfully. "Really and truly?"
+
+"Really and truly!" I answered. "Why not?"
+
+"Mrs. Burley said I was so cross that nobody could love me," said she.
+"And I am cross, I know. I was cross to you this morning!"
+
+"Rather!" I answered, smiling.
+
+"Well, I am sorry!" she said, impulsively. "Will you love me if I am
+cross?"
+
+"Yes, my dear," said I: "only, Lady Betty, why should you be cross?"
+
+"I don't know—because I am so sick and so—you know, Margaret. I am not
+like other people, and I can't help being cross!"
+
+"Are you sure?" I asked. "Did you ever try?"
+
+She opened her great eyes as if such a notion had never occurred to her
+mind. But she answered frankly: "No, I don't know that I ever did."
+
+"Then you can't tell whether you can help it or not," said I. "All sick
+people are not cross. Phillis was not, neither was my little playmate
+and friend, Grace Forrester."
+
+"Tell me about them," said she.
+
+I am glad every time I find something new to talk about, and Lady Betty
+is never weary of asking questions about Phillis and Grace.
+
+"Well, I wish I 'could' help being cross," said she, finally. "How can
+I?"
+
+"You must ask the Lord to help you," said I.
+
+"And will He?"
+
+"Yes, if you ask Him earnestly. But then you must try hard not to let
+the cross words come out, even if you feel cross inside. If you don't
+say a word, you will get over it all the quicker."
+
+I noticed the next morning that she was not nearly so sharp with Mary,
+even when Mary hurt her by shaking her chair. I felt myself reproved at
+seeing the effort she made, thinking how ready I have all my life been
+to resent and retort.
+
+I have quite settled down, as I said, and everything goes on regularly.
+There are a good many ladies staying in the house, but I see none of
+them except by accident, as my room and Lady Betty's are quite by
+themselves, away from the company part of the house. If only I were not
+so homesick.
+
+
+                                                _April 6._
+
+Something has really happened since I wrote last. I have had a visit
+from Mr. Carey, and have written a long letter to send home by him,
+since he was so kind as to offer to take charge of one. Mr. Carey
+stopped at the parsonage in the village with old Doctor Parnell, and
+walked up to Stanton Court to see his aunt Mrs. Judith and myself.
+
+I was overjoyed at seeing him, and was so silly as to let my joy
+overflow at my eyes. It did seem so like meeting some one from home. He
+told me he was going back to the Rectory next week, and would gladly
+take charge of a letter for me. So I wrote my letter, saying everything
+I could to make dear mother think me happy (as indeed I am, were I not
+so homesick).
+
+Hearing that I was writing home, Lady Stanton gave me a kind message
+for my mother, and a new silver groat apiece for each of the children.
+Lady Betty too would send her gifts to the twins, in the shape of a
+piece of gay ribbon, which she begged of her mother for the purpose.
+When my package was ready, my Lady kindly gave me leave to carry it
+down to the Rectory myself. I was glad to go, both for the sake of the
+walk, and that I might see something of the village, where I had not
+been except once to church.
+
+Mrs. Judith bade the gardener show me a shorter path to the village,
+through the wood, and down a ravine or coomb, as they call it here,
+in which runs a beautiful brook. About half way down, a beautiful
+spring comes boiling up from under a large rock, in quite a large
+stream, and the water is deliciously clear and cold. I could easily
+have wasted half the afternoon in this charming place, which, though
+very different, made me think of our old haunt, the Holy Well in the
+deer-park, where dear Dick and I used to have so many long talks. But
+I know that I must not be out too long, so I tore myself away and
+hastened onward.
+
+It seemed pleasant to be within the very walls of a rectory once more,
+though that at Stanton Corbet—as the village is called—is by no means
+so fine a house as ours at Saintswell. A part of it is very old,
+however, and it is all overgrown with climbing plants, (there is such a
+passion flower as never would flourish with us); and somehow the very
+air did smell like home.
+
+Mistress Parnell made me very welcome. She is not the rector's wife,
+but his sister, neither of them having married. They are both old
+people, with a wonderful likeness to each other, both in features and
+expression. Mistress Parnell would have me sit down to eat a cake and
+drink a glass of mead.
+
+"And so you have a new chaplain up at the Court?" remarked Doctor
+Parnell to me.
+
+"Yes sir," I answered. "He came only yesterday."
+
+"Did you ever know him?" asked the Doctor, turning to Mr. Carey. "His
+name is—"
+
+"Penrose," said I, seeing that he turned to me to supply the name which
+he had forgotten. "Mr. Robert Penrose."
+
+"Oh! Aye!" said he, smiling. "A Cornish name, belike.
+
+   "'By Pol, Tre, and Pen,
+     You shall know the Cornish men.'"
+
+"He is a Cornish man, I know," said I; "I heard Mrs. Carey say as much."
+
+"I rather think I know him," said Mr. Carey. "He is an Oxford man, and
+one of the new lights. He was at Exeter awhile, and was to have been
+my Lord's chaplain, but the arrangement fell through. I fancy my Lord
+thought him too much of the Archbishop's way of thinking."
+
+"Oh, well," said Doctor Parnell, "I hope he may prove a trusty
+shepherd, and preach the root of the matter, after all. For myself,"
+he added, smiling, "I must even go on in my own way. I am too old to
+change my old Mumpsimus, for the Archbishop's new Sumpsimus."
+
+Whereat both the gentlemen laughed, but 'twas all Greek to me. However,
+I fancied I understood something when I came to hear Mr. Penrose read
+prayers—for he used so much ceremony, and read in such an artificial
+tone, that I could hardly understand him.
+
+Mistress Parnell would have me carry a basket of Guinea fowls' eggs to
+my Lady, so I waited a little for them, and had a pleasant talk with
+Mr. Carey. Oh, how I did wish I were going back with him, but there is
+no use in that. Here I am, and here must I stay. And, in truth, 'twould
+cost me no small pang to part with my poor child. I begged him, if he
+saw Dick, to put him in mind to write to me, if ever he had a chance.
+
+"I think the opportunity is more like to be wanting than the wish,
+Mistress Margaret," said he, smiling. "Nevertheless I will give your
+brother your message, and also when I write to my mother, I will try
+to send you news from home. I could wish there were a regular post for
+letters from one part of the kingdom to the other, as it is said there
+is in Holland."
+
+"It may come to pass, though belike not in our day," said Doctor
+Parnell. "This maiden may live to see such a post passing regularly as
+often as once a week between London and Exeter."
+
+That does not seem very likely—however, there is no telling.
+
+When I parted from Mr. Carey, it was almost like leaving home once
+more, and I wept so much after I got into the woods, that I was fain to
+stop at the spring, and bathe my eyes a long time, before I went up to
+the house.
+
+As I was bending over the little basin, I was startled by a step, and
+looking up hastily, I met the eye of a fine-looking gentleman, whom I
+had never seen before. He had a look of my Lord, but much younger, and
+with a difference, as the heralds say. He was much bronzed, and I took
+him for a sailor. He raised his hat, and bowed in courteous fashion, as
+our eyes encountered, but passed without speaking.
+
+I wondered who he could be, but was soon enlightened by Mrs. Judith,
+who told me that young Mr. Corbet had come down to see my Lord. "He is
+my Lord's cousin, and the master, now his father is dead, of the fine
+old house in the woods, about a mile from here; and unless my Lady's
+child prove a boy, he is like to be heir of all."
+
+Lady Betty was full of news about Cousin Walter, as she called him.
+"Cousin Walter," had been to see her already, and had brought her a
+little dog from foreign parts, which she was to have to-morrow, and a
+fine picture-book from London. I am not likely to see much of this fine
+gentleman, but I cannot help fancying him for his kindness to my poor
+little nursling. And I could see that my Lady was pleased, also. It
+seemed that his mother, Mrs. Corbet, wishes to return to end her days
+in the old house, and he has come down, like a dutiful son, to see it
+put in order for her.
+
+
+                                                _April 9._
+
+Our company have all gone now, and we are not to have any more for
+some time—only Madam Corbet is to be here for some two or three weeks,
+before she goes to her own house. Mary shook her head and looked grave
+upon this, but would not tell me why. I am glad, for my part, that
+we are likely to have a quieter house. I am sure so much of care and
+company cannot be good for my Lady. I now take my dinner and supper
+with the rest, an arrangement which makes me more one of the family
+than I have been before. My seat is next the chaplain's, so we are
+becoming well acquainted.
+
+
+                                                _April 10._
+
+Last night Lady Jemima came to my room before I had finished writing,
+so that I was forced to put my book away in a hurry. I thought at first
+that something must have happened, and stood waiting to hear what it
+was, but she bade me be seated, and taking a chair herself she began
+turning over my books. They were but few—my Bible and Prayer-book,
+the book of "Contemplations" my Lord gave me, and Spenser's "Faerie
+Queene," a present from Dick, besides my old Latin grammar and
+Virgilius, which I had brought partly for association's sake, and a
+volume of father's sermons.
+
+"Do you read your Bible every day?" she asked, presently.
+
+"Yes, my Lady," I replied.
+
+"And do you understand all that you read?"
+
+"No, my Lady," said I, adding: "I suppose nobody does."
+
+"Of course not, child. And what other books of devotion have you?"
+
+"None, my Lady, only this." And I showed her the Bishop's
+"Contemplations," which I am reading by course.
+
+She looked at it rather slightingly, I thought, and laid it down. Then
+she began to catechize me. "Had I been confirmed? Had I received the
+Communion, and how many times? Did I say my prayers, and how often?"
+and finally—"Did I fast?" I did not quite know what to answer, so she
+asked me again if I ate meat at this holy season. I told her I did.
+
+"And why do you so?" she asked, sharply. "There is always fish on my
+brother's table."
+
+I told her that fish did not suit me: that it made me ill, and that
+if I went without meat, I had the headache, and was not fit for my
+work: but that I had always been used to deny myself in the matter of
+dainties in time of Lent. She looked but half satisfied.
+
+"'Where there is a will there is a way,'" said she. "If your heart
+were right, you would not mind a little inconvenience. I will give you
+a book of devotions, which you will do well to use, and which will do
+you more good than all this Puritan stuff!" giving my Lord's volume, a
+contemptuous push from her.
+
+I was nettled to see her treat the volume so, and said, I fear rather
+sharply:
+
+"'Tis no Puritan stuff, my Lady. It was writ by the Bishop of Exeter,
+and I am sure he is a good man, besides being a Bishop."
+
+"It is not the rochet that makes the Bishop, or the title either,"
+said Lady Jemima. "An open enemy is better than a half-hearted or
+treacherous friend. Your Bishop Hall is no better than a traitor, I
+fear. How do you like Mr. Penrose?"
+
+"Well enough," I said.
+
+"But his preaching and services—how do you like them?" persisted Lady
+Jemima.
+
+I was rather confused. I said I was not used to that way of reading or
+speaking, and that Mr. Penrose's sermons seemed to me not very clear.
+I could not make out what he would be at, and it seemed to me as if he
+did not quite know himself.
+
+"That is a very improper way of speaking," said Lady Jemima, with
+great sharpness. "You should know that it is not your place to sit in
+judgment on a priest. You would do much better to learn in silence and
+humility, than to carp and criticise."
+
+I felt my face flush at her tone and manner, which were very severe,
+and even contemptuous, and I answered, quickly:
+
+"You asked me, my Lady, and if I speak at all, I must needs say what I
+think. I have no desire to criticise bishop, priest, or deacon, unless
+I am asked."
+
+It was now Lady Jemima's turn to color, and she bit her lip, as if she
+did not quite know what to say.
+
+"You are malipert, mistress!" she said, at last. "I came to do you a
+kindness, but this is not encouraging. I will leave you this book,
+however, and I hope before I see you again, you will have come to a
+better mind."
+
+And with that she rose, and laid a book on the table.
+
+"I beg your pardon, my Lady, if I have displeased you," said I, seeing
+that she was about to go. "I meant no offence."
+
+She seemed mollified, sat down again, and began giving me a lecture
+on my religious duties, as that I ought to spend so many hours a
+day in reading and devotion, that I should learn by heart the seven
+penitential psalms, and say them every day, and so on.
+
+"But, my Lady," said I, "if I were to do all that you have laid down
+for me, I should have no time for my duty to Lady Betty, which is my
+chief business, and for which my Lady keeps and pays me."
+
+"You should serve God first of all," said she, solemnly: "no matter
+what other interests may suffer. How do you expect to go to heaven
+unless you give up your whole life to God's service? The work of the
+longest life may not be sufficient to secure your salvation, and yours
+may, for aught you know, be very short. You may die this very night!"
+
+And then, the clock striking ten, she went away, much to my relief. The
+book she left was one of devotions and prayers for the seven canonical
+hours, which seem very good, though to use them all, methinks, would
+occupy the most of the day.
+
+
+                                                _April 11._
+
+Lady Betty has begun to spell words of two syllables. She learns very
+fast, and since she has really found out that reading means getting
+stories out of books, she is so eager to get on that I have to check
+her. She is usually very good, I must say, but now and then I have a
+little scene with her. She had a great crying time this morning because
+the little dog Mr. Corbet promised her has not yet come. I tried to
+soothe and quiet her, but she only screamed the louder, and struck
+right and left. As I came near her, she struck me a severe blow, and
+really hurt me.
+
+At last I said to her, "Lady Betty, unless you try to stop crying and
+be good, I cannot tell you any story to-night." (I have lately told her
+a story every night.)
+
+But she would not be still. Till at last, the door opened suddenly, and
+there was my Lord.
+
+"What's all this?" he said, angrily. "What is this noise—enough to
+deafen one?"
+
+He spoke very harshly, I thought, and Lady Betty stopped crying and
+seemed to shrink into herself.
+
+"What are you about, Mistress Merton, to suffer this uproar?" continued
+my Lord, turning to me.
+
+I said that Lady Betty had been disappointed about her dog, which Mr.
+Corbet had promised her.
+
+"Then, if she does not be quiet, I will have the dog's neck broken when
+it does come. Mr. Corbet had better mind his own business. He is not
+master quite yet, I trow. And for you, Betty, I will try what virtue
+lies in a birch rod, if I hear any more noise. You are cosseted and
+cockered out of all reason." So saying, he shut the door violently and
+went away.
+
+Poor Betty had sunk down into a shapeless heap in her chair, and was
+quite silent.
+
+I went to her, and found her shivering and trembling, as if in an ague
+fit. I took her in my arms, and she burst out into a fit of crying—not
+frantic screaming, as before, but deep drawn sobs, which seemed to rend
+her bosom.
+
+"Oh, if I had only never been born! If I had only never been born!" I
+heard her say over and over to herself, as her head lay on my shoulder.
+
+"You should not wish yourself dead, my love!" I began, but she
+interrupted me.
+
+"I didn't say I wished to die. That would make my mother sorry. I
+wished I had never been born at all, and then nobody would have cared.
+I wish God had not made me!" she added, with a fresh burst of sobs. "I
+don't see why He did. I am of no use to anybody, and now I have angered
+my father, and you, and—" The poor little head went down again.
+
+"I am not angry, my dear!" said I, which was true, as far as she was
+concerned, though I confess I was angry enough with my Lord. "I am
+sorry that you have been naughty, but I am not angry. I think you will
+try to be good now, and stop sobbing, for that will make you sick and
+vex your mother, and I am sure you would not wish to do that."
+
+She did really try to be quiet, but it was of no use. The sobs would
+come, in spite of her. At last, however, she grew more composed, and
+lay still, with her head on my breast. I held her in silence for a
+little while, my heart aching for the poor thing.
+
+Presently she raised her face, all stained with tears, and said, in a
+quivering voice: "Oh, I am 'so' tired!"
+
+"Poor dear!" said I, kissing her. "I will sing to you, and you shall go
+to sleep, and feel better."
+
+"I shall 'never' feel better," said she, pitifully. "I am tired all the
+time—tired of everything. I shall never be rested, I know. Is it wicked
+to wish I had never been born—for indeed I cannot help it?"
+
+I did not quite know what to say. It seemed to me that in her case, I
+should wish the same.
+
+"And now I have angered my father again," she continued: "and I have
+hurt you, and all—and oh, Margaret—" and her poor frame quivered with
+now excitement—"do you think papa will have my dog's neck broken when
+it comes?"
+
+"No, my dear love," I answered her: "not if you are good. Don't disturb
+yourself about that. I do not think my Lord will let the dog be hurt,
+unless you are very naughty about it."
+
+"But he—he said he would, and he is angry with me, and wont forgive me,
+nor come and see me. Oh, Margaret, do ask him to forgive me, and not
+let my poor dog be killed!"
+
+"I will, by and by," said I, "but not now." For the truth was I did not
+believe my Lord would think of the matter again after he had gotten
+over his fit of temper, which seemed to me quite as bad as Betty's, if
+not worse. "I will ask him at supper time. I do not think he would like
+it if I were to go to him at present. Now let me wash your face and
+make you neat before my Lady comes in."
+
+She was very docile now, and I dressed her without any trouble. She was
+very tired, so I laid her on the bed and sat down by her.
+
+"Margaret," said she, presently, "how can I help being angry?"
+
+"I don't know that you can help feeling angry," said I, "but I will
+tell you how I help it sometimes. I just shut my mouth and don't say
+one word, only I repeat to myself the prayer for charity, and the
+Lord's prayer: and if I am firm, and don't let myself speak one word, I
+can generally put down the feeling pretty soon: but if I begin to talk,
+all is over!"
+
+"I didn't suppose you were ever angry," said Lady Betty.
+
+"I have naturally a very hasty temper," I answered. "I don't believe
+yours is any more so."
+
+"But you had such a nice home, I should not think that you would ever
+have had anything to vex you."
+
+I could not help smiling as I thought of Felicia. I told Betty I did
+not believe there was any place in the world where there was not plenty
+of provocation of one sort or another.
+
+"There wont be any in heaven, I suppose," said she, wistfully.
+
+"No," I told her. "Everything will be good and peaceful there."
+
+"But I am afraid I shall never go to heaven!" she continued, sadly.
+"Only good girls go to heaven, and I am not good, though I do try to
+be!" she added, earnestly. "Nobody knows how hard I try to be good,
+sometimes!"
+
+"Your Father in heaven knows," said I. "He knows all your hindrances,
+too, and will help you. Now lie still and try to sleep, and I will sing
+for you."
+
+She dropped asleep presently, for she was very tired, and I sat still
+by her side, holding her hands. My head was very full of thoughts.
+"Only good girls go to heaven!" Then what am I to do? I am not good, I
+know very well. Surely I must be better than I am, if I am to escape at
+last.
+
+Lady Betty waked when the bell rung for chapel, and Mary came with her
+supper. She said she did not want any, rather fretfully at first, and
+then, as if recollecting herself, she added:
+
+"But I will try to eat something, Mary."
+
+"That is a good little lady!" returned Mary, who is always kind and
+patient. "Eat your supper, and let Mrs. Margaret go to chapel."
+
+"But you will do what I asked you, wont you, Margaret?" asked Lady
+Betty. "I can't go to sleep to-night unless you do."
+
+I promised her that I would do my best, and having arranged my dress, I
+went down to chapel.
+
+It being Friday, Mr. Penrose preached a short sermon. I don't recollect
+the verse of Scripture, but the real text was poor Betty's, "You can't
+go to heaven unless you are good." He spoke much of the duties of
+fasting and mortification, and of our making satisfaction for our sins
+by repentance and good works. I am sure I never heard such a sermon
+from my father, but papa's discourses were generally very simple and
+plain. Mr. Penrose is a good speaker, when one is used to his voice,
+and certainly he seems very much in earnest, especially when he spoke
+of the horrors of perdition and the anger of God against sinners. His
+sermon made me miserable—if that does one any good.
+
+I did not forget my promise to poor Betty, and waited for my Lord as he
+came in to supper. He had slept, by the way, all through the sermon. He
+looked pleasant enough, and seeing me standing there, he stopped and
+said, in his usual cheerful, jovial voice:
+
+"Well, Mistress Merton, what can I do for you?"
+
+I told him my errand, adding that Lady Betty was very unhappy, thinking
+that he was angry with her. He stared as if he had forgotten all about
+the matter, then said, as if he were a little ashamed, as well as
+sorry, I thought:
+
+"Oh, poor thing, does she think so much of my words as that? Tell her I
+am not angry with her, only she must be a good girl, and not do so any
+more."
+
+"And about the dog?" I ventured to say. "Lady Betty has so set her
+heart upon it, I hardly know what she would do if it were killed. May I
+tell her that you do not mean to—"
+
+"Of course," said he, interrupting me with some indignation in his
+voice. "Whoever thought of killing the poor thing? I wonder you should
+think of such a thing. What do you take me for, Mistress Merton?"
+
+"For a man who throws stones, and then wonders that any one should be
+so foolish as to be hit," I thought, but I only said, "I thank your
+Lordship. I will set poor Lady Betty's mind at rest, then."
+
+"Of course. And here, give her this," said he, giving me a gold piece
+from his pocket.
+
+"Much use she has for money, poor thing; a few kind words would be
+worth far more," I thought, but I said no more.
+
+I sat next Mr. Penrose at supper, and noticed that he ate almost
+nothing—only brown bread and cheese. Methought he looked reprovingly at
+my dish of cream and slice of white bread. He has been in Chester, and
+we had a pleasant little talk about that part of the country. I think I
+could like him well enough if he were not so solemn.
+
+I set poor Betty's mind at rest by giving her my Lord's message and
+present, at which she was wondrously delighted, and said again and
+again how good he was. I did not see the great goodness, but I was
+content that she should think so.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+_EASTER TIDE._
+
+                                                _April 15._
+
+THIS is Holy-week, and I have very little time to write in my journal.
+I am trying to pursue the course of devotions Lady Jemima gave me, and
+of which Mr. Penrose highly approves; and that, with my attendance on
+Lady Betty, takes all my time. Lady Betty has not been so well, and is
+rather fretful and exacting. I try to have patience with her, but it is
+hard work, sometimes.
+
+I don't know what to do about receiving the Sacrament at Easter. I
+don't like to miss it, but Mr. Penrose and Lady Jemima say so much of
+the peril of unworthily receiving. Lady Jemima is very kind to me, and
+gives me much good advice. I told her that I felt very unhappy because
+I was no better, and she said that was right—that we ought constantly
+to contemplate our sins and short comings in order to make us humble
+and contrite, and that it became sinners, in a state of probation, and
+likely to be called to judgment at any time, to be grave and sad.
+
+I have no time now to read the "Contemplations," and not much for the
+Scripture. To be sure, we hear it in chapel every day.
+
+
+                                                _April 17._
+
+Betty said to me, this morning: "You are not my sunshiny Margaret, any
+more. You look so solemn all the time, just like Aunt Jemima!"
+
+And with that she pulled a long face, and put on a look so exactly
+like her aunt that I could not forbear laughing; at which she laughed
+too. I don't look any more sober than I feel, however. Mr. Penrose's
+sermons have made me realize the things of eternity more than ever I
+did before, and they are dreadful to me. To be sure, there is heaven,
+but how am I to know it is to be my portion? How can I know that my
+repentance is sufficient—that my sorrow for sin is real and sincere?
+And I have been such a sinner! In looking back over my life, I can see
+nought but sin. Sin where I never suspected it before—and nothing good
+anywhere: and the harder I try to conquer myself, the worse I am.
+
+Lady Betty's doll is finished. She is very much pleased with it, and we
+have had many games of play at "making believe": she being the mother,
+and I by turns doctor, nurse, and aunt.
+
+"But if you are an aunt, you must be cross," said Betty, this morning:
+"aunts are always cross."
+
+"O no!" I answered. "By no means. My dear Aunt Magdalen was not cross,
+nor aunt Willson."
+
+"Aunt Jemima is—almost always, I mean," persisted Betty.
+
+"Aunt Jemima is always what?" asked the lady, who had come in softly,
+in time to hear Betty's words—for the door being set open for the sake
+of air, and Lady Jemima always walking like a cat, we had not heard her
+approach.
+
+"Aunt Jemima is always what?"
+
+"Cross!" answered Lady Betty, simply. "But I suppose you can't help it,
+can you, Aunt Jemima?"
+
+Lady Jemima colored, but she did not answer Betty directly. Presently
+she said, "Who made you that great doll?"
+
+"Margaret," answered Betty. "She has just finished it." And she began
+to display all the perfections of the rag baby.
+
+Lady Jemima looked at the clothes, and said that they were neatly made.
+
+"But, Margaret," said she, "I have come to sit with Betty while you go
+down to the chapel."
+
+"It is not chapel time," objected Betty; "and I don't want Margaret to
+go away."
+
+"But Margaret wants to say her prayers, if it is not chapel time,"
+returned Lady Jemima. "You would not be so selfish as to keep her from
+them, would you? It would be much better for you to be saying your own,
+than to be playing with your doll at such a time."
+
+"Well, she may go, if she wants to," said Betty, rather sadly.
+
+So I went down and said my prayers in the empty chapel, out of the
+book Lady Jemima gave me, but I cannot say I found any great comfort
+therein. Lady Betty's sad, grieved face haunted me all the time, and I
+could think of nothing but getting back to her.
+
+When I finally returned, I found Lady Betty sitting looking out of the
+window, with her elbow on the sill, and her chin on her hand. Lady
+Jemima was reading to her out of the Bible, but I don't think she paid
+any attention.
+
+When Lady Jemima saw I had come back, she ceased her reading, and rose,
+but Lady Betty did not look round nor move.
+
+"Good-by, Betty," said Lady Jemima.
+
+"Good-by," said Betty.
+
+When her aunt left the room, she said, sorrowfully enough, "Don't you
+love me any more, Margaret?"
+
+"Of course I do!" said I, sitting down by her. "Why should you ask me
+such a question?"
+
+"Aunt Jemima says you don't," replied the child. "She says I am so
+selfish."
+
+"Selfish about what?" I asked.
+
+"She said it was selfish in me to let you work so hard at the doll just
+to please me, when there are so many poor people that need clothes, and
+that—that—"
+
+"Nonsense!" said I. I could not help it, so vexed was I at Lady Jemima.
+"I was very glad to make the doll, and shall be always glad to do
+anything for you."
+
+She brightened a little on this, but I could see all the afternoon
+that she was cast down, and I was sorry enough that I had left her to
+her aunt, who, good as she is, never seems to come near Betty without
+hurting her in some way. After all, my work here is to take care of
+Betty, and I don't believe God means I should let her suffer for the
+sake of saying my prayers, more than anything else.
+
+
+                                                _April 18._
+
+I have had a sharp dispute with Mr. Penrose. I had been walking as
+far as the Abbey ruin in the park, when he joined me: and after some
+discourse, began to ask me what I was reading. I told him that I was
+reading the Bishop's "Contemplations;" whereat, he spoke slightingly of
+the book, and said he would give me something better. Now, when I have
+learned to love a book as I have this one, 'tis all the same to me as
+a friend, and I cannot bear to hear it spoken against. So I answered
+something quickly that I wanted nothing better, and beside that, I had
+promised to read it.
+
+"But, Mistress Merton," said Mr. Penrose, "are you sure that you are
+the best judge? Am not I, your pastor, best fitted to direct your
+reading? And if I tell you that any book is unfit for you, are you to
+sit in judgment on what I say?"
+
+"Why not?" I answered, hotly enough. "Since you yourself, as it seems,
+presume to sit in judgment on your Bishop?"
+
+He was silent a moment, and did seem somewhat taken aback. Then he
+said, "You are something sharp. What is the Bishop to you, that you
+defend him so earnestly?"
+
+"He has been a good friend to me and mine," I answered; "and he is
+a good man, and a good preacher. He preached the best sermon in our
+parish church that ever I heard in all my life."
+
+I saw he was touched at this, and I was wicked enough to be glad I had
+given him a pinch, though no such thing was in my thought when I spoke.
+
+"Then," said he, "I am to conclude that my preaching does not please
+you?"
+
+"I don't sit in judgment on it," I said, demurely. Then willing to turn
+the conversation, I said, looking up to the great window which is still
+almost entire: "What a splendid pile this must have been in its day!"
+
+"Ah, yes!" he answered. "There was piety and zeal in England in those
+days."
+
+"And is there none now?" I asked.
+
+"Nay!" said he. "Where do we hear now of bodies of men and women
+retiring to devote themselves to God and His service, as in those days?
+Now every priest must have his house and his wife and children. The
+service of His Maker is not enough for him."
+
+"You can hardly expect me to quarrel with that, since I am a priest's
+daughter," said I, laughing. "And does not St. Paul himself say both
+of bishops and deacons that they should be the husband of one wife?
+Besides," I added, more soberly, "I see no need of people retiring into
+convents and abbeys to serve God. Why should we not serve him in the
+daily work He has given us to do?"
+
+"'Tis a good thought, at least," he said, and so we parted good friends
+at last.
+
+
+                                                _April 20._
+
+Well, Easter is passed and gone. I know not whether I spent it well or
+ill. I did not go to the service in the chapel, but, with my Lady's
+permission, walked down to the church in the village. The old rector
+preached on the Resurrection—a mild and gentle sermon enough, not very
+deep or brilliant, as are Mr. Carey's, nor so solemn and awful as
+those of Mr. Penrose, but somehow I felt it comforting and soothing;
+and though I shed many tears, they were not all sad. I went to the
+Sacrament with fear and trembling, but the words, "Come unto me!"—and
+the others did seem a voice bidding me draw near—so I went. There were
+a good many communicants, and all were serious and devout. I specially
+noticed a large and majestic old man, supported by his son, as I
+suppose, who approached the table. He stumbled a little at the step,
+whereat Mr. Corbet, whom I had not seen before, came forward and took
+his other arm.
+
+After the service, as I waited a little in the church-yard to speak
+to Mistress Parnell, this same old man came out of the church door,
+leaning on Mr. Corbet's arm.
+
+"And so, Master Watty, your lady mother is coming among us again?" I
+heard the old man say. "I hope I shall be able to pay my duty to her,
+but the path grows steep to my old feet nowadays."
+
+Mr. Corbet made him some pleasant answer, and then fell into
+conversation with the son—a man of about his own age.
+
+Meantime, Doctor and Mistress Parnell came along and spoke to me.
+
+"Did you not have service in the chapel at the Court to-day?" asked the
+Doctor, after he had saluted me politely. "I understood it was to be
+so?"
+
+I told him that it was so, but that my Lady had given me leave to
+walk down to the village. "The parish church seems to me so much more
+pleasant and homelike than the chapel!" I ventured to add. "It does not
+seem like the church, where there are no poor people, and no school
+children."
+
+The train of school-girls passed us at this moment, with their mistress
+walking behind them, and leaning on the arm of the oldest girl. She
+was quite elderly, and looked feeble, but had one of the finest and
+sweetest faces I ever saw.
+
+"You must find time to visit our school and almshouses, and that will
+make you feel still more at home!" said Doctor Parnell, kindly. "We
+have plenty of poor people here, as everywhere else. There is a poor
+woman down at the Cove, who was brought to bed last night, and is
+but poorly off for clothes. If you will mention the case to my Lady,
+perhaps she can do something for them."
+
+"I will," said I: and just at that moment a plan popped into my mind,
+which I hope to bring to good effect.
+
+Mistress Parnell would have had me stop at the Rectory and take some
+refreshment, but I excused myself, knowing that Betty would count the
+hours and minutes till my return, and hastened toward home by the
+shortest path. I stopped a moment at the entrance of the glen walk, to
+gather some wild flowers for my child, when Mr. Corbet overtook me and
+walked the rest of the way by my side. He asked after Betty, and sent
+her a kindly message, and told me his mother was coming to Exeter in
+the Bishop's company to-morrow, and that he should meet her there, and
+bring her home.
+
+"That will be pleasant to you," I said.
+
+"I want you to know my mother," said Mr. Corbet. "She is one of a
+thousand. Nobody ever knew her without being the better for it."
+
+"I think nobody can be like one's mother!" I said, and then I stopped
+and choked, and had much ado not to burst out crying, as I thought of
+my own dear mother, and how last Easter we were all together—father,
+and Dick, and all!
+
+Mr. Corbet took no notice of my emotion, and presently began talking of
+other things. He asked me if I had noticed that tall old man in church?
+I said I had, and asked who he was.
+
+"That is old Uncle Jan Lee!" replied Mr. Corbet, smiling. "Uncle to
+half the village and all the Cove. He sailed with my father around the
+world, in Franky Drake's expedition, and can tell you tales by the hour
+about those times. He and his nephew, Will Atkins, have been my sworn
+friends ever since I could run alone, and I owe them far more than
+my own life. I will tell you the story some day—though perhaps I had
+better not," he added, with his sudden smile, which lights up his grave
+face at times like a flash of sunshine. "It would not be wise in me to
+do so, for the tale does not tell very well for me, and I should be
+loth to lose your good opinion, Mistress Merton."
+
+I don't see what my good opinion has to do with him. I am only a
+poor parson's daughter, and a governess, to make the very best of my
+position. However, we had a very pleasant walk, and I must say I have
+felt better and happier since than I have done for a long time. I
+suppose the long walk in the fresh air may have something to do with
+the matter, for I do miss the exercise I was used to take at home.
+
+I went up to my child, and was glad to hear Mary say that she had been
+very good. But the tears came to the poor thing's eyes as she kissed me.
+
+"I wish I could go to church!" said she. "I do get so tired of this
+room all the time!"
+
+It is no wonder, poor dear! I mean she shall have a change of scene,
+now that there are no strangers in the house to stare at her.
+
+When I sat down to dinner with the rest, I thought Mr. Penrose looked
+mighty stiff and dissatisfied, and I wondered what the matter was.
+Presently, however, it all came out:
+
+"I did not see you in chapel, Mistress Merton!" said he to me, when the
+dinner was fairly in progress. "Why was that?"
+
+I felt in very good spirits, and not, I am afraid, in any mood to be
+catechised; so I answered merrily enough: "I am not sure, Mr. Penrose,
+but I think it must have been because I was not there." And then seeing
+that he looked a little displeased, I added that I had been to church
+at the village.
+
+"Yes, I saw you walking home!"
+
+"Oh, you did!" thought I. "Then why need you ask me anything about the
+matter?"
+
+"I hope you enjoyed the services!" he said, in a tone which
+contradicted his words.
+
+"I did," I answered. "It seemed like being at home again."
+
+"I had hoped, however, to see all the family present at the chapel,"
+said Mr. Penrose; "and said so to my Lady. I presume, however, you had
+her permission for absenting yourself?"
+
+"I should not be very likely to go without it!" I replied with some
+heat, for I was vexed at his tone and manner. "If you doubt my word,
+you had better ask my Lady herself."
+
+By ill-luck occurred at this moment one of those unaccountable silences
+which will fall at such times, and my words were heard the length of
+the table.
+
+My Lady looked up, and said, smiling, while all eyes were turned on us:
+
+"What is that which is to be referred to me, Mistress Merton?"
+
+I don't know whether I felt more like sinking into the earth, or boxing
+his ears who had brought me into this scrape: however, I answered,
+smiling in my turn, though my cheeks were as hot as fire:
+
+"Mr. Penrose seems to think I have been playing truant, my Lady, in
+going to the village church this morning. But I tell him that you gave
+me leave to do so."
+
+"I did so, certainly!" answered my Lady. "I thought you would feel
+yourself more at home, being a clergyman's daughter, and used to a
+parish church. I trust you had a pleasant time!"
+
+"I did indeed, my Lady," said I. "I enjoyed it very much."
+
+"Especially the walk home," said Mr. Penrose, in an undertone, intended
+only for my ear.
+
+I was so vexed I would not speak to him again all dinnertime.
+I am afraid, after all, that I am not much the better for my
+church-going—but Mr. Penrose was certainly very provoking.
+
+After dinner, I gave my Lady, Doctor Parnell's message, and then opened
+my plan to her, which was to set Lady Betty to work on some clothes for
+the poor babes. I told her I thought it would make an interest for Lady
+Betty outside of herself—that it would divert her, and be good for her
+in many ways. She seemed much pleased, I thought, and gave me leave to
+do as I saw fit, only cautioning me against letting the child overtire
+herself, as she is apt to do with any new fancy.
+
+"You look brighter and better than you have done lately!" observed my
+Lady. "I have feared that you were finding your work too hard for you."
+
+"It is not hard at all, but too easy, if anything!" I answered. "Lady
+Betty makes me no trouble. I only wish I could do more for her."
+
+And then I told my Lady what I had thought of—that Lady Betty would be
+better for a change, and for more exercise, and I asked her if I might
+not have her chair carried into the long gallery on the other side of
+the house, and encourage Lady Betty to walk there a little.
+
+She seemed pleased at first; then, to my surprise, hesitated, and said
+she would speak to my Lord. I did not see why he should object, but
+afterward, talking with Mrs. Judith, when Betty was asleep, the murder
+came out. My Lord is ashamed of his poor little humpbacked girl, and
+does not like to have people see her, forsooth! It is a fine thing to
+be a man and a nobleman, to be sure. If one is to look up to them so
+much, 'tis a pity that they are not a little higher, so that one need
+not have to go down on one's knees in the dirt!
+
+
+                                                _Easter Monday._
+
+My Lord has given his gracious consent, and so this morning Mary and I
+pushed Lady Betty in her chair across into the long gallery, and placed
+her at a sunny window. It was touching to see her delight. The gallery
+is a fine one, with a noble vaulted ceiling, and is hung with many
+family pieces, besides old armor and weapons.
+
+After Betty had rested a while, I proposed that she should try to walk
+as far as the next window.
+
+"But it hurts me to walk!" she said.
+
+"I dare say it does, my love!" said I. "But I want to see whether you
+cannot, by degrees, get to walk without its hurting you. Just think, if
+you can once learn to use your limbs, how many nice things you could
+do."
+
+"Well, I will try!" said she: "I will do anything for you, Margaret,
+because I love you so."
+
+"You are my dear good little girl," said I, kissing her, while the
+thought passed through my mind, "Love makes easy service!"
+
+Betty walked to the next window easily enough, and was so pleased with
+her progress that she would have gone still farther, but that I would
+not allow.
+
+"No, you have done enough for once," said I. "If this does not hurt
+you, you shall walk into my pretty room, and I will show you the
+pictures of my little brother and sisters." For having a knack at
+drawing, I had sketched a little portrait of each of the children
+before leaving home, and the likeness was not contemptible. "See, here
+comes good Mrs. Carey. How surprised she will be!"
+
+Mrs. Carey was surprised enough to satisfy all our expectations. She
+said she was sure Lady Betty needed some refreshment; and going back to
+her room, she brought us some gingerbread and dried pears, and, some
+milk. So we had quite a feast.
+
+"I wish, Cousin Judith, you would tell us something about the picture,"
+said Betty. The ladies all call Mrs. Carey, Cousin Judith. "Tell me who
+is that beautiful dame with the pearls in her black hair?"
+
+"That is your great aunt, Lady Rosamond, who set up the almshouses,"
+said Mrs. Carey.
+
+"And who is that old lady in the close coif and black veil?" I asked.
+"She looks like a nun."
+
+"And so she was a nun. That is Mrs. Margaret Vernon, my dears. She was
+a Lady Abbess of Hartland, and brought up your grandmother, my old
+Lady. So after King Henry put down the convents, she came and ended her
+days with great content at Stanton Court. Mistress Corbet says she can
+just remember her, a very aged lady."
+
+"And who is that beautiful fair woman in black?" I asked. "I never saw
+a lovelier face, if she were not so pale. But she looks very sad."
+
+"That is called the fair Dame of Stanton!" said Mrs. Judith; and then
+followed a long tale, too long to write here.
+
+"Anne says my Cousin Corbet is the fair dame come back again!" said
+Betty. "And that it was she who made me crooked by her arts, but Mary
+says it is not true."
+
+"Of course it is not true!" returned Mrs. Judith, indignantly. "I
+wonder at you, Lady Betty, for listening to such stuff about your dear
+cousin, who has always been so kind to you; and I will give Anne a good
+rating, that I will! There has been mischief enough done by such talk,
+before now. Everybody knows how your misfortune happened, my dear, and
+that was by being shrew-struck—beshrew the careless wench by whom it
+came about."
+
+"How was that?" I asked. "And what do you mean by being shrew-struck?"
+
+"Bless you, my dear, don't you know? It was Judith Hawtree did the
+mischief, not that she meant it, 'but evil is wrought by want of
+thought,' my dears. Old Mary left my Lady Betty in her charge, awhile;
+and what does Judith do, but lay the child down under the tree on the
+grass to sleep, while she gossipped with her sweetheart. There were
+always shrew-mice in the park, and one of them no doubt ran over my
+poor dear lady as she lay asleep on the ground, for there were the
+marks of its feet on her dress, and from that time the troubles begun."
+
+"Perhaps it was not the shrew-mouse, after all," I ventured to say.
+"Perhaps Lady Betty took cold from lying on the damp ground. It seems
+more reasonable, than that a mouse should cripple a child by just
+running over its dress once."
+
+"Ah, well! That may be your notion, Mrs. Merton. For my part, I don't
+pretend to be so much wiser than my father and mother before me," said
+the old lady, rather offended. "I don't profess to understand how a
+sting-nettle, that looks much like any other plant, should poison one's
+hand for hours, but I know it does. Anyhow the poor child pined from
+that day, but it is absurd and wicked too, to bring up that old story,
+which once nearly cost the dear lady her life."
+
+And then she told me that Mrs. Corbet had once been taken for a witch,
+and assaulted by the village rabble, so that she would have lost her
+life, but for the valor of the old schoolmaster, Master Holliday, and
+Will Atkins, "for Master Walty, he was away on some wild goose chase or
+other. He was but a wild lad then, though he is sober enough now, with
+his Puritan notions and ways?"
+
+"What Puritan ways?" I ventured to ask, but got no answer, for just
+then Lady Betty said she was tired, and we took her back to her room
+again.
+
+If she seems no worse to-morrow, I shall try again. I do not despair of
+getting her out of doors.
+
+
+                                                _Wednesday._
+
+Lady Betty was no worse for her journey, and yesterday we tried it
+again. I let her walk the length of two windows, and then she sat a
+long time looking out and watching the deer, which were feeding out in
+the open spaces of the wood, listening to the birds, and seeing the
+rooks, which are now busy with their nests. We were much amused to see
+them stealing twigs from each other.
+
+While we were looking at them, Mr. Penrose came along, and stopped to
+talk, but he was, methought, awkward and restrained, and I did not give
+him much encouragement, for I felt vexed at him; so he soon went away.
+
+At supper there arose, I know not how, a debate on the celibacy of the
+clergy. My Lord and Lady were for having them marry, and my Lord made
+some not very delicate jokes on the subject, I thought. Lady Jemima was
+vehemently against them, and, as her fashion is, grow very warm, and
+said some sharp things. Mr. Penrose appealed to me—small thanks to him
+for drawing the notice of the whole table upon me.
+
+I said, what was true enough, that I had never thought about the
+matter, but presumed it could not be wrong, as St. Peter and St. James
+at least had wives, as did some other of the apostles: and St. Paul
+expressly said that a Bishop was to be the husband of one wife. But, I
+added, that it did not seem to me desirable that clergymen should think
+of marrying till they were settled and know what they were likely to
+have to live on.
+
+Whereat my Lady smiled, and Mr. Penrose looked wondrously dashed. I am
+sure I can't guess why. I don't see why it should be anything to him.
+
+
+                                                _Friday, April 25._
+
+Well, Betty has her dog at last, and a pretty, gentle little creature
+it is, just fit for her to play with. And I have something better
+brought by the same kind hand. Mr. Corbet himself brought the dog to
+Betty, as we were sitting in the gallery, whither we now go every
+morning when the sun shines.
+
+And after she had become a little quieted with her ecstasy, he turned
+to me.
+
+"I have a token for you also, Mistress Merton, if you will take it. My
+mother sends you this box, as an Easter gift."
+
+I took it, of course, with due thanks.
+
+"Nay, open it," said he: "the best part is within."
+
+So I opened it, and there lay two letters—real goodly-sized letters—one
+in Dick's hand, the other I did not know. Mr. Corbet explained to me
+that his mother had brought the one from London, and the other had been
+sent in a packet of Mr. Carey's to his friend in Exeter. I could hardly
+believe my eyes, and I am afraid my thanks were clumsily expressed.
+However, Mr. Corbet appeared satisfied, and, saying he knew I wished to
+read them, he withdrew.
+
+I had hardly time for more than a glance at them through the day, but
+I have feasted on them this night to my heart's content. One is from
+Dick, as I said; the other from my Aunt Willson, enclosing two gold
+pieces, and telling me that she had made the acquaintance of Mistress
+Corbet in London, who had kindly offered to carry a parcel for her:
+so she sent me a piece of fine lawn for kerchiefs and aprons, with
+some laces and other small matters. 'Tis a kindly letter, full of good
+counsel and sympathy, somewhat roughly expressed, as is Aunt Willson's
+fashion. She says, in conclusion: "Remember, child, to keep your place.
+Every man, woman and child is respectable in his own place, whatever
+that may be, for the time."
+
+Felicia also sends a note, written in rather a mournful strain. I
+can see that she has found trouble already, and I dare say she and
+aunt have had more than one battle. She warns me against expecting
+happiness in this world, as that is the lot of but few—certainly never
+of the dependent and the poor. But I don't know that. I am both poor
+and dependent, and I am reasonably happy—or should be, only for some
+things which have naught to do with my condition in life. As for poor
+Felicia, I don't believe her condition makes so much difference with
+her. She always makes me think of a speech of one of the old almswomen
+at Saintswell, about her daughter-in-law.
+
+The old woman had been saying somewhat about her daughter's fretting,
+when my mother remarked, "Ah, well, Goody, I would not disturb myself
+about the matter. You know poor Molly's way—if she had no trouble in
+the world, she would make it."
+
+"Mek it!" cried the old dame, in her shrill voice. "Mek it, madam—she'd
+buy it!"
+
+Dick's letter is like himself—grave beyond his years, full of kindness
+and of a certain kind of humor too. He tells me a great deal of news
+about home matters, as that mother is well and seems much more cheerful
+than she did in the Rectory, and that she has taken to working in the
+garden. The twins and Jacky are doing well in school, and Jacky is
+much less forward and pert. I can guess why. He says Mr. Carey is much
+liked already in the parish, and is especially kind to the poor women
+at the almshouses, though he had a great argument with Dame Higgins
+on the claims of the Romish church. My father would never argue with
+her. He used to say 'twas a case of "invincible ignorance," and there
+was no use in fretting the poor old body, who, I verily believe, never
+remembers that she is a papist unless somebody puts her in mind of it.
+However, this dispute did not end in a quarrel, so it does not matter.
+
+Dick is getting on with his studies, and says his master is very kind
+in giving him time to read; so that he feels doubly bound to serve him
+faithfully. He says Master Smith's shop is a kind of rendezvous for all
+the learned men in Chester, and that the Bishop himself sometimes drops
+in to hear the news. He says, too, what I am very sorry to hear, that
+public affairs grow more and more disturbed, and that this attempt of
+the Archbishop's to revive the book of Sunday sports, put forth by King
+James, will cause great divisions among the clergy.
+
+Dick's letter closes with a gentle admonition to remember Goody Crump's
+motto: "'Tis all in the day's work."
+
+Ah, but then, if one cannot do one's day's work—if the more one tries,
+the more hopeless it seems—what then?
+
+
+                                                _April 27._
+
+Lady Jemima is going up to London to visit her cousin, who is to be
+married soon. She leaves next week. I should like to send a letter by
+her to Aunt Willson, but I don't like to take the liberty of asking her.
+
+My Lady again gave me leave to walk to the village to church, saying
+that she would herself remain with Lady Betty. She is wondrously kind
+to me, and seems altogether satisfied with the way that I manage the
+child. Well, I was very glad to go, and enjoyed my walk, as usual,
+pleasing myself with the thought that I should hear good Doctor
+Parnell. When, lo and behold, I found, as I entered the church, that
+the Doctor was gone away, and Mr. Penrose was to preach. I could not
+help feeling vexed and disappointed. His sermon was on the text about
+the strait gate and narrow way, and he drew a wonderful picture of the
+difficulties of the way and the gate, assuring us that even a life-long
+devotion, and that of the most austere, would hardly be enough to win
+an entrance.
+
+Dick used to say that his religion made him happy, but I can't see how
+any one is to be happy, according to Mr. Penrose—working so hard, with
+all our failings noted and set down against us, and, hanging over all,
+the fear of final failure and its dreadful consequences. Yet, if it
+is true, of course one ought to know it. I must say it makes me very
+wretched, and I don't know what to do. My temper is so warm and my
+feelings so quick, that I am always saying and doing what I wish unsaid
+and undone; and sometimes, the more I try, the worse it seems to be
+with me. The very effort makes me feel fretful and impatient.
+
+I don't believe Mr. Corbet agrees with Mr. Penrose in his notions. I
+saw him several times glance at his mother, and slightly shake his
+head. Mrs. Corbet is a beautiful old lady—I think the most beautiful I
+ever saw. She must be past sixty a good deal, yet her eyes are bright
+and clear, and her hair unchanged. To be sure, it is so nearly silver
+in its natural color that a few gray threads would not show. She seems
+quite feeble, and, indeed, Mrs. Judith told me she had never been
+really well since the time of the riot, when she was struck down by a
+stone and otherwise maltreated. She spoke to me kindly, and said she
+would send me the parcel she had brought from my aunt, or perhaps bring
+it to me, as she meant to come to the Great House before long.
+
+Mr. Penrose came up with me as I was hurrying home, and asked me why I
+walked so fast? I told him I was in haste to return to Lady Betty.
+
+"The child seems to love you very much," said he.
+
+"And I love her," I returned. "Nobody could help it."
+
+"Yet you must find your life somewhat irksome," he went on to say.
+
+"Not at all!" I answered. "Why should I? 'Love makes easy service,'
+and besides she really gives me very little trouble, considering all
+her misfortunes. I knew what I was undertaking when I came, and it
+has not been so hard as I expected. Every one is kind to me, my Lady
+especially, and as for the rest, why it does not signify. ''Tis all in
+the day's work.'"
+
+"My lady is kind to every one, I think," said Mr. Penrose, to which I
+agreed. "'Tis a pity she has been so unfortunate with her children. If
+the next child should prove a girl, or should not live, Mr. Corbet will
+come to be lord of all."
+
+"So I suppose," said I, "but we will hope for better things."
+
+"Then you would not wish it?" he said, looking at me.
+
+"Wish what?" I asked.
+
+"That Mr. Corbet should be lord of all!"
+
+"Of course not!" I answered. "Why should I? Mr. Corbet is well enough
+off; beside that he is nothing to me, and my Lord and Lady have been
+my very good friends. I don't understand you at all—and it seems to me
+that you do not understand yourself, very well!"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merton, if I have offended you," was all his
+answer. Then, after a pause, "I suppose you were very much disappointed
+at seeing me in Doctor Parnell's pulpit?"
+
+What could I say? I was disappointed, but I would not tell him so. I
+said I was surprised, as I did not know that the Doctor was away.
+
+So then we walked the rest of the way in silence. It seems we never can
+meet peaceably. I wanted to talk to him about his sermon, but of course
+I could not, after that. I do think he is very odd.
+
+
+                                                _Monday, 28._
+
+Lady Jemima has herself offered to carry a letter to my aunt, so I have
+written one to her, and one to Felicia—the latter as kind as I could
+make it. I am certainly glad that she has gone away, but yet I can see,
+now that we are separated, that I was often to blame in our quarrels.
+
+After I had finished my letters, I went to carry them to Lady Jemima's
+room, where I had never been before. It is very bare and plain—more
+so than mine—and looks, I fancy, like a nun's cell. She has several
+religious pictures, and many books of devotion, but none other, that
+I saw. Her bed looked hard, and as if it had very little covering
+upon it, and there was not even a rug by the bedside. Lady Jemima was
+looking over a great basket of work, not tapestry work, or any such
+thing, but coarse garments of various kinds. She made me welcome, and
+bade me sit down.
+
+"What are you busy about with your needle?" said she.
+
+I told her (what I forgot to mention in the right place) that I was
+making some clothes for the twins of the poor fisherman's widow down at
+the Cove, and that Lady Betty was helping me about them—adding that I
+was at work on a christening frock, for which my Lady had given me the
+material. She seemed pleased, but when I added that I liked the work
+because it made me think of home, she said, decidedly:
+
+"That is not a proper motive, child! You should do it because it is
+right, and because our Lord has commanded it—not because it gives you
+pleasure!"
+
+"But suppose it gives me pleasure to do what is right, my Lady?" said
+I. "Am I therefore to leave it off?"
+
+"That is a quibble!" said she, though I am sure I did not mean it so.
+"One must be arrived at a great degree of saintship to take pleasure in
+doing right because it is right. And if we only delight in it because
+of some pleasant remembrance, or pride in our own skill, there is no
+merit in it, whatever."
+
+Now I had never once thought of any merit in connection with my work
+for Mary Hawtree's twins. I know the babes needed the garments, and I
+thought, beside, that it would make a good healthy interest for poor
+Betty. However, the more I say, the less Lady Jemima understands me, so
+I held my peace.
+
+"I had hoped to leave you this work of mine to finish," continued Lady
+Jemima, "but you seem to have your hands full already. Do you think you
+could find time?"
+
+"I fear not, my Lady," I answered, after a little consideration.
+"You see the most of my time must be given, to Lady Betty, either in
+teaching or amusing her."
+
+"Of course, but have you no time given you for recreation or devotion?"
+I told her that I had an hour in the morning and another in the
+evening, beside what I could gain by rising early.
+
+"And cannot you devote some of this time to the service of the poor?
+How can you hope for heaven, if you cannot make such a little sacrifice
+as this—or what would you do if you were called upon to give up
+everything for His sake?"
+
+Well, it ended with my promising to see what I could do, and taking
+the great basket to my room, where it stands now, and as I look at it,
+seems to reproach me for wasting so much time over my journal.
+
+
+                                                _May 1._
+
+We have done great things to-day. Lady Betty has really been out of
+doors.
+
+The way of it was this. My Lord and Lady, Mr. Penrose, and about all
+the household except Lady Betty and myself, had gone down to the
+village to see the May games on the Green. Mary would have had me go
+and let her stay, and Anne afterwards made the same offer, but I would
+not hear of it. I knew that Mary and her sweetheart would both be
+disappointed. And I don't like to leave Anne with Lady Betty; she is
+such a gossip, and fills the child's head with all sorts of unwholesome
+stuff. So I stayed at home, right willingly, for I don't feel in
+spirits for any such follies.
+
+Lady Betty was sitting at the window in the long gallery, and I by her,
+both of us feeling rather silent and doleful, when the door opened
+and the little dog jumped from Lady Betty's lap and ran barking and
+frisking to meet Mr. Corbet.
+
+"Why, Cousin Walter!" said Betty. "I thought you would be at the May
+games?"
+
+"And I thought I would come to see my little lady!" he returned,
+kissing her. "Mistress Merton, the air is very warm, and the sun is
+like June. Could we not, think you, carry Lady Betty down to the garden
+and let her see a little what the world is like on a May-day?"
+
+It was just what I had been wishing to do, but I hesitated, because my
+Lady was away. However, I could not withstand my child's pleading, so I
+wrapped her in a shawl and hood of my own, and took down some cushions
+and cloaks, while Mr. Corbet brought Betty in his strong arms, and set
+her on the garden seat. I never saw any poor child so delighted as she
+was. She had not been out of doors in so long that 'twas like fairy
+land to her.
+
+After sitting in the garden a while, Mr. Corbet proposed to carry her
+in the woods, and that was still more wonderful. We found a safe seat
+on the dry grassy root of an old tree, and I sat down by her, while
+the little dog ran hither and hither, as well-pleased as his mistress.
+Mr. Corbet exerted himself to entertain Betty, telling her stories,
+bringing her flowers, and pointing out various things to her notice. I
+dared not leave her stay too long this first time. And though she was
+unwilling at first to go in, she gave up very pleasantly at the last.
+
+"Why, that's my brave, good little maid!" said Mr. Corbet, as she
+consented to go in. "You have worked wonders, Mrs. Merton. I was afraid
+of a scene."
+
+"I don't cry any more, now!" said Betty. "I am trying to be good, like
+my mother and Margaret."
+
+When I reported the matter to Lady Stanton, I thought she looked rather
+grave upon it. So I hastened to say, that I did not think Lady Betty
+had taken cold, and I was sorry if I had done wrong, but that the child
+had been so overjoyed at her cousin's offer, that I could not bear to
+disappoint her.
+
+"You have done no wrong, sweetheart!" said my Lady. "And I dare say
+nobody will be the worse, but we must not trouble Mr. Corbet. The next
+time, we will have John Footman carry her down."
+
+
+                                                _May 9._
+
+Lady Jemima is really gone, and Mr. Penrose with her. They travel in
+company with some friends from Exeter. She left on the fifth of the
+month, and is to be away four weeks, she says, at the very most. I am
+rather sorry I gave her the letter for Felicia. I somehow feel as if
+trouble would grow out of it. I don't know why, only that Felicia has
+been my great cause of trouble hitherto, and I doubt if she will be
+able to let slip a chance of saying something to my disadvantage. Aunt
+Willson will speak for me, that is one thing.
+
+Betty has been out every pleasant day, and I think the fresh air, the
+change, and exercise, really do her good. She has gained strength,
+appetite, and a little color, and Mary says she sleeps more quietly at
+night. She gets on finely with her reading, and wants to begin writing,
+but I put her off as yet. My Lady demurred a little at this, because
+Lady Betty is so very backward for a child of her age. But I told her I
+was sure it was best not to overcrowd her, but to better her health, if
+possible, first of all. And to this, she agreed.
+
+Betty herself is growing ambitious, and I now have to check her instead
+of urging her on, as at first. She is very much pleased at being
+godmother (by proxy, of course) to one of the twins for whom we have
+been working, and I have promised that the babes shall come up to see
+her when the mother is able to bring them. I have sometimes debated in
+my own mind, whether she ought not to be told of what is coming, but on
+the whole I do not think it best.
+
+Mrs. Corbet has been up at the Court, and made us quite a visit in the
+nursery. How any one could for one moment impute evil to her, I cannot
+guess. I should think the very sight of her face would be enough to
+banish suspicion, if one had entertained it. There is somewhat in her
+very presence so restful—I know not how else to express my meaning. I
+think if I were ill, or in trouble, I should feel it a comfort only to
+have her in the room, if she did not say a word. She looked with a real
+interest at Lady Betty's sewing, commended its neatness, and said she
+was glad to see her busy about such work.
+
+"It was all Margaret's doing," said Lady Betty, frankly. (She will
+always call me Margaret, even before strangers, and I have begged my
+Lady to let her have her own way.) "I should never have thought of it
+only for Margaret. And oh, cousin, it is so nice! So much nicer to be
+thinking about my little god-daughter, and what I can do for her, than
+to think only of what I want myself."
+
+"Dear heart!" said Mrs. Corbet. "It is always much pleasanter and
+happier, even for oneself, to think of the wants and pleasures of
+others, than to dwell forever on one's own. That would be the worst
+punishment that could befall any one in this world or the next. Do you
+not think so, Mistress Margaret?"
+
+"I do, indeed!" said I. "And yet—" and here I stopped, fearing lest I
+should be thought forward.
+
+"And yet—" she repeated, with that sweet, sudden smile of hers.
+
+"And yet we are told to think about ourselves in some things!" I went
+on to say. "Mr. Penrose says we are to watch ourselves constantly, lest
+we fall into sin, and we must think about ourselves, to do that—or, so
+it seems to me. You heard him last Sunday, madam?"
+
+"I did," replied Mrs. Corbet.
+
+"Well," I said, marvelling at my own boldness, but something seemed to
+draw me on—"if life is what he said—just one constant struggle with
+the power of evil within and without—if we are in every way to keep
+under and bring into subjection our bodies by fasting and penance, and
+our souls by mourning and mortification, with but a doubtful hope of
+succeeding after all—what can we do but think about ourselves?"
+
+"Dear heart!" said Mrs. Corbet, again. (She uses these Devonshire
+phrases so sweetly and tenderly.) "Dear heart, do not you go to making
+bricks in Egypt with Mr. Penrose—albeit I think him an earnest,
+painstaking young man, and I believe he will yet work himself right.
+But, my child, remember who it was that bade us take no thought for the
+morrow, and commit thy soul to His keeping. Believe me, when I tell
+thee, that one good earnest look at thy Lord, will do more to keep thee
+in the right way than gazing on thyself forever."
+
+How I did want to go on with the conversation! But at that moment my
+Lady came in, and carried away her cousin to see something in her own
+room—baby things, I suppose.
+
+I know how to work satin stitch wondrous nicely, and I have a great
+desire to work something pretty for my Lady, but here is this great
+basket of Lady Jemima's staring me in the face all the time. I wish I
+had refused to have anything to do with it at first. And yet, according
+to her, there would be no merit in doing the robe for my Lady, because
+it would be a pleasure from beginning to end. I am sure it is no
+pleasure to work on these garments. They are so coarse that I think
+it will be no mean penance to wear them, and I must say, marvellous
+ill-contrived. I have neglected my journal and my recreation to work at
+them, but I am sure I am no better for the sacrifice, as yet. I wish
+I could talk the matter over with Mrs. Corbet. I feel as if she might
+shed some light on my difficulties.
+
+Mrs. Corbet brought me my parcel from Aunt Willson. The lawn she sent—a
+whole piece—is beautifully fine and sheen, and would be just the thing
+for my embroidery. There are besides some dressing things, cords and
+laces, pins, needles, bodkins, and a nice housewife, stored with
+abundance of thread of different kinds, and a new book for my journal,
+with some other papers. I wonder, by the by, how Aunt Willson knew I
+kept a journal? I suppose Felicia must have told her.
+
+Felicia herself sends me a kerchief and apron, of fine stuff, indeed,
+and well made, but "green," just the color she knows I never can wear,
+even if I were not in mourning.
+
+
+                                                _May 12._
+
+Mrs. Judith says Mr. Corbet is going southward on a journey, and is
+expecting to be gone some time. His mother, methinks, will be lonely
+without him. Of course I shall not see him before he goes, unless he
+comes to say good-by to Betty. I have not told her that he is going.
+
+I don't know how it is, but I do not feel like myself for a few days
+past. I feel fretful, and the least thing troubles me, and I do not
+sleep well, for the first time in my life. My head aches and feels
+heavy, so that I find it hard to exert myself to amuse Lady Betty,
+and I am glad that she has her dog to play with. I think I miss my
+afternoon walks, which I have given up to sew on the work which Lady
+Jemima left me.
+
+
+                                                _May 13._
+
+Mr. Corbet did come to bid Betty good-by, after all. More than that, he
+told me that he meant to go and see Mr. Carey, and most kindly offered
+to take charge of a packet for me; so I have written two long letters
+to mother and Dick. How pleasant it seems to think that he will see
+them all, and can tell me how dear mother is looking.
+
+
+                                                _May 16._
+
+I have finished all the work that Lady Jemima left me, and oh, how glad
+I am that it is done! I am afraid it has done me no good, however,
+because I have disliked it so much. And more than that, I am afraid
+that the poor women at the almshouses, for whom it is intended, will
+not be so very much the better either, for the garments are not
+well-fashioned, and though I did my best to reform their shapes, I did
+not succeed very well. I asked my Lady if I might go and carry the
+basket to the almshouses.
+
+"What is it?" she asked.
+
+I told her about it.
+
+"And when have you found time to do so much?" she asked, looking not
+very well-pleased.
+
+I hastened to tell her that I had sewed during my hours of recreation,
+instead of going out to walk, but she was no better satisfied than
+before.
+
+"I thought you were not looking well," said she. "Lady Jemima should
+have had more consideration than to lay such a task upon you.
+Henceforth, Margaret, remember that I wish you to walk every day when
+the weather is pleasant. You will fulfil no duty to anybody by making
+yourself sick."
+
+"I did miss my walks very much, my Lady," I said, "but my Lady Jemima
+wished the work finished, and she said I ought to deny myself daily."
+
+I stopped, for I did not wish to repeat all that Lady Jemima had said.
+
+My Lady smiled.
+
+"Well, well!" said she. "My sister meant well, no doubt, and so did
+you. But remember, sweetheart, that your time and your health are not
+altogether your own, and that you must first do your duty in the state
+of life to which you have been called. I am not angry with you, child,
+so you need not look so downcast."
+
+"But, mamma!" said Betty, anxiously, "Margaret and I want to make
+some more clothes for the twins, and for their mother. You don't mind
+that, do you? I do love it so much, and I am learning to work nicely.
+Margaret says so."
+
+"O no. That is quite another matter. Let me see this same work."
+
+So I brought out our basket, and Lady Betty displayed all we had
+accomplished between us, scrupulously avoiding the taking any more than
+her due share of credit. She is a wonderful truthful child. My Lady
+examined the work, and seemed much pleased.
+
+"You have done wonders," said she. "But whose work is this pretty
+christening dress, for so I presume it is?"
+
+"That is Margaret's!" said Lady Betty, as proud of the modest little
+row of satin stitch, as if she had done it herself. "Is it not pretty,
+mamma?"
+
+"Very pretty, indeed!" replied my Lady.
+
+"Margaret knows how to do all kinds of pretty work," continued Betty.
+"She can work tapestry, and make knotting, and knit!"
+
+"Margaret is a wonderful person, no doubt. I think we are much obliged
+to good Mr. Carey for bringing her to us. You must ask her to teach you
+some of these feats of hers," said my Lady. "Have you any of your work
+by you, Margaret? I should like to see it."
+
+I had some few little pieces, so I brought them, and my Lady looked
+them over, and was pleased so to commend them, that I found courage
+to make my request, which was that she would let me work something
+for the baby that is coming, on the fine linen that my aunt sent me.
+She consented, on condition that I should not abridge my hours of
+recreation.
+
+"But how shall you manage about Betty?" she asked. "I suppose she knows
+naught of the matter, and she will be all curiosity about your work."
+
+"If I might venture to speak my thoughts about that, my Lady," said I,
+and then stopped, fearing I was too bold.
+
+"Well!" said my Lady. "Speak out. Your thoughts are usually to the
+purpose, I find."
+
+Thus encouraged, I did venture to tell her what I was thinking
+of—namely, that she should tell Lady Betty herself.
+
+"You see, my Lady, she is sure to find out in some way. Lady Jemima is
+very outspoken, and the maids will talk: and if she learns the story
+from you, she will be less likely to take up any wrong impression, or
+to ask inconvenient questions. My mother did so by me when Jacky and
+Phillis were born, and she said she thought it the best way."
+
+"Your mother has made a wondrous wise maid of you!" said my Lady. "I
+wonder she could make up her mind to part with so notable a daughter."
+
+I told her that Dick and myself, being the eldest children, were
+obliged to do what we could to help the others, dear father's death
+having left us poor, and besides, I said, people at home did not give
+me credit for so much wisdom.
+
+She laughed and said something about a prophet being without honor in
+his own country. And then bidding me take a good long walk, and enjoy
+myself in the fresh air, she went back to Lady Betty, and I took my
+bundle of work and went down to the almshouses.
+
+They are pretty cottages enough, five in number, and stand on the
+village green, near the church-yard. I thought the thatch would be
+the better of mending in some places, but, on the whole, they looked
+comfortable, though not so nice as ours at Saintswell. I wonder, by the
+way, whether Mr. Carey will hold Sir Peter Beaumont up to the point of
+keeping them in repair, as my father used to do.
+
+Well, I knocked at the door of the first one, and a voice said, "Come
+in!" so I entered.
+
+There, in her bee-hive chair, sat an old woman look so like dear Dame
+Crump that I could have kissed her. She made me most civilly welcome,
+and asked me to sit down. I told her that I had brought her a cap and
+petticoat, which Lady Jemima had left for her. She smiled, and said my
+Lady was very kind, but I can't say she showed any great enthusiasm
+about the matter.
+
+"You will be the young lady now to take care of my Lady Betty," she
+said, presently.
+
+I told her I was.
+
+"And how is she, poor dear maid? No better, I suppose?"
+
+I told her I thought Lady Betty was stronger than when I came, adding
+that I believed the fresh air did her good.
+
+"No doubt, no doubt!" said Dame Yeo, for such I found was her name.
+"Fresh air and good food are better than doctor stuff. You are not from
+this part of the country, Madam, or so I judge, from your speech?"
+
+I told her I was from a little village not far from Chester.
+
+"Chester!" said she, musingly. "I had a sister that married and went
+to live somewhere near Chester. Her husband was a sailor, and when he
+went away on his long voyage to the Indies, Madge went to live with
+his old mother. She was much older than I. I doubt she is not alive. A
+fine stout lad was Thomas Crump, and Madge was a handsome maid as ever
+I saw. But she would be near a hundred an' she were living. I am past
+eighty, myself."
+
+The resemblance to my old friend was explained.
+
+"I can give you news of your sister, I believe," said I. "She is still
+living in one of the almshouses in Saintswell, and though old, as you
+say, is well and cheerful. I saw her the day before I left home."
+
+Never was any poor old creature so pleased. The tears ran down her
+withered cheeks, as she thanked God again and again for sending her
+news of her sister. I told her all I could think of about Dame Crump,
+and when I had stayed as long as I could, I rose to go.
+
+"Come again, my dear, tender soul! My dear young lady, now do, wont-e?"
+she said, detaining me with a trembling hand. "It does seem to do me
+good to see you!"
+
+"And I am sure you have done me good," I answered. "It is so pleasant
+to talk of home."
+
+"Aye, that it is—that it is!" replied Goody Yeo. "There is no place
+like home, my maid; now is there? There, bless thy heart! I didn't mean
+to make thee cry. Don't-e cry, now, but keep up a good heart, dear
+soul, and when you are downcast, think about the home above. We shall
+all meet there, you know!"
+
+"Can I do aught for you, Goody, before I go?" I asked, brushing the
+drops from my eyes.
+
+"If it wouldn't be asking too much, if you would just take the Bible
+and read me a psalm and chapter. My eyes are not worth much nowadays,
+though I do spell out a verse now and then."
+
+"What shall I read?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, the psalms for the day, first of all."
+
+So I read the psalms for the day, the old woman listening devoutly,
+her wrinkled face full of peace. Then, at her request, I read the last
+chapter of Revelations.
+
+"And to think that is all ours—our purchased inheritance!" said Goody,
+when I had done. "Truly we need not murmur over the hardships of the
+way when it leads to such a home at last."
+
+The old woman does not seem to have any of those doubts which Mr.
+Penrose thinks we ought to have, to keep us humble. I would have liked
+to talk farther with her, but I had stayed too long already. I see the
+cushion of her chair is worn out. I will beg some pretty piece of my
+Lady, and when Betty has finished her present work, she shall make a
+patchwork cushion for Goody Yeo.
+
+Goody Hollins was in a very different mood. The world was out of joint,
+according to her. Nobody cared for her. Parson never came to see her,
+and Mistress Parnell was always corsetting up Goody Yeo and old Master
+Dean with good things, while she had nothing to eat, and nobody would
+care if she starved.
+
+"Nobody don't take no care of we!" were her last words. "We is naught
+but poor old folk that they just want to get rid of!"
+
+She was deaf as a post, so there was no use in talking to her.
+
+I found Gaffer Dean, a cheerful old man, sitting out in the sun, and
+as chirruping as an old cricket. I would have liked to stay longer and
+chat with him, but the afternoon was wearing away, and I wanted to call
+at the Rectory.
+
+Mistress Parnell made me welcome, as usual. I told her I had been at
+the almshouses, and she laughed at my account of Goody Hollins.
+
+"I carried her a jug of broth this very day!" said she. "But the poor
+old soul is sadly crabbed and cankered."
+
+"She seems to think that every one neglects her," I said: "even her own
+daughter."
+
+"Her daughter has as much as she can do and more to take care of her
+own," said Mistress Parnell. "Besides that, she is and always was a sad
+slattern. Even Mistress Ellenwood could make naught of Peggy Hollins."
+And then she told me a great deal which I have not time to set down
+here, about Mistress Ellenwood the schoolmistress, and all the good she
+had done.
+
+
+                                                _May 18._
+
+I have begun my work for my Lady, which I think will be very pretty.
+The lawn is so fine it shows the embroidery to great advantage, and the
+thread Aunt Willson sent with it is just the thing.
+
+Betty has heard the secret, and seems to take it kindly. She says
+little, but I see that she is turning the matter over in her own mind,
+in her silent fashion. Last night, after I had put her to bed, she
+asked me:
+
+"Margaret, do you think the baby will love me, when it comes?"
+
+"Yes, if you are a good kind sister!" I answered.
+
+"You don't think mamma will leave off loving me then, do you,
+Margaret?" she asked again, with a quivering lip.
+
+"No, of course not," said I. "She will love you all the more, and if
+you are a good girl, and try to learn, you can be a great help to her
+by and by."
+
+This notion seemed to comfort her, and she lay down contented.
+
+
+                                                _May 30._
+
+This morning Lady Betty walked farther than she had ever done before.
+She is delighted with being out of doors, and it certainly does her
+good. The wild flowers, of which the wood is full, are an endless
+delight to her, and she is never weary of gathering them and observing
+them. This morning she saw a squirrel. The dog ran after it, and Betty
+was in a terrible taking lest he should hurt it, but it escaped easily
+enough, and sat on a branch, scolding us, at which the child was
+delighted.
+
+She is certainly stronger, and complains much less than she did,
+either because she really suffers less, or because she has more to
+think about, and so dwells the less on her own discomforts. She has
+not had a crying fit in a long time. I talk to her about all sorts of
+things—about the village and the poor people here and at home, and
+everything else I can think of to interest her. She was much delighted
+with my story of finding Dame Crump's sister in Goody Yeo, and in
+hearing of Gaffer Dean's jackdaw, which I forgot to mention in its
+place. She wished she could go down to see it. I wish she could. I
+wonder much whether she could learn to ride a donkey?
+
+
+                                                _June 1._
+
+Mr. Penrose is come back, but not Lady Jemima. He brought letters for
+my Lord and Lady from her, and one from Felicia to me—the most cordial
+I have ever had from her. Perhaps if we do not see each other for
+a year or two longer, we shall become quite intimate and friendly.
+Felicia, seems to have seen a good deal of Lady Jemima, and has much to
+say in her praise.
+
+Mr. Penrose has brought down some beautiful furniture for the
+chapel—candlesticks, vestments, and what not, and he is busy arranging
+them in order. He would have had me help him, but I could not leave
+Lady Betty, who has been ailing for two or three days, and is so
+restless at night that I have taken turn about with Mary to stay with
+her. She seems to get no sleep unless some one is sitting by her. I
+almost fancy she is afraid.
+
+
+                                                _June 2._
+
+I have found out what ails Lady Betty. Anne has been telling her ghost
+stories. I hardly ever let Anne stay with her. But Mary's mother-in-law
+that is to be, is sick, and she, like the good girl that she is, wants
+to take her share in nursing the old woman. Then old Brewster has
+also been ill, and my dear Lady has asked me to see that she had her
+medicine properly, and to attend to various little matters for her: so
+I have been much more away from my child than usual.
+
+Last night she was very restless, and started so at some strange sound,
+of which there are always plenty, that I asked her what was the matter.
+
+"I am afraid!" she replied.
+
+"Afraid of what?" I asked.
+
+She would not tell me at first, but at last I coaxed her. Anne has told
+her I know not what tale of the ghost of a knight who walks in the
+long gallery. He is called the Halting Knight, because he had one leg
+shorter than the other, and Anne says that when any misfortune is about
+to happen to the family, he walks up and down all night, wringing his
+mailed hands, and tossing his arms over his head.
+
+"There!" exclaimed the child, clinging to me. "Don't you hear it? Oh,
+what if he be come to presage the death of my mother!"
+
+I certainly did hear something like a halting step: and at another time
+I might have been afraid myself. But I saw how necessary it was to
+soothe Betty, who was trembling all over.
+
+"Dear heart! That noise you hear is not the Halting Knight," said I.
+"I cannot tell you just what makes it, but very likely it is the wind
+knocking a branch of ivy against the wall. Do not think about such
+frightful things, but remember how you have asked God to take care of
+you, and think about the holy angels that he sends to have charge of
+us."
+
+Then I repeated the ninety-first psalm to her, and by degrees, she grew
+more composed.
+
+"So you don't think it is the Halting Knight?" said she, presently.
+
+"No, I don't," I answered: "and I will tell you why. If the knight
+was a good man when he was alive, and served God, I am sure he is in
+heaven, and that he would never care to come from that holy and happy
+place to walk up and down all night in the dark windy gallery. And if
+he is with wicked spirits, I am quite sure that God will not let him
+come out of prison to hurt them who put their trust in Him."
+
+So I soothed her to sleep, and the rest of the night she rested
+tranquilly. She has been better to-day, though not well enough to go
+out of doors, and I have tried in every way to keep her mind diverted.
+Poor thing, she has trouble enough, without any fanciful fears.
+
+
+                                                _June 4._
+
+My Lady asked me to-day some questions about my friends in London.
+
+I told her I had none except my aunt Willson and Felicia, who was
+also my aunt, though I had never called her so, we being brought up
+together, and so near of an age. I spoke warmly, as I felt, in praise
+of Aunt Willson, and told how nobly she had come forward to help us in
+our troubles.
+
+Then she asked me about Felicia. I hesitated, and then said, frankly:
+
+"To tell you the truth, my Lady, I would rather not talk of her. We
+were never good friends, and I am afraid I might say more than I ought."
+
+"Well, well!" said my Lady. "I will not ask you any more questions.
+My sister seems to think highly of her, but she is apt to take sudden
+fancies, especially when people are of her own way of thinking."
+
+"Felicia must have changed a good deal if she is of Lady Jemima's way
+of thinking," said I. "But she can be very pleasant when she pleases,
+and she is very pretty. I hope she gets on well with my Aunt Willson. I
+hope she will not be discontented, and go back to mother again. I was
+so glad she went away before I did."
+
+"Now you have told me all I wished to know," said my Lady.
+
+Then laughing merrily at my discomfiture, she bade me not be
+disturbed—she should think none the less of me.
+
+
+                                                _June 8._
+
+Mr. Penrose has finished all his decorations, and called me in to see
+them. There is a deal of gold lace and purple cloth, with silver-gilt
+candlesticks, and other trinkets, of which I do not even know the
+names. He would have me say how I liked it all.
+
+"Honestly?" said I.
+
+"Honestly, of course!" said he.
+
+"Well then, to be plain with you, I like it not so well as before!"
+said I. "I think the old carven wood you have covered up much more
+beautiful than the embroidered cloth on it. And for the rest, I must
+say it puts me in mind of my little sister's baby-houses, or the Popish
+chapel my father once took me to see at my Lord Mountford's."
+
+"You are something of a Puritan, I see, as your cousin says," said Mr.
+Penrose.
+
+"I don't even know what a Puritan is," I answered, I am afraid rather
+too warmly for the place. "Felicia—I suppose it is she you mean by
+my cousin—used to call me a Puritan, because I did not like the East
+window in our church."
+
+"And why did you not like it?" he asked.
+
+"Because there was painted thereon the image of Him of whom no image
+should be made," I answered. "I could not think it right. It seemed to
+me like blasphemy. I don't see anything wrong about these decorations
+of yours, but they seem to me not at all suitable for a church."
+
+"I am unfortunate in incurring your disapprobation," said he, stiffly.
+
+"You asked me, you know," said I. "I could but say what I think. I am
+sorry if I have hurt you!"
+
+"You have not hurt me—only as you always do hurt me," he answered, with
+such a strange quiver in his voice, that I looked at him in surprise.
+
+He turned away, however, and began arranging some of the drapery about
+the altar. In doing so, the fringe caught on one of the tall, heavy
+candlesticks.
+
+I saw that a fall was imminent, and sprang to save it, but I was too
+late. The candlestick fell, and as ill-luck would have it, struck me
+on the forehead, and the edge being sharp, made a pretty deep cut from
+which the blood flowed freely. I felt stunned and sick for a minute,
+but recovered myself, to see Mr. Penrose gazing at me with a face
+whiter than his band.
+
+"It is naught!" said I, pulling my kerchief to my forehead. "Don't look
+so frightened, but help me to find Mrs. Judith."
+
+For I was vexed at him, standing there as if rooted to the earth, never
+offering to help. It was rather unreasonable in me, too, but I do love
+folk to have their wits about them. He started, and recovered himself,
+and came forward to give me his arm.
+
+Well, at last I got to Mrs. Judith's room, narrowly missing meeting my
+Lady, which was what I dreaded above all things. Mrs. Judith knew what
+she was about, at any rate, plastered up my head and bathed my face,
+and then helped me to my room. She would have had me lie still the
+rest of the day, but I did not like to leave my child, and I have felt
+no inconvenience since, save a headache, and now and then a strange
+sickness.
+
+
+                                                _June 28._
+
+I did not think, when I laid down my pen, that three weeks would pass
+before I took it up again.
+
+I felt the sickness coming over me again, and I suppose went to the
+window for air, for I was found senseless on the floor under the open
+casement, by Mrs. Judith, who, in her kindness, had come up before
+going to bed to see how I was. She called Mary and got me to bed, and
+for three or four days I was in considerable danger, it seems, but my
+good constitution and Mrs. Judith's nursing brought me through. I had
+no surgeon, for the nearest, who lives at Biddeford, had been called
+away. I was not sorry, for I did as well without him, and perhaps
+better.
+
+I have been sitting up now for a week, and to-day ventured out of my
+room into the long gallery, greatly to the delight of Lady Betty, who
+thinks I must be almost well. The dear child was as good as possible
+all the time I was at the worst, so Mary tells me, even stifling her
+sobs when she was told that she would make herself sick, and that would
+grieve Mistress Merton.
+
+Since I have been getting better, Mary has brought her in to see me
+every day, and she has spent hours, sitting in her chair, or lying on
+the bed beside me. At first I had hard work to persuade her to go out
+of doors without me, but at last she let old John carry her down, and
+Mary go with her. She brings me great nosegays of flowers every day, as
+well as long stories about the squirrels and the young birds, for now,
+as ever, she prefers the wood to the garden.
+
+Every one has been very kind to me since I was sick. Only I fancied
+Lady Jemima (who has been at home more than a week,) treated me rather
+coldly. She brought me letters from aunt and Felicia, the latter sweet
+as honey—rather too sweet, in fact. Felicia is not apt to be so loving,
+unless she meditates a bite, or a scratch at the least.
+
+Mr. Corbet has not yet returned, but his mother, who has been once to
+see me, tells me that she expects him in a few days. Oh, how I have
+longed and pined for home, and mother, since I have been sick! All the
+home-sickness I have felt before was as nothing to it. But I hope to
+get the better of this weakness when I am able to take up my work once
+more.
+
+
+                                                _July 1._
+
+As I was sitting in the gallery this morning, who should come in but
+Mr. Penrose, whom I had not seen before since that unlucky day in the
+chapel. He looked pale and wretched enough, and I felt sorry for him.
+
+"I am glad to see you up once more," said he, with something of a
+tremor in his voice. "I little thought what would be the end, when I
+called you into the chapel. If you had died—"
+
+"You would doubtless have been much afflicted," said I, as he paused.
+"That would have been only natural, but even then, Mr. Penrose, you
+would have had no cause of self-reproach. Nobody would have been to
+blame—not even myself!"
+
+"I would never have entered the desk again!" said he. "I would have
+sought some solitude—there are no convents now to retire to—and have
+given my life to fasting and penance forever after."
+
+"Then you would have done a very wrong and foolish thing!" said I.
+"What if St. Paul had taken such a course? His crimes were committed
+of set purpose, yet did our Lord himself call him to the ministry, and
+that when he was upon the very errand of slaughter."
+
+"I don't know that I ever thought of that," said he. "But you know
+Archbishop Abbot was deprived because he killed a man by accident when
+out hunting."
+
+"I always thought it a very hard measure to the poor old gentleman,"
+I said. "There was no malice in the act, and the archbishop did all
+in his power to make amends. My father was ever of the mind that if
+the Archbishop had been more of a courtier, his homicide would have
+troubled nobody."
+
+Mr. Penrose looked a little grave upon this. I believe he thinks it
+little less than blasphemy to say a word against the present archbishop.
+
+"But you see I was not killed, nor anything like it!" I continued. "So
+you may put off your purpose of retirement a little while."
+
+"Do you feel quite yourself again?" he asked, anxiously.
+
+"Why no, not altogether," I said. "I feel weak, and a little thing
+tires me, but I have no pain, and my head is quite clear. I had odd
+fancies while I was sick, Mr. Penrose. I remember them only dreamily,
+however, and hope to forget them altogether soon. I feel that I have
+much to be thankful for, both because my life was spared, and also for
+the care and kindness of all about me. It is not every poor girl, alone
+and among strangers, who meets with such friends."
+
+"If Margaret had died, I would have died too!" said Betty, who had
+hitherto taken no part in the conversation.
+
+"And so would I!" said Mr. Penrose.
+
+But Betty was not pleased.
+
+"She is not 'your' Margaret!" she retorted, with the pertness which I
+have not yet been able to cure: "I don't see any call that 'you' would
+have to die!"
+
+I could not help smiling. But seeing Mr. Penrose's color rise, I chid
+Lady Betty, and bade her ask pardon, which she did readily enough, only
+rather spoiling it by repeating very decidedly, "But she is 'not' your
+Margaret, Mr. Penrose! She is mine!"
+
+"I wont have any quarrelling about me!" said I. "Come, my dear, we have
+sat here long enough, and here comes Mary to say that our dinner is
+ready."
+
+For since I have begun to sit up and move about a little, I have taken
+my meals with my child, an arrangement which she likes marvellously.
+
+"Shall we not see you at the table soon?" asked Mr. Penrose.
+
+"As soon as Mrs. Judith permits," I said. "I am at her orders, you
+know. Thank you, Mr. Penrose, for coming to see me."
+
+"Can I do nothing for you?" he asked.
+
+"There is one thing, if I may venture to ask so much," I said. "Would
+you find time to go down and read a chapter now and then to Dame Yeo
+at the almshouse. I promised to do so, but she must think me strangely
+forgetful."
+
+To my surprise, he hesitated. "I would gladly do so," he answered,
+presently, "but I fear Doctor Parnell would think it an undue
+interference."
+
+"I don't believe he would," said I. "He is a kind old man, and I
+believe he would be pleased with anything that pleased the old folks.
+At all events, you could speak to him about the matter. But do not do
+anything about it, if it is like to make any trouble."
+
+"Oh, I will go!" said he.
+
+And, I rather think he did go this very afternoon.
+
+
+                                                _July 3._
+
+I felt so much better this morning that I coaxed Mrs. Judith to let me
+go out with Lady Betty into the wood. The day was lovely, and the whole
+air seemed full of the scent of hay. Lady Betty, who walks with more
+and more ease every day, ran about quite a good deal, and gathered wild
+flowers for me. Her little dog has done her a great deal of good in
+this respect, for she goes after him and joins in his play.
+
+My Lady came out while we were in the wood and sat down by me. After
+looking at, and highly commending my work, which I had brought in my
+hand, and kindly telling me not to tire my eyes over it, she began to
+talk about Lady Betty, who was at a distance gathering some plants
+which had taken her fancy.
+
+"You have done wonders during the little time you have had her in
+charge," said she. "I could never have thought to see her move so
+freely—so much like another child. If she had gained naught in
+learning, I should owe you a debt of gratitude for all you have down
+for her health."
+
+"You owe me nothing, my Lady," I said. "I have but done my duty, and I
+would gladly have done ten times more. It is I who am in your debt for
+all your goodness to me."
+
+"Well, well, we wont dispute the matter!" said she, with, her sweet,
+sad smile. "If only you can stay for a year or two—but I fear that will
+hardly be."
+
+"I don't know why not, my Lady," I ventured to say. "Unless you tire of
+me, or I misbehave myself, which I trust not to do; I see no reason why
+I should not stay with Lady Betty as long as she needs a governess."
+
+"Then you have yourself no desire to change your condition—to be
+anywhere else?" she asked, looking at me in a searching way, with her
+great beautiful eyes, as if she would read my inmost thoughts.
+
+"My Lady," said I, "I will tell you the simple truth. I would rather
+be at home with my mother, even in her little cottage, than here in
+Stanton Court, though here I am lodged and waited upon as I never was
+before. But as for any other place, I speak but simple sooth in saying,
+that since I cannot be at home, I would rather be here than anywhere
+else in the world. Every one is kind to me, and I love my Lady Betty
+dearly. I have no wish to change my condition."
+
+"It is well said, sweetheart, and as much as I could ask," said my dear
+Lady. "I could not in reason ask you to prefer any other place to home.
+But suppose some one comes and proffers you a house and home of your
+own, what then?"
+
+"That is too large a supposition for my poor imagination!" said I,
+smiling. "A poor plain parson's daughter, without beauty or dower,
+is not like to attract many suitors, I fancy. Besides, if I were as
+beautiful as Mrs. Corbet, or the Fair Dame herself, I see nobody."
+
+"You are like the princess in the fairy-tale, shut up in an enchanted
+castle!" said my Lady. "But you forget Mr. Penrose."
+
+"Oh, he is nobody—so far as that goes!" said I. "He looks down upon me
+as an ignoramus and person of no family, and besides, he thinks me a
+Puritan!"
+
+"What is a Puritan?" asked Lady Betty, coming up and leaning on my lap.
+
+"That is more than I can tell you, my dear," said I; "unless it is a
+person who likes clear glass better than painted windows, and carven
+oak better than scarlet cloth and embroidery."
+
+My Lady laughed and bade Betty see if she could find a clover with four
+leaves. When the child had set seriously about her search, she said to
+me, taking my hand, and speaking very earnestly:
+
+"Margaret, will you make me a promise?"
+
+"If I can, my Lady," I answered.
+
+"Promise me then that you will not leave Betty for at least a year,
+whether I live or die. In the latter case, I do believe the child would
+not be long behind her mother—certainly not,—" she said, with a strange
+look in her face—"if, as some say, the dead mother hath the power of
+calling the child after her. But promise me that you will remain with
+my child for at least a year."
+
+"I promise you, my Lady!" said I, as soon as I could speak. "I will not
+leave Lady Betty for a year, at least, unless I am sent away."
+
+"You may not find things always as pleasant as now," she went on to
+say. "My sister-in-law sometimes takes strange fancies, and she has
+great influence with her brother, though they are so very different.
+But promise me that you will not leave my child for at least a year,
+even," she added, "if the fairy prince should come for you!"
+
+"The fairy prince is not likely to come, unless, indeed, my poor dear
+father's ship should come home at last," said I. "But if he does, I
+shall send him about his business, my dear Lady. I am so glad you are
+pleased with me," said I, with a silly gush of tears, which, however, I
+could not help. I suppose because I am so weak still.
+
+She smoothed my hair with her lovely hands, and said many kind things,
+and I recovered myself presently, and begged her pardon.
+
+"Tut tut," said she, lightly. "Tell me about your father's ship."
+
+So I told her all about it, and how we feared it had been a total loss,
+and how my brother had been obliged to change all his plans, with much
+more—too much, I fear, for it was so pleasant to talk of home, and she
+listened so kindly, that I hardly knew when to leave off.
+
+
+                                                _July 6._
+
+Mr. Corbet has come back, and has brought me a great packet of letters
+and little keepsakes from the friends at home—so large a parcel that I
+fear it must have been inconvenient to him, but he made light of it.
+
+Betty and I were out in the woods, as usual, she running about—for she
+can really run a little now—and I very busy with my pretty work, when
+Mr. Corbet came out of the side door and down to where I was sitting.
+Betty gave a cry of joy at seeing her cousin, whom she loves dearly,
+and with some reason, for he is ever kind and gentle with her. He
+caressed her, and gave her a pretty box of comfits he had brought, and
+then turned smiling to me.
+
+"And Mrs. Merton must also have her box of comfits," said he, putting
+my precious packet into my hand. "I am sure to bring my welcome, since
+I come from Chester and Saintswell."
+
+"And did you really go to Saintswell?" I asked.
+
+"I really did," he answered. "I stayed a week with my good friend,
+Mr. Carey, and made acquaintance with your honored mother, and with
+Master Jacky and his sisters, as well as with many other folk, old and
+young, gentle and simple. I should have been much flattered by their
+attentions, only I was forced to lay all to the account of my knowing
+the last news of dear Mistress Margaret."
+
+I asked him many questions, as to dear mother's looks, and I know not
+what all, some of which I doubt he thought silly enough. I know I asked
+him whether the twins were grown.
+
+"That I can hardly tell you, as I never saw them before. But 'tis not
+likely that they have changed a great deal in three months," said he.
+
+"I can't think that I have been hardly three months away," said I. "It
+seems so long since I have seen any of them." And then I began with new
+questions, which he answered patiently enough.
+
+He told me that Mr. Carey seemed to be much liked by all his people,
+though some of them thought his preaching not so plain and simple as my
+father's. He had even been taken by the twins to see the almshouses,
+and had been able to give dear old Goody Crump news of her sister, and
+of other folk she had known. The old woman had sent me her blessing,
+as had also Dame Higgins; the latter hoping that I had safely kept her
+precious medal.
+
+"We shall have to begin watching you as a dangerous person," said he,
+smiling: "since you deal with such trinkets as medals blessed by the
+pope."
+
+"I could not well refuse the old woman's gift," I said. "'Tis but a bit
+of tarnished silver, when all is said. And as to the pope's blessing,
+I fancy, as Goody Higgins said, if it does no good, it can do no great
+harm—especially as I keep it with the stone old Esther gave me to keep
+off the witches."
+
+"Do you believe in witches, Mrs. Merton?" asked Mr. Corbet.
+
+"I never saw one," I answered. "We were happy in having none of those
+fearful troubles in our parish, which were so rife in this part of the
+country some years ago, and all our old women are very harmless folk.
+I believe Esther has her doubts of Goody Higgins, but that is only
+because the poor thing, being a papist, never goes to church. No, I
+don't think I have much belief in witches."
+
+"Nor in ghosts?" he asked, smiling. "Are you not just a little afraid
+of the Halting Knight, when the wind blows hard o' nights? Or have you
+never heard his story?"
+
+"O yes, I have heard all about him," I answered. "I dare not say that
+I have not sometimes listened for his lame step in the gallery, but I
+don't think I am much afraid of him, after all. I don't think, to say
+the truth, that I have it in me to be very much afraid of such things."
+
+After that we fell into a pleasant chat till it was time for Betty to
+go into the house.
+
+I have read my letters over and over—the long ones from dear mother
+and Richard, poor Jacky's short and somewhat blotted scroll, and the
+printed notes of the twins. I feel as if I had made a visit at home. So
+many little things can be told by word of mouth, which no one thinks of
+putting in a letter, and Mr. Corbet seems to have noticed everything,
+even to poor Punch, our three-legged, or rather three-footed cat, who
+lost his fore-paw in a rabbit-trap, and whom father would not have
+killed, but dressed the creature's wounds with his own hands, and
+nursed him till he got well.
+
+He is a wonderful kind gentleman to take so much pains for me. I am so
+glad he and Richard took so to each other. It would seem but natural
+that they should, thinking so much alike on many subjects, but one can
+never guess beforehand how such things will turn out.
+
+Richard says he makes progress in his studios, and that Master Smith is
+kind and generous as ever. He still hears much of public affairs, and
+I can see that he does not like the complexion of them, and doth fear
+much trouble and discontent, arising from the high-handed proceedings
+of the Archbishop and the Star Chamber.
+
+He writes me that Mr. Prynne, the barrister, an old friend of my
+father's, and one who hath been many times at our house since my
+remembrance, is in prison, and like to fare badly. He was always a
+bugbear to us children, with his sour, austere face, and his perpetual
+arguments with my father, wherein he was ofttimes so sharp and rude
+that a less sweet-tempered man would have at the least declined his
+acquaintance. But my father always said there was much good in him, and
+I know that he was ever liberal in giving to the poor. I shall be sorry
+to hear of any great harm coming to him, poor man. It seems he hath
+writ a book concerning stage plays, whereat the Court are much offended.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+_MAKING PROGRESS._
+
+                                                _July 9._
+
+AT her own earnest desire, Lady Betty has began writing. She takes
+to it very handily, as indeed she does to most things. I never saw
+any child learn to read so fast. I was astonished thereat, till my
+Lady told me that it was in some sense rather a revival than a new
+acquisition of learning. That before her last long and dreadful
+illness, which lasted more than a year, Betty had known how to read in
+easy words pretty well. But that when she recovered her right senses
+after many days of unconsciousness or raving, she seemed to have
+forgotten everything, even the names of those about her.
+
+The dear child takes great pains to learn, as well to please me, as for
+learning's sake. Her health is certainly much better. She now moves
+with freedom and without pain (unless, which I have learned to guard
+against, she is on her feet too long at a time), sleeps soundly, and is
+far less whimsical about what she eats, so that she takes contentedly
+plain nourishing food. Her temper and spirits improve with her health.
+I rarely have to reprove her, and it is a long time since we have had a
+screaming bout, which I dread most of all. They distress my dear Lady,
+and make my Lord so angry if he chances to hear them, and he is not a
+man to hold any curb of measure or reason over his anger. Well! Well!
+My Lord is my Lord, and I desire to pay him all due respect, but at
+times I cannot but wonder what ever my Lady married him for. 'Twas a
+love match, too, so Mrs. Judith says.
+
+But as for my child, I have much to be thankful for in her continued
+improvement, and her affection and obedience to myself. And I am also
+thankful to my dear mother for using me early to the care of the young
+ones, and for her confidence in me, almost always telling me why she
+did thus and so with them. It will be her credit far more than my own,
+if Lady Betty recovers her health.
+
+The child's back can never be straightened, of course, but now that her
+face is filling up, and she is gaining color, and losing her unhealthy
+sallowness, she is really very pretty, and hath a great look of her
+mother's.
+
+For myself, I must say that I have been far happier under this roof
+than I ever expected to be anywhere away from my home. Indeed, I don't
+know when I have been better off. I have had very few trials of temper
+(which were always my trouble when I lived with Felicia), and every one
+is kind to me—my dear honored Lady above all.
+
+As to Mr. Penrose's little pets, I don't value them a pin, especially
+since I know the real goodness of his heart. He hath been almost daily
+to read with Dame Yeo and old Master Dean, at the almshouses. But he
+seems like one who hath some great trouble on his mind. I wonder what
+it is?
+
+
+                                                _July 18._
+
+I am quite sure of one thing—namely, that Lady Jemima hath somewhat
+against me, and that ever since she returned from London. She treats
+me with studied coldness and indifference, never comes to my room,
+as she used to do, to ask me about my reading and my devotions, nor
+stops to chat in the hall, or the gardens. My Lady is just the same,
+but my Lord, I fancy, looks coldly on me, and throws out hints against
+Puritans, &c. Even Mr. Corbet does not come to see his cousin as often
+as he used to do. I cannot understand it, for I am sure I have done
+nothing to merit displeasure. Mr. Penrose alone is unchanged, and we
+have really had some pleasant talks together. He preaches every week in
+the chapel—sometimes very well, too—and I go to hear him, but I know
+not how it is, the more I hear, the more discouraged and downhearted
+I grow. I feel downright rebellious, sometimes. Mr. Penrose says
+it is fitting we should go mourning all our days on account of our
+sins, thankful that we have so much as a chance of salvation, but not
+building too much thereupon, lest we fall short after all, and all our
+good works be as nothing. He ought to know. He is a clergyman, and a
+good one, but I cannot feel satisfied.
+
+
+                                                _July 22._
+
+Well, the murder is out—at least a part of it. Lady Jemima has treated
+me more and more coldly all the time. And yesterday, being in my
+Lady's antechamber, mending and arranging of some laces too fine for
+Brewster's eyes, I heard Lady Jemima come in by the other door, in
+earnest conversation with my Lady, and talking so loud, that though I
+made a noise to announce my presence, she did not seem to heed in the
+least.
+
+"You ought to send her away, Elizabeth!" I heard her say, in her
+emphatic way. "You ought not to keep her about the child a day longer!"
+
+"I shall certainly do nothing of the sort, till I see better cause than
+I have yet seen," replied my Lady.
+
+"Better cause!" repeated Lady Jemima, in that contemptuous tone of hers
+which always makes me angry, whether she speaks to me or not. "What
+better cause do you want than that the girl is a bitter Puritan—an
+Anabaptist, for aught I know, and will be sure to fill your child's
+mind with all sorts of poisonous notions about religion and government!"
+
+"But I have no evidence that she is so, Jemima, nor do I believe it.
+Margaret is regular, both at church and chapel. She is a clergyman's
+daughter, hath been well brought up, and the Bishop of Exeter told me
+himself that he thought I had made a happy choice. He saw Margaret at
+home, and was much pleased both with her and her brother."
+
+Now, for the first time, I discovered that they were talking about me,
+for at first I thought it was Mary they meant, and I wondered how any
+one could think of calling her a Puritan. I knew I ought not to hear
+more, and as I was considering for a moment what to do, I heard Lady
+Jemima say, contemptuously:
+
+"The Bishop of Exeter, indeed! He is a fitting person, truly! He is as
+much a Puritan as the worst of them."
+
+"He is your spiritual pastor and Bishop, Jemima, and, as such, is
+entitled to your respect!" answered my Lady, more sharply than I had
+ever heard her speak to her sister, save once. "It is a wonderful thing
+to me, to see you and Mr. Penrose, professing to think so highly of the
+priestly office and authority, and yet losing no occasion to condemn
+and vilify your own Bishop. I have spoke my mind on it to Mr. Penrose,
+and I must say to you that such conduct is neither consistent nor
+becoming!"
+
+Brewster coming in at this moment, and beginning to commend my work on
+the lace, put a stop to the conversation, and I escaped to my room,
+more angry than ever I was with Felicia at home, to think that Lady
+Jemima should be trying to undermine me with my Lady, and to separate
+me from my child.
+
+I was much perturbed all day, insomuch that I fear I was impatient with
+Betty even, for she asked me, rather plaintively, what was the matter;
+adding, "You are not angry with me, are you, Margaret?"
+
+I kissed her, and had much ado not to burst out crying. However, I
+conquered myself, and told her that she was a good girl, and that I
+loved her dearly.
+
+"I am sure I love you!" said she. "Aunt Jemima asked me if you were
+good to me, and I told her that you were just as good as ever you
+could be. But I am sure that something troubles you, if you are not
+vexed with me, for you go red and pale, and your voice does not sound
+natural."
+
+"It is true, my dear, that something has happened to vex me, but you
+need not mind. I hope all will come right by and by. Come, now, I will
+teach you your task in the Catechism. You know you must be well learned
+in it that you may teach your little god-daughter by and by."
+
+(I forgot to say, in the right place, that the babes were christened
+the other day, I standing as proxy for Lady Betty, and Mrs. Corbet for
+the other child, who is named for her. Mr. Corbet made the poor woman
+a handsome present. And the next day, she brought the babes up to the
+Court, to Lady Betty's great delight.)
+
+Betty did her lessons well, and enjoyed her walk in the wood. I have
+got permission to try riding for her, and Thomas is training a fine
+steady donkey for her use, which she goes to see every day. Sitting in
+my usual place in the wood, while Betty played about, I could not but
+remember the conversation I had with my dear Lady, and wondered if she
+had even then foreseen this trouble. A few tears came to relieve me,
+as I remembered her kind words. Betty espied them, and came in great
+trouble to wipe them away.
+
+"You must not cry, Margaret," said she, with quivering lips. "I can't
+bear to have you cry."
+
+"Then I wont," said I, recovering myself. "There, see, the tears are
+all gone away."
+
+"I am afraid they have only gone 'inside,'" said the dear child,
+regarding me wistfully. "I am afraid they will come out again by and
+by. You said, when I was ill the other day, that we might ask God to
+take our pains away, if He saw best. Why don't you ask Him to take your
+trouble away?"
+
+"Why, so I will!" I answered her. And I did put up a petition then and
+there for grace against anger and uncharitableness. I could not but
+think it was heard, for I grew more calm in spirit, and was able to
+think what I had better do.
+
+Betty was very sober all day, and at night, she added to her prayers,
+of her own accord, "Please take away Margaret's trouble, and make her
+happy again."
+
+The dear little loyal soul! I am sure of her love, at all events.
+
+It was a custom of my dear father's, when we did not have prayers in
+the church, after his voice began to fail, to say the Litany with his
+own family, every Wednesday and Friday; and I have kept up the custom
+of repeating the petitions on those days. As I did so that night,
+and especially at the prayer, "O God, Merciful Father," a wonderful
+quietness and peace seemed to come over me, and I felt like a grieved
+child hushed and quieted in its mother's arms. 'Twas as if an all but
+visible Presence filled and sanctified the room. When I had finished, I
+took up my Bible to read, as usual, and my eye lighted first on these
+words:
+
+   "'If thy brother trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault
+between thee and him alone. If he shall hear thee, then thou hast
+gained thy brother.'"
+
+"Surely," I thought, "this is the rule for me to follow. I will go at
+once to Lady Jemima, and lay the case before her fairly, and try to
+find out where the trouble lies."
+
+No sooner said than done. I knew Lady Jemima would be in her room and
+up, for she never goes to rest early. So I went and knocked at her
+door, and she bade me enter. I had not been in her room since her
+return, and I noticed some changes. She hath put a great crucifix over
+her reading-desk, and taken away the cushion and mats before it, as if
+she used to kneel on the bare boards; and she hath a fine picture of
+the Assumption, as they call it—assumption, indeed! 'Tis to be hoped
+the Blessed Virgin knows not the use made of her name. Lady Jemima was
+sitting reading by her table, and as she looked up and saw who it was
+at the door, she said, sharply enough:
+
+"Well, Mrs. Merton, what brings you hither at this time of night?"
+
+"I desire to see your Ladyship alone," I answered, "and I knew that I
+should find you so at this time, therefore I took the liberty to come."
+
+"Very well," said she, still very short. "What is your business? State
+it quickly, for I have no time to spend in idle talk."
+
+"I would fain know your Ladyship's interpretation of this text," I
+said, putting into her hands the Bible I had brought with me, and
+pointing to the text in St. Matthew, I had just read.
+
+She relaxed a little at my words, as I thought, and looked gratified,
+but colored scarlet as she looked at the text.
+
+"What should it mean, save just what it says?" she asked, with
+asperity, yet displaying a certain uneasiness. "'If any person hath
+done you a wrong, go first to him alone, and tell him his fault in all
+kindness.' I see nothing hard to understand in that. You are trifling
+with me, Mrs. Merton!"
+
+"By no means, Lady Jemima," said I; "I never was more in earnest in my
+life. 'Tis upon that very errand I have come, since you have not come
+to me. And I desire humbly to know what it is that you have so much
+against me, since your return."
+
+"I have not said that I had anything against you," she answered. "Why
+should you think I have?"
+
+"I would fain hope so," I answered her. "It would be lack of charity
+to think that you should treat me so unkindly, and strive to set my
+honored mistress against me, unless you had some cause for so doing."
+
+"How do you know that I have tried to set my sister against you?" she
+asked.
+
+"Because I heard you—much against my own will," I answered her; and
+then told her how it came about. "And I would fain know, my Lady, who
+hath so changed your mind toward me, or who hath traduced me to you?"
+
+"Nobody has traduced you!" she said, shortly.
+
+"But somebody has given you a bad character of me, I am sure," I said;
+"and I have a right, with all due respect, to ask who that person is."
+
+"It is one who has known you ever since you were born," said Lady
+Jemima, "since you must know; one on whom you have heaped many
+injuries, even to the driving her forth of her own home, among
+strangers, but who still wishes you well. She hath told me naught of
+your unkindness toward herself, though I can gather enough; nor did she
+tell me anything directly, till I asked her."
+
+"Felicia!" I exclaimed, enlightened all at once. "I see it all now.
+Felicia has been poisoning your Ladyship's mind against me."
+
+"My mind is not poisoned against you," she answered, coldly, "but
+I have learned enough of your rebellious temper, your disobedient
+carriage toward your parents, and your openly avowed heresies in
+religion, to make me aware that you are no fit companion for my
+brother's child. Felicia, as you disrespectfully call her, seems to
+me a most religious, and virtuous, and sweet young person, with a
+mind most open to receive the truth, and a most becoming modesty and
+deference,—a quality, Mrs. Merton, in which you yourself are very
+deficient, let me tell you. I saw some things in your conduct, even
+before I left home, which did not please me, and I am convinced that
+you are no fit person for your place."
+
+"May I ask what those things were, my Lady?" I asked.
+
+"Your flirting and coquetting with Mr. Penrose, for one thing,"
+answered Lady Jemima. "Yes, you may laugh as you please, but I have
+seen what passed. You know he is all but vowed to celibacy, and it
+would be a fine triumph to your Puritan notions, to make him false to
+his profession."
+
+"Lady Jemima," said I, feeling my cheeks flush in spite of me, "I know
+not why you call me a Puritan. I am an unworthy but faithful member of
+the Church of England. I love her ways, and desire her peace above all
+things; and whoever has told you to the contrary hath said falsely.
+Felicia was ever mine enemy, and hath made me all the trouble I have
+ever had in life, heretofore; and I believe she will not be content
+till she works my ruin."
+
+"You misjudge her much, and with great want of charity," interrupted
+Lady Jemima. "She desires naught but your good, and 'twas to that end
+she spoke to me about you, beseeching me to have an eye to you, that
+you did not get into mischief, or make mischief for others. 'Tis you
+who have injured her. As for her, I believe she would not hurt a fly."
+
+"I have known her nearly eighteen years, and your Ladyship not as many
+weeks," said I. "Which hath had the best opportunity of understanding
+her character?"
+
+"I am not apt to be deceived in my estimate of character," answered
+Lady Jemima, stiffly. "I said to myself the first time I ever saw you,
+'Here is one destined to make mischief,' and so you did, causing a
+misunderstanding between me and my sister the very first day you were
+in the house. But this is unprofitable," she added, catching herself
+up. "If you have no more to say, Mrs. Merton, I must pray you to
+retire, and leave me to my devotions."
+
+"I will do so," I answered, "first taking the liberty to tell your
+Ladyship a rule given me by my Lord the Bishop of Exeter, at my coming
+to this place: 'Never to do anything upon which you cannot ask the
+blessing of God.' Doubtless your Ladyship will ask His blessing on your
+attempts to undermine and defame an orphan girl, who is striving with
+all her might to do her duty in that station to which it hath pleased
+God to call her."
+
+So saying, I courtesied and shut the door. I thought she would have
+called me back, but she did not, and I returned to my room, feeling
+grieved, vexed, and discouraged, yet withal a little disposed to laugh.
+
+"Flirt with Mr. Penrose!" quoth I. "I would as soon flirt with that
+red, yellow, and blue Saint Austin in the chapel window. How can she be
+so absurd!"
+
+
+                                                _July 24._
+
+It seems I did not improve matters by my appeal to Lady Jemima. She
+will hardly speak to me at all now, and I know she doth not cease to
+prejudice others against me. Even Mrs. Judith grows rather cool, or
+so I fancy, at least; only my Lady is just the same. I should not say
+only, for Mr. Penrose is even kinder than ever, and Mrs. Corbet and her
+son treat me with as much consideration as though I were a relation
+of the family. But I can't help feeling the change very much, for I
+was fond of Lady Jemima, though I used sometimes to be vexed with her
+meddling ways. Besides, I "know" that I have done my best since I came
+here, and any one may see how much the child has gained.
+
+It is very hard, but I see no way but to bear it for the present, and
+that in silence. I cannot and will not trouble my dear Lady with any
+complaints, and I don't suppose she could help me, if I did. I have
+passed my promise to my Lady to stay for a year, unless I am sent away,
+and after all, my lot is not as hard as hers. As old Jane Betterton
+used to say at the end of her catalogue of troubles, to my father, "I
+hav'n't no old man to plague me, thank goodness!"
+
+I remember once, when dear father was teaching us Latin (and a kinder
+teacher sure never any one had), my growing terribly discouraged, and
+thinking I never should learn. Father comforted, instead of chiding me,
+when I burst out crying over Cæsar, his Commentaries, and told me that
+I had only come to the "hard place," that every one found just such a
+hard place in all serious undertakings, and if I would only do my best,
+and persevere, I should soon get past it, and find I had made a great
+step in advance; and so I did. I suppose I have now come to the hard
+place in my service, and if I can only live it over, I shall go on well
+again. If only I can be kept from wrong doing—but my natural temper is
+so warm, and I fear I have not made much progress in controlling it.
+
+I find it hardest to forgive Felicia. Her conduct seems so wantonly
+malicious—unless, indeed, she has grown tired of Aunt Willson, and
+wants the place herself. How she must have flattered Lady Jemima. I
+can see it all—how she hinted, and then drew back and let herself be
+questioned, and brought out her tale with seeming reluctance, and was
+so anxious all the time for my good. She is not at home to plague
+mother, that is one comfort, and she will never be able to hoodwink
+Aunt Willson, living, as she does, under the same roof.
+
+Well, well! "'Tis all in the day's work!" as Dick says, and we must
+take the bitter with the sweet. Oh, Dick, only to put my head down on
+thy honest shoulder, and tell all my troubles!
+
+
+                                                _July 25._
+
+Mr. Penrose preached this evening in the chapel, on charity. "The
+greatest of these is charity."
+
+He made a noble discourse, and spoke, methought, with some asperity of
+them that take up idle reports and are ready on the least evidence to
+believe evil of their fellows.
+
+I dared not glance at Lady Jemima, but I saw Mrs. Judith look rather
+uneasy, and after chapel she was unusually kind to me, and asked me to
+sup with her in her room, which I did. I thought she had something on
+her mind she wished to say, and at last it came out.
+
+"My dear, you are not a concealed Papist, are you?"
+
+"I must be very carefully concealed if I am, Mrs. Judith," I answered,
+laughingly; "for I have never even found it out myself. Whatever put it
+in your head to think me a Papist?"
+
+"Well, I will tell you," she answered, in a confidential tone, "though
+I am afraid you will be vexed. You see, when you were so very ill, I
+went one day to your cabinet to see if I could find any smelling-salts
+or the like, and there, lying with some other trinkets, I saw a silver
+medal with a picture of the Virgin thereon."
+
+"Yes," I answered, as she paused; "I know what you mean. A poor old
+woman at home gave it me for a keepsake."
+
+"Well, that was not all," continued Mrs. Judith. "I put my hand back in
+the recess to take up a bottle, I saw there, and I suppose I touched
+a spring, for a door opened at the back, and there lay a rosary and
+crucifix, and a little carven stone image of some saint or other."
+
+"I know nothing about that," I answered, surprised enough. "I did not
+know there was any such door. The things must have been there a very
+long time, I think. Did you take them out, Mrs. Judith?"
+
+"Not I, Mistress Merton!" answered the dear old woman. "I had no call
+to be prying into your secrets, if you have any. So I just laid matters
+as they were before, and locked the cabinet, that no one else should
+meddle. But oh, my dear, you are not a Papist nor a Puritan, are you?"
+
+I could not help laughing, but stopped, as I saw the tears in the old
+lady's eyes.
+
+"Dearest Mrs. Judith," said I, "I begin to think that I must be just in
+the right place, since Lady Jemima calls me a Puritan, and you think me
+a Papist. But I solemnly assure you I am neither Papist nor Puritan,
+Anabaptist nor Turk, nor do I worship the sun and moon, as Doctor
+Parnell says the old heathens used to do on the great barrow up on the
+moor. I am just a simple Churchwoman, as all my family have been. But
+Mrs. Judith, if you are so startled at seeing a little medal in my
+cabinet, what do you think of some other rooms in the house, and of the
+pictures, Mr. Penrose has just put up in the chapel?"
+
+"I like them not, my dear,—I like them not," said Mrs. Judith, shaking
+her head, solemnly. "It looks too much like bringing back the old
+religion for denying of which my grandfather died bravely at the stake.
+But I am so glad you are not a Papist! Do have some of this junket, now
+do, my dear heart! I made it with my own hands, and the clotted cream
+is an inch thick on the top."
+
+I was in no ways averse to the junket, and so all was well once more
+between Mrs. Judith and me. I cannot but note here what a different
+spirit in the two! Lady Jemima telling every one she can get to
+listen to her of the great discovery she fancies she has made to my
+disadvantage—Mrs. Judith locking up my cabinet, lest some one else
+should see what she had seen and I be injured thereby.
+
+I have been examining this said cabinet, and have found, not only the
+rosary and the little marble saint, but several other small matters,
+none of them of any great value, save a rose noble of King Henry's
+day. I carried them all to my Lady, but she bade me keep them if I
+liked, so I set the saint on the top of my cabinet. 'Tis a fair little
+image, carven in alabaster, perfect, but somewhat yellow with time,
+and represents a young maid with spindle and distaff, and a lamb by
+her side. Mr. Penrose says it is meant for St. Agnes, and has promised
+to find out her history for me. Poor little lady, she hath had a long
+and dark imprisonment, if, as my Lady supposes, she has been hid there
+since the early days of King James, but she looks very smiling. Lady
+Betty will have it that she is Una, with her milk-white lamb, about
+which I have read to her in Spenser in his "Faerie Queene."
+
+
+                                                _July 26._
+
+I can see that Mr. Penrose's sermon has done me no good with Lady
+Jemima, and only hurt himself with her. They were talking together a
+long time this morning, in the garden, and parted evidently ill-pleased
+with each other—I could see thus much from my window.
+
+This has been a great day for Betty. She has taken her first ride on
+the donkey, Thomas leading him, and I walking by her side. I held her
+at first, as she seemed rather timid, and I wanted her by no means to
+have a fright. But presently she gained more confidence and would ride
+alone. We did not go far the first day, for I did not wish her to be
+overtired, but she enjoyed herself wonderfully.
+
+Mr. Corbet joined us as we were returning up the avenue, and taking
+Thomas's place, led the donkey himself. He told me a great piece of
+news—namely, that the Bishop is coming here within a short time: Now I
+shall see whether he will remember me, or whether, as Felicia said, he
+has never given me a thought. Mr. Corbet looked grave and disturbed,
+and made somewhat absent answers to Betty's questions, which she
+remarking, he roused himself to be more attentive.
+
+"Some day, perhaps, Margaret and I shall come down to your house to see
+you, Cousin Walter," said Lady Betty. "I should love to see Corby-End,
+wouldn't you, Margaret?"
+
+"And Corby-End would love to see you," answered Mr. Corbet: "but maybe
+Mrs. Merton would find the walk long."
+
+"O no!" I answered. "I have been used to long walks, and I often walk
+down to the Parsonage."
+
+"Have you ever been down to the cliff?" asked Mr. Corbet.
+
+I told him that I had not, that I was rather frightened at the
+steepness of the path, and the roaring of the waterfall so near.
+
+"It looks more dangerous than it really is," said Mr. Corbet. "The
+little children from the Cove come up every day to school. 'Tis a hard
+walk for them, and but for seeming to interfere with Mrs. Ellenwood, I
+would set up a dame school down there for the little lads and maids.
+But I believe I should have few willing pupils. The children are all
+devoted to their present mistress, who is indeed an admirable person.
+But you must go down there some day, Mrs. Merton, and make acquaintance
+with my old friend, Uncle Jan Lee and his family. They are well worth
+knowing."
+
+At supper time, Mr. Corbet being present, my Lord asked him if he had
+seen Doctor Parnell, adding that to him the old man seemed failing.
+
+"I see that he is so, and I am very sorry," answered Mr. Corbet. "There
+are few better men than he. I would all parish clergymen were like him."
+
+"So would not I, though I like the old man well enough," replied my
+Lord. "He is too stiff-necked for me, and I like not his opposing
+of the Sunday sports on the Green. The King and the Archbishop have
+approved them, and what is good enough for his betters might, one would
+think, be good enough for him."
+
+"However, the Archbishop does not sanction them by his example," said
+Mr. Corbet.
+
+Thereupon ensued an argument on Sunday games in general, in which Mr.
+Corbet seemed to me to have much the best of it, he keeping cool,
+while my Lord grew very warm, and said the same thing over and over,
+not without some oaths better left out. Catching Mr. Corbet's eye, I
+ventured to glance toward my Lady, who I saw was uneasy, as she always
+is when there is danger of one of my Lord's tantrums. He took the hint
+at once, and smilingly changed the subject, by asking my Lord if he had
+heard, I know not what wonderful tale of a stag lately killed by Sir
+Thomas Fulton. My Lord opened on the scent of the stag directly, and so
+all ended well. Mr. Penrose was not present, nor Lady Jemima.
+
+After supper, Mr. Corbet came to me as I was passing through the hall,
+and said:
+
+"Thank you, Mrs. Merton, for the hint."
+
+"I fear you must think me too bold!" I answered, feeling my cheeks
+flush scarlet. "But a little thing disturbs my Lady nowadays."
+
+"I shall never think you aught but what you are," said he. "But tell
+me, how does this matter strike you?"
+
+I told him that I thought as he did—that such sports, even when
+harmless in themselves, were ill-suited to the Lord's day, which was
+needed for religious improvement, and meditation, and added that my
+father used to say that if masters were so anxious for the poor to have
+a holiday, it would be far better to give them time for recreation
+during the week than thus to run the risk of driving out in the
+afternoon all the religious impressions made in the morning.
+
+Just as I was saying good-night, my Lord came into the hall.
+
+"So, Master Watty, the Puritan, you have found some one to agree with
+your strait-laced notions!" said he. "Mrs. Merton, I dare say, can give
+you text for text and groan for groan. Come, Mrs. Merton, let us have a
+specimen of your power. Give us a text!"
+
+"I can think of but one at this minute, my Lord," I answered, I fear
+not in the meekest tone, "and that is this: 'Judge not, that ye be not
+judged!'"
+
+"Well put, Mistress Presician!" said my Lord, with a great laugh. "I
+see there is something within that can strike fire, after all. But I
+bid you beware, Walter. You are poaching on another man's manor."
+
+I waited to hear no more, but escaped and went to my child. I wish they
+would let me sup with her all the time. I suppose I shall do so next
+week, when the Bishop comes to stay.
+
+
+                                                _July 29._
+
+This day we were returning up one of the paths in the chase. Betty had
+taken quite a long ride, and was full of the wonderful things she had
+seen, especially of the ruins of the old abbey. She was talking with
+great animation, when, at a turn in the road, we met my Lord. One can
+never be sure of his mood, and I am always rather uneasy when Betty
+encounters her father, but he was in high good humor this day, having
+been angling and met with great success.
+
+"Hey-day! Whom have we here?" he exclaimed. "Surely this bold
+horse-woman, or donkey-woman, can never be Betty! Why, what change has
+come over you, child? Hold up your head and let me look at you!"
+
+Smiling and blushing, Lady Betty held up her head. She did really look
+wonderfully pretty.
+
+"Why, the fairies have been at work with you, Betty!" said my Lord. "I
+never in all my life saw such a change! But can you walk as well as
+ride?"
+
+"O yes, papa!" answered the child. "I can run a little, too, and I have
+learned to read and to write, and I sleep almost all night, now. I did
+not hear the clock strike but twice last night."
+
+"But what is it?" questioned my Lord. "What medicines have you given
+her?"
+
+I told him that I had given no medicines except change of air,
+exercise, and amusement. That I had in fact treated Lady Betty just as
+my mother had treated her own younger children, and I hoped with like
+good results. I added that I thought, unless she had some new drawback,
+Lady Betty might yet grow up to be a healthy woman.
+
+He muttered somewhat to himself, and then turned to Betty again, asking
+her about her ride, and telling her she should have a pony some day.
+
+"I did not think you could sit so straight," said he.
+
+Betty straightened up still more at the words and looked so much
+pleased that I think my Lord's heart was touched. He kissed her, a
+thing I never saw him do before, told her to be a good maid, and get
+well as fast as she could. And then turning to me, he said, with real
+feeling and dignity:
+
+"I thank you heartily, Mrs. Margaret Merton, for what you have done for
+the child, and you shall find that I do. I could not have thought such
+a change would be wrought in so short a time. It was a good day, as my
+Lady says, that brought you to us. Only mind," he added, relapsing into
+his usual manner, "mind you teach her none of your new-light notions.
+I will not have her made a Puritan, no, not if she never sets foot to
+ground again."
+
+"What is a Puritan, papa?" asked Lady Betty.
+
+"A Puritan, child? How shall I tell you? A Puritan is one who sings
+naught but Psalms through his nose, and wears his hair cropped close,
+and is always turning up his eyes, and hates king and church, and
+thinks a play-book, or a romance, or a dance round the May-pole, worse
+than the devil himself."
+
+"Then I am sure Margaret is not a Puritan!" said Betty, eagerly. "For
+she sings me all sorts of merry songs, and not through her nose at all,
+and she has beautiful long hair, almost down to her feet, and she makes
+me say a prayer for the king and queen every day. And she is teaching
+me the Catechism, and she does not hate all romances or play-books, for
+she has 'The Faerie Queene,' and some of Mr. Shakespeare's plays in her
+room, and she read one to me, all about Puck and Titania, and some poor
+men that played a play before the Duke—what is its name, Margaret?"
+
+"'The Midsummer Night's Dream,'" I told her.
+
+"And she can dance beside, for she showed me how her mother taught her
+to dance the Corants," continued Betty, eagerly. "So, you see, she
+cannot be a Puritan!"
+
+"Argued point by point, like a good advocate," said my Lord, laughing.
+"Well, well, child, you do well to speak up for your friend. I dare say
+it is all nonsense what your aunt says."
+
+And with that he bade us good morning, and went on his way whistling.
+
+
+                                                _August 1._
+
+Dear good Doctor Parnell died this morning, just at sunrise. He has
+been ailing for some days, but it was only yesterday that they thought
+him near his end. Mr. Corbet and Mr. Penrose sat up with him all night.
+He did not sleep much, but spoke many times, sometimes of his sister,
+whom he solemnly commended to Mr. Corbet's care, sometimes of the
+parish, and again of the joys of heaven, where he seemed, Mr. Penrose
+said, to feel himself already translated. He thought of everybody, and
+even sent me, by Mr. Penrose, his parting blessing, and a little book
+of devotions.
+
+He died just as the sun was rising, commending his soul to God, without
+any appearance of fear or anxiety. Mr. Penrose, telling me the story,
+was affected even to tears, and I wept with him, feeling that I had
+lost a friend.
+
+I went down to-day to bid him a last farewell, and to see Mistress
+Parnell. She is as it were stunned by the blow. She said to me:
+
+"I am several years older than my brother and I had arranged everything
+for my leaving him, but I never once thought of his going first and
+leaving me. Ah well, I am thankful that in the course of nature I
+cannot be long behind him. Mr. Penrose is a good young man, and I think
+he will be kind to the poor folks."
+
+"Mr. Penrose!" said I. And then it came out that my Lord had promised
+the living to Mr. Penrose. It is a great piece of preferment for so
+young a man, the living being a very good one; and I am glad he is so
+well provided for.
+
+My Lord joked with him a little, at supper, and said somewhat about a
+mistress for the parsonage; at which Lady Jemima said hotly enough,
+that Mr. Penrose was not a marrying priest. He cast a glance at her, as
+if he were not over well-pleased by her interference, and said, very
+soberly, that he counted not the house his own, so long as the corpse
+of its former master lay under its roof, and therefore he had no need
+to take any order about a mistress for the same as yet. Whereat my
+Lady smiled approvingly, and my Lord seemed somewhat dashed. I thought
+it was very prettily said of him, for my part. I wish he had a good
+sensible wife. He would not have nearly so many absurd quiddities if he
+were married.
+
+
+                                                _August 4._
+
+Doctor Parnell was buried this day—in the church-yard, as he desired,
+and in a spot which he himself selected long ago. Mistress Parnell told
+me afterward it was by the side of a young lady, a cousin of the Mrs.
+Corbet that then was, who died more than forty years ago. It seems
+there were some love passages between them, but she being caught in
+a heavy storm of rain, took a quick consumption and died, her lover
+attending her, and cheering her last moments by his prayers. Since that
+time he would never hear of taking a wife, though some of good family
+were proposed to him, he being accounted rich, but he would have none
+of them, though he was a great promoter of marriage in the parish, and
+always made the brides a present. Methought a pretty story of constancy.
+
+
+                                                _August 6._
+
+Here is a change of affairs with a witness! Mr. Penrose has made up his
+mind with respect to a mistress for the parsonage, and upon whom should
+his choice fall but on my unworthy self. I never was so astounded in
+all my life, as when my Lady told me (for he broke the matter to her in
+the first place). And I told her I thought she must be mistaken, that
+he must have meant somebody else.
+
+"I hardly know who else he could mean, unless you think Lady Jemima
+was the person," answered my Lady, smiling. "Besides, he was quite too
+explicit, and too much in earnest to leave room for a mistake. 'Tis
+your own little self he wants, sweetheart, and nobody else."
+
+"Then, my Lady, 'his want must be his master,' as they say in our
+country," I said. "I cannot marry Mr. Penrose."
+
+"Bethink you this is a grave matter," said my Lady. "Here, sit you down
+and let us talk it over reasonably."
+
+We were talking in her closet, and I sat down, not on the chair beside
+her, but on a hassock at her feet. I was glad of the permission,
+for what with excitement and some other feeling, I know not what, I
+trembled from head to foot.
+
+"Bethink you well; this is a grave matter," repeated my Lady. "Mr.
+Penrose is an excellent man, and a gentleman. He hath now a good
+living, and you will have such a settlement for life as belongs to few
+at your age."
+
+"I know it, my Lady," I answered, as she seemed to pause for a reply.
+"I know all that, and that it is an offer far above my deserts, but I
+cannot marry him."
+
+"But, sweetheart, have you never given Mr. Penrose cause to think that
+you would marry him—at the least that you were not averse to him?" said
+my Lady.
+
+"No, madam, that I have not, I am sure," I answered, eagerly. "How
+could I, when I no more expected such an offer from him, than from St.
+Thomas of Canterbury, in the chancel window? I never even thought of
+such a thing, till Lady Jemima accused me of flirting with him; and
+since then I have seen Mr. Penrose hardly at all. Indeed, my Lady, I
+have given him no reason, and he is a coxcomb if he says I have!"
+
+"Gently, gently!" said my Lady, laughingly (which she does but rarely).
+"Why, what a little pepper-pot it is, after all! Mr. Penrose neither
+said nor hinted aught of the kind, so you need not be so hot against
+him. 'Tis no insult, sure, for a good gentleman to wish to marry you."
+
+"I beg your pardon, my Lady," I faltered. And then, like a great baby,
+I burst out crying, and sobbed, "O mother, mother! I want my own
+mother!"
+
+Instead of chiding me, as I deserved, my dear Lady laid my head against
+her knee, and kissed and soothed me, till I was able to recover some
+self-control. Then she asked me again, what objection I had to Mr.
+Penrose.
+
+"I don't know that I have any particular objection, my Lady, only that
+he is Mr. Penrose," I answered. "I liked him well enough till he wanted
+to marry me, and now I cannot bear him. Beside, my Lady, I cannot leave
+you and Lady Betty. I am promised to you for a year, at least. Oh, my
+Lady, don't turn against me and send me away! Indeed, the stories about
+me are not true. I am no Puritan, and—" I found the tears were coming
+again, so I checked myself and said no more.
+
+"I have no wish to get rid of you, Margaret," answered my Lady, gravely
+and kindly. "I have seen no fault in you myself, and I pay no heed
+to idle tales. 'Tis true I have written to your Aunt Willson about
+the matter, but only that I might have the better means of defending
+you. It is my most earnest wish that you should continue my child's
+governess as long as she wants one. But, at the same time, I would not
+selfishly stand in the way of your prosperity. I know it is not as
+pleasant to you here, as it has been, and it will be still less so if I
+am taken away. You may never have such another offer, and I want you to
+do what is best for yourself."
+
+"I cannot marry Mr. Penrose, my Lady, if I should never have another
+offer in all my life," I answered. "I have no wish but to live with
+you, and take care of Lady Betty. And if things are not quite so
+pleasant now, I dare say they will come round again, and if they do
+not, why I must expect some trouble as well as other folk. ''Tis all in
+the day's work!' as brother Richard says."
+
+"But would not brother Richard say that ''twas in the day's work' to
+marry and settle when so good an offer came in your way?" asked my Lady.
+
+"No, madam, I think not," I answered. "Richard gave up all his own
+plans in life that he might help dear mother, and I came here to do the
+same thing. I am sure he would say I ought to consider her more than
+myself."
+
+"But, see you not, sweetheart, that this marriage would put you in a
+better position to help your mother than you are now?" argued my Lady.
+"What with his place as chaplain, which he is still to keep, and his
+living, Mr. Penrose will be well to do, and he is like to rise, holding
+as he does in all things with the Archbishop, who is all-powerful
+nowadays. He will be able greatly to help your mother and the younger
+children."
+
+"Able is one thing, and willing is another, my Lady!" I answered. "'Tis
+not every man who would wish to be burdened with his wife's family, nor
+should I like to ask my husband to support my mother. I would rather do
+it myself."
+
+"I am afraid you are very proud, Margaret," said my Lady, shaking her
+head.
+
+"Perhaps so, my Lady," I answered. "But I pray you, dear Lady, do not
+urge me farther. I am greatly beholden to Mr. Penrose for his offer,"
+(I am afraid this was a fib. I did not feel beholden to him at all, but
+very much as if I should love to box his ears for him) "but I never can
+marry him in the world."
+
+"Well, well, you shall not be urged," said my Lady. "I will tell him
+what you say, but I feel sure he will not be satisfied without talking
+to yourself. And, Margaret, let me add one thing more. My Lord hath
+gotten hold of this matter—through no good-will of mine, but by Mr.
+Penrose's bad management; and 'tis like he may rally you upon it. Do
+not you get angry if he does, but laugh in your turn. Learn to rule
+that fire within, and it will save you a great deal of trouble, my
+little one."
+
+She bent and kissed me as she spoke, and I kissed her beautiful hand.
+"Oh, my dear Lady!" I said, out of the fulness of my heart, "if I could
+only do anything to return or requite your goodness to me!"
+
+"Then I will tell you what you may do," said she, smiling. "I am going
+to spend the day at Corby-End with my cousins, and you may take the
+opportunity to look over all my laces and lay out those which-need
+repairing. The work is too fine for Brewster's eyes, and I know
+you love to do it. Bring Betty in here and let her superintend the
+operation."
+
+I knew Betty would be delighted with the change, and I was glad to hear
+that I need not meet my Lord for one day, at least.
+
+So Betty and I spent the morning very comfortably, and I got quite
+cooled down over the laces, and was able to look at the matter
+reasonably. I am ashamed now to think how foolishly I behaved, and how
+absurd it was in me to be so angry with poor Mr. Penrose. I am sure it
+was kind of him to think of me. All the same, I would never marry him
+if there were not another man in all the world. I only hope he will
+take my Lady's word for it, and not desire to see me himself.
+
+
+                                                _August 8._
+
+It turned out as my Lady said. Mr. Penrose would not be satisfied
+without talking with me himself, and trying to move my resolution. He
+used many arguments, as the advantage to my family, my having such a
+pleasant home near to my Lady, chances of usefulness in the parish, and
+so on, till at last I lost patience a little, and said:
+
+"Mr. Penrose, you are but wasting your breath. If I loved you as I am
+sure a woman ought to love the man she marries, I should need none of
+these persuasions, and as I love you not, they are all thrown away."
+
+"You think, then, that I could not make you happy?" said he. "I know I
+am faulty, and that you have often seen me peevish, but I would do my
+best, Margaret."
+
+"I don't doubt you would," I answered him. "As for your faults, if I
+loved you at all, I know I should love you none the less for them,
+but perhaps all the more. But I have seen married life—only from the
+outside, 'tis true—and I am sure the trials of temper which come in
+the happiest marriage, would be too much for me, unless I—Well, the
+whole of the matter is, Mr. Penrose, I cannot think of it. I am sorry
+if I have been to blame, but I do assure you solemnly that till my Lady
+broke it to me, I no more thought of your wanting me, than I did of
+being Queen of England."
+
+"You have not been to blame," said Mr. Penrose, abruptly. "Nothing is
+to be blamed but my own miserable folly in thinking that one such as
+you could ever fancy such a lout as I am."
+
+"Now you are just as far the other way," said I. "You are quite my
+equal in every respect, and very much my superior in most things. I am
+greatly honored by your regard, and do really wish that I could return
+it. You must see that I should have everything to gain, if I did, and
+therefore you should allow that my refusal is disinterested. Besides,
+even if I did, there is another lion in the way. I have promised my
+Lady, in the most solemn manner, not to leave Lady Betty for at least a
+year."
+
+I was sorry I said as much, for he caught at it directly.
+
+"Then you will wait that time before coming to a final decision. You
+will let me try to change your mind. I promise you that you shall not
+be urged or annoyed in any way. Only wait a year before quite deciding."
+
+"I do not feel that a year will make the least difference," said I,
+feeling vexed at him and at myself. "I wish you would put the matter
+out of your head, and marry somebody else."
+
+"I shall never marry anybody else," said he, flashing up. "It may be
+this disappointment is a punishment laid upon me for entertaining the
+notion of marriage at all. I suppose Lady Jemima would say so."
+
+"Never mind Lady Jemima, but follow your own good sense, Mr. Penrose,"
+said I. "Do you think if marriage had been such a sin, so many of the
+apostles would have married? I hope to see you well settled with a wife
+yet, and as happy as you deserve to be in your own family. Then I will
+come and see you, and be Aunt Margaret to every one, though Lady Betty
+says aunts are always cross."
+
+He smiled faintly, kissed my hand, and went away looking very
+crestfallen, and I went back to my room, and had a good cry, partly
+because I was sorry for him, partly, I believe, because I was a little
+sorry for myself. He is a good man, that I am sure of, and a gentleman
+bred as well as born, which is more than one can say for some folks;
+and the parsonage is so nice, and then it would be so pleasant to have
+a home to which I could ask dear mother. I shall never have another so
+good a chance of settling in life to advantage.
+
+But after all, I feel that I never can bring my mind to marry Mr.
+Penrose. I could as soon sell myself for a slave. And I should not make
+him happy, either. I feel sure that all the good would die out of me,
+and all the evil increase tenfold. I could never ask God's blessing on
+such a marriage.
+
+When I went back to Lady Betty, I found her in tears, and Mary in
+vain trying to pacify her. It seems the story of Mr. Penrose's offer
+has gone all through the household (thanks, I must say, to his own
+awkwardness in the matter), and Mary, who, with her good qualities, is
+somewhat of a gossip, had been telling Betty, thinking, to be sure, the
+child would be delighted.
+
+As soon as I came near, Betty threw her arms round my neck, and sobbed
+out, "O Margaret, don't go away and leave me! I shall die if you do!"
+
+"But, Lady Betty, Mrs. Merton will be no farther away than the
+parsonage, and you can ride down to see her on your donkey," said Mary.
+
+"I wont!" cried Betty, in something of her old tone. "I will never go
+near the parsonage!"
+
+"You had better wait till you are asked, my dear!" said I, a little
+sharply. "If you do not go thither till you go to see me, it will be a
+long time first. Mary, you would do much better to be about your work,
+than to be gossipping about my affairs. You have made the bed very ill,
+and the hangings are all in strings, nor have you put away your Lady's
+clothes, nor dusted properly. And you, Lady Betty, have neglected your
+lesson to hear and fret yourself over this idle matter. If you do so
+again, I shall set you a double task."
+
+Dick used to say, laughing, that I could be awfully dignified when
+I chose, and I suppose I was so now, for poor Mary looked very much
+scared, and began to make apologies, but I cut her short.
+
+"I wish to hear no more," said I. "Do your work over, and do it
+properly, and another time remember that my affairs are not yours. Lady
+Betty, you can bring your book into the gallery, and learn your lesson
+there, till this room is fit for you!"
+
+Lady Betty took her book and followed me, meekly enough.
+
+As I closed the door, I heard Mary say to herself, in a tone of wonder:
+
+"O dear! Then she don't mean to have the parson, after all!"
+
+I set a chair for Betty in her favorite window, and took my place
+beside her with my embroidery.
+
+After a little Lady Betty said, timidly, "You are not vexed with me,
+are you, Margaret?"
+
+"Yes, I am!" I answered. "'Twas not like a little lady to let Mary
+gossip to you about me and Mr. Penrose. My Lady, your mother, would be
+ill-pleased if she knew you had done such a thing. I shall not tell
+her, but you must never do so again. Come now, learn your lesson, and
+then we will go out into the chase."
+
+Mr. Corbet joined us in the chase. I think he must have seen that
+something was the matter, but he made no allusion to it. On the
+contrary, he began telling Betty stories of his travels and the wonders
+he hath seen, and soon effectually diverted not only her but myself.
+He hath been to America two or three times, and hath seen the place
+whither so many colonists are now going. He says it is a fair land
+and fertile enough, but that the winters are long and severe, and the
+perils many, both from savages and wild beasts. Yet more and more
+people go thither every year, and he thinks that in time the settlement
+may be one of considerable importance.
+
+"What sort of people go thither?" I asked him.
+
+"Mostly people of substance and good character," he answered. "None
+of very high rank, that I have heard of, but many gentlemen have gone
+from this country, and more substantial yeomen and tradesmen, but all
+of the sort called Puritans. A good many of the descendants of the
+French Huguenots have also joined them, driven out by this new edict
+concerning their worship, and obliging them to conform. The Court is
+doing here what Mazarin hath done in France, namely, sending away the
+wealth and industry of the country to enrich foreign lands. However,
+in this case, it may turn to good in the end, for I believe the trade
+to North America will in time grow so great as to be valuable to the
+mother country."
+
+"Think you that the Church of England will be benefited by these
+extreme measures?" I ventured to ask him.
+
+"So far from it that she hath need to pray that she may be delivered
+from the foes of her own household," said he. "But that I believe her
+to be founded on the rock of Divine Truth, I should despair of her
+cause, and think the dark ages were coming back again."
+
+"Yet the Archbishop professes a great hatred of popery!" I said. "They
+say he hath refused a cardinal's hat more than once."
+
+"The Archbishop thinks mayhap that he would rather be King of Brentford
+than Lackey in London!" said Mr. Corbet, dryly. "What signifies lacking
+the name, if we have all the worst errors of the thing? I would as soon
+have an Italian Pope as an English one, and the Star Chamber seems like
+to rival the Inquisition in its cruelties. But we will talk no more of
+these grave matters now," he added, seeing Betty's eyes wide open. "I
+wonder if she ever heard the story of how Will Atkins and I saved the
+Indian woman's babe from the lion?"
+
+Betty had never heard the tale, and "did seriously her ear incline,"
+like Desdemona in the play. If she were older—but she is only a child,
+and it can do no harm. Only for her misfortune, it would be a good
+marriage—but then Mr. Corbet is past thirty—nearer forty, I should say.
+He tells a story better than any one I ever heard, neither speaking
+too much of himself nor affecting a false modesty. He hath read and
+reflected much, as well as seen a great deal of the world, but Mrs.
+Judith says the Corbets are naturally scholars. The families have been
+so much mixed up with intermarriages and constant intercourse that I
+should think it would be hard to tell which was Corbet and which was
+Stanton.
+
+When the tale of the lion was ended ('tis not a true lion, either, Mr.
+Corbet says, but a much smaller, though very fierce beast), I told
+Betty it was time to go in, and Mr. Corbet took his leave.
+
+I dined in the nursery, but went down to supper, where I had to meet
+my Lord's jokes, as I expected, but he was in a good humor, and more
+inclined, I thought, to be merry at his sister's expense than at mine,
+reminding her of what she had said about Mr. Penrose not being a
+marrying priest, and telling her that her turn would come next. Whereat
+she was very angry, which only led him on to tease her the more. Then
+he turned to me, and swore I was a fool not to have the parson, adding
+that he would have put the parsonage in good order for me, but he would
+not touch it for Mr. Penrose. It was good enough for a bachelor.
+
+"Perhaps Margaret may think better of it," said my Lady. "She is but
+young, and she is promised to me for a year at least. There is no time
+lost. She is not yet eighteen."
+
+"Nay, that is not fair—to keep the poor fish on your hook so long,
+Margaret!" said my Lord. "Either land him or let him go."
+
+"No fear of her landing him!" remarked Lady Jemima, with a sneer. "She
+is angling for higher game. She fishes for salmon, not for trout."
+
+I felt my face grow scarlet, but I would not say a word. My Lord looked
+from one to another.
+
+"What do you mean?" he asked, wonderingly.
+
+"Mr. Corbet finds the chase wondrous attractive of mornings!" returned
+Lady Jemima, with another sneer. "He is very fond of poor Betty's
+society, nowadays. 'Birds of a feather flock together,' they say!"
+
+"So! I take your meaning," said my Lord. "Is that true, Mrs. Merton,
+that you are setting your cap at my cousin, and think Corby-End at
+present, and Stanton Court in reversion, mayhap, better than Stanton
+Parsonage? Is that Jem's meaning?"
+
+"What Lady Jemima means she can perhaps explain herself," said I,
+rising from the table. "Meantime, I must beg your Ladyship's permission
+to retire, and henceforth to take my meals with Lady Betty in the
+nursery, or with Mrs. Judith. There at least I shall be safe from
+insult!"
+
+My Lord stared a moment, and then burst out into one of his great
+laughs.
+
+"Gad-a-mercy, what a firebrand it is!" said he, as soon as he could
+speak. "Who could think gentle Mrs. Merton could look so like a queen
+of tragedy! Nay, nay, sit you down, my maid, and finish your supper,
+and nobody shall affront you. What, then! I must have my joke, you
+know, and, if Wat did make love to you under pretext of caring for the
+child, it would not be the first time such a thing has chanced. Many a
+long dull sermon have I sat out under my wife's uncle the Bishop, that
+I might have the pleasure of sitting next her, and reading from the
+same book. Come now, sit down again, and care you not for my jokes nor
+for sister Jem's sour grapes!"
+
+"You are blind, brother, utterly blind!" said Lady Jemima, as I resumed
+my seat, feeling rather ashamed of my outburst.
+
+"And you are spiteful, Jem!" retorted my Lord. "You need not grudge
+every other woman a sweetheart because you have none!"
+
+It was now Lady Jemima's turn to leave the table, which she did, and
+the room too, slamming the door with some force behind her. My Lord
+laughed again, and fell to talking to my Lady of the days of their
+first acquaintance at King James' Court.
+
+After supper, he challenged me to play backgammon with him, and so I
+did. He was very kind, and even courtly, as he knows how to be well
+enough. Only at my going away, he detained me, and said, very seriously:
+
+"One word, my maid. Do not you lose your heart to Mr. Corbet. He is the
+next heir to the Earldom, and like to be lord of all, should my Lady
+miscarry, which heaven forbid, and he must marry according to his rank.
+I believe not my sister's words have anything in them, but 'forewarned
+is forearmed,' you know. You are a good girl, I truly believe, and my
+Lady loves and trusts you, and if for no other reason, I would be loth
+to have any trouble arise."
+
+"You need not fear me, my Lord," I answered. "I am but a poor
+governess, 'tis true, but I am a gentlewoman born and bred, as much so
+in my station as Lady Jemima in hers, and I do not think I am like to
+forget what is due to myself, even if I did not remember my duty to
+your Lordship's family."
+
+"'Tis well said," answered my Lord, seeming no way displeased by my
+frankness. "I like your spirit. As for Penrose, you shall not be teased
+about him. He is a good fellow, and I should be well-pleased to see him
+fitted with as good a wife as yourself; besides that I can't but enjoy
+the joke of the thing. But 'tis early times yet, and he can afford to
+wait. Come, you bear me no malice, do you?"
+
+I never liked my Lord so well, and was very willing to part good
+friends with him. As for Lady Jemima, I can hardly think of her with
+patience, much less forgive her. Yet I must, or what will become of me?
+
+When I put Lady Betty to bed, she put her arms round my neck and
+whispered in my ear:
+
+"Please don't be angry, Margaret, but you wont marry Mr. Penrose, will
+you?"
+
+"I will marry the man in the moon, and go and live with him upon green
+cheese, if I hear another word about the matter," said I. "Or I will
+run away in the first ship to America, paint my face all over red
+stripes, and wed the king of the Neponsets."
+
+Betty laughed, and so did I, but my heart hath been heavy enough since.
+Here is Betty deprived of one of her greatest pleasures (and she has
+few enough, poor child) that of hearing her cousin's tales and playing
+with him, and all mine own ease and comfort spoiled, all because of
+Lady Jemima's spiteful words—for spiteful they were. Ah me! My day's
+work is like to be a hard one—too hard, I fear, for my strength.
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+_THE BISHOP'S VISIT._
+
+                                                _August 10._
+
+THE Bishop hath really come, and I have seen him and heard him preach.
+He was to arrive yesterday, and for three or four days, Mrs. Judith
+has been as busy as a bee, making up extra beds, airing rooms, and
+superintending the cooking of all sorts of nice things. I had myself
+the honor of making some almond tarts after dear mother's own receipt,
+which turned out very well.
+
+Well, the Bishop came at last, and with no such great retinue,
+either—only his necessary servants, his chaplain and secretary. Betty
+and I peeped out of the window and saw him alight. I think Betty was
+rather disappointed, for she said gravely: "I should never have taken
+him for a Bishop. He looks just like any other clergyman, for aught I
+see."
+
+My Lady would have me go down to supper, which I had not expected
+or exactly wished to do, knowing that I should have to sit next Mr.
+Penrose. However, my Lady's least wish is law to me, so I dressed
+myself all in my best, and went down. Mr. Penrose, however, sat farther
+up the table than his old seat, and so I was put next the Bishop's
+chaplain, a very handsome, modest young man, who hardly opened his
+lips. His name I believe is Tailor, and the Bishop thinks him a person
+of much promise. The Bishop sat near the head of the table, at my
+Lady's right hand. I saw him looking down the table, and as he caught
+my eye, he bowed to me and smiled, yet without speaking at that moment.
+
+Mr. Corbet, who sat near me, looked surprised. I have never said
+anything about my former acquaintance with my Lord to any one but my
+Lady and Lady Jemima, and I believe the latter thought I made more of
+the matter than there really was, for she too looked surprised, and
+then scornful. In a little pause of the conversation, the Bishop said
+to my Lady:
+
+"I am glad to meet at your table, a young friend of mine, Mrs. Merton.
+Mistress Margaret Merton, I hope you are in good health," he added,
+turning to me.
+
+I answered as well as I could, though feeling rather embarrassed
+at having the eyes of all the table turned upon me. He then asked
+after the health of my mother and brother, and said he would see
+me again. There is an indescribable charm in his voice and manner.
+He is wonderfully polished and courtly, yet with no appearance of
+insincerity, or an effort to please. Even Lady Jemima, who has a fixed
+prejudice against him, and who had come down looking as black and as
+stiff as one of the clipped yews in the garden, relaxed and became
+quite gracious under his influence.
+
+Lady Betty had for some time been begging that she might go to chapel
+when the Bishop came, and my Lord being in high good humor to-day, I
+ventured to ask permission. He hesitated a little, but finally said:
+
+"Yes, if she likes. I suppose she will have to show sometime. After all
+'tis not her fault, poor little thing, and she may improve with time."
+
+"She is much improved now," I said, feeling, God forgive me, a kind of
+disgust for him—a father ashamed of his own unfortunate daughter.
+
+"Do you think she will ever be straight again?" he asked, eagerly. "I
+was surprised to see her sit up so well the other day."
+
+"I do not think her backbone can ever come straight again," I answered,
+"but she grows stronger every day, and the deformity will be less
+noticeable. I am not sure, but I think she is growing taller also, and
+your Lordship must allow that she has a beautiful face. She would be
+observed anywhere."
+
+"That is true, too," he said. "I noticed it the other day. Well, well,
+do the best you can for her, Margaret, and let her have her way in
+this, since her heart is set upon it. It would be natural enough for
+her to take to religion, wouldn't it?"
+
+I told him I thought it was natural enough for any one, especially any
+one in affliction.
+
+"That's because you are a woman," he answered, tapping my cheek, as he
+does sometimes, but not in any offensive way. I will do my Lord the
+justice to say, that loud and careless, and hectoring as he often is,
+he is polite to the point of chivalry to every woman about the house or
+place, aye, and respectful, too. "Here, wait a moment."
+
+He turned from me and began searching in his cabinet, and presently
+brought out a book splendidly bound in gold and blue velvet, though
+somewhat faded.
+
+"Here, give this to Bess, with my love," said he. "It was her
+grandame's book, given her by the queen that then was, and I have
+always meant the child to have it. Tell her, her father sends it, and
+bids her be as good as her grandame was."
+
+I was more pleased than if he had given it to myself, for I knew that
+such a message and token of remembrance from her father, would make the
+poor child happy for a week. She worships her father with a devotion
+which I must say he neither understands nor deserves.
+
+We looked the book over together, and were delighted to find on the
+fly-leaf, the bold, plain writing of the great queen herself. It seems
+Lady Stanton was her god-daughter.
+
+Well, at the due time, or rather a little before it, Thomas carried my
+little lady down and set her in a comfortable corner, and I took my
+place beside her, as my Lady had told me.
+
+"Why do you not take your usual seat, Mrs. Merton?" asked Lady Jemima,
+who was placing some flowers on the high altar, as she calls the
+communion table.
+
+I told her that my Lady had desired me to sit by Lady Betty.
+
+"You had better take your usual place," said she. "I will myself sit by
+Lady Betty, and see that she behaves properly."
+
+I knew that this would never do in the world.
+
+"With submission, Lady Jemima, I think it best to obey my Lady's
+orders," said I, as respectfully as I knew how. "She will not be
+pleased if I do not." And to avoid any further words, I took my place
+directly, and knelt down to say my prayer, so that she could not
+decently interrupt me.
+
+The company came in directly, and, with our own servants, made a good
+congregation. Lady Betty was as good and reverent as a child could be,
+only she did not kneel, which was not her fault.
+
+The Bishop's chaplain read prayers without any of the extravagant
+gestures of devotion which Mr. Penrose is apt to use, but as my father
+used to do, and with a voice so full, so musical, and withal so devout
+and reverent, that it was a pleasure only to listen, and would have
+been had he read in a foreign tongue. The Bishop spoke a few words of
+exhortation on a text from the Psalms.
+
+When prayers were over, I whispered Lady Betty to sit still till Thomas
+came for her. As I stood by her, partly screening her from observation,
+the Bishop drew near. He was talking with my Lady, and at first did not
+see me, but presently turned round, and smiled as his eye met mine.
+
+"Will you not present me to your little daughter, madam?" he said to my
+Lady, who presented Lady Betty, and then me, in due form. He sat down
+by the child, and spoke kindly to her, asking her if she loved coming
+to church.
+
+"I like it very much," answered Betty, who does not know what shyness
+means. "I never came before, and I asked mamma to let me to-night,
+because I wished to see you, and hear you."
+
+His Lordship smiled, and said it was a pretty compliment. "But I think
+you would like to come every day, would you not?"
+
+"Yes, when my back does not ache," said Betty, "but I wanted to hear
+you because Margaret told me about you, and how kind you had been to
+her and her mother. I love Margaret, and I love everybody that is kind
+to her."
+
+"Why, that's well said, my daughter," returned the Bishop. "You do well
+to love Mistress Merton, who deserves your regard. I doubt not but she
+is a good governess, for she has been a dutiful daughter, and a kind
+sister, as I know."
+
+These praises were very sweet to me, and all the more as Lady Jemima
+stood by and heard them. She looked very scornful, and presently asked
+the Bishop, rather pointedly, if he knew my kinswoman, Mistress Felicia
+Merton. He looked surprised, and said he believed he saw her in church
+with the family, but that was all.
+
+"No doubt she was cleverly kept in the background," murmured Lady
+Jemima, not so low but I heard her, and so did the Bishop also, I am
+sure, from the way he glanced at her, as he said:
+
+"My first meeting with Mrs. Merton and her brother was purely
+accidental and fortuitous. I came across them in the church, and
+having been uncivil enough to listen to their conversation, was so
+much interested in it as to desire to improve the acquaintance. I had
+afterwards some dealings with their mother in the way of business, and
+now I think of it, I saw a young gentlewoman, whom Mistress Merton
+presented to me as her husband's sister. If I mistake not, your mother
+told me she was not going to remain with her."
+
+I told him no, she had gone to live with an aunt in London, Mrs.
+Willson by name.
+
+"What!" said his Lordship. "Not my old acquaintance Mrs. Willson, widow
+of the bookseller and stationer, living near St. Paul's church-yard?"
+
+I told him my aunt's husband had been a bookseller, and that she had
+still an interest in the business, and lived I knew near St. Paul's;
+and added that she had been very generous, not only to Felicia, but to
+all the family.
+
+"I know the good woman well," said the Bishop, "for good she is in
+every sense of the word. We must talk over our mutual friends, Mrs.
+Merton. I will see you again."
+
+I can see that every one thinks it a great matter that I should receive
+so much notice from the Bishop. Mrs. Judith would know the whole story,
+and she will tell good Mistress Parnell, so I shall be illustrated.
+
+Since I have been out of doors so much with Lady Betty, I have left off
+my morning walks, but this morning, I know not why, I felt as if one
+would do me good, so I took my hood, and went out into the chase. The
+morning was fine, and everything was pleasant, but I felt I know not
+what, of heaviness and discouragement.
+
+"Sure 'tis very hard to have such an enemy as Lady Jemima, and that for
+no fault of mine own that I know of," I thought.
+
+It is Felicia's doing, to begin with, but she has no right to judge me
+on such slight evidence, nor to treat me as she does. Every time I try
+to set matters straight between us, I only make them worse. I have no
+one of whom I can ask advice either, now that Doctor Parnell is dead,
+and Mr. Penrose has raised up such a bar between us. If only I could
+see Mrs. Corbet alone, she might help me, but then she is one of the
+family, and it might only make trouble.
+
+As I was thinking thus, waking with mine eyes on the ground, I almost
+ran against somebody coming in the opposite direction, and looking up,
+I saw the Bishop before me.
+
+"Why, this is well," said he, with his kindly smile. "So you too love
+the early morning. But methinks your roses are not as blooming as when
+we met before. I trust all is well with you?"
+
+I told him that I was quite well in health, and that my Lady was very
+kind to me, and I thought I had satisfied her so far.
+
+"But," said he, smiling, and then seemed to be waiting for me to say
+more. Then, as I did not, he continued himself:
+
+"But you have round, I suppose, that things do not go on without rubs
+in courts and castles, more than in rectories and cottages?"
+
+"I suppose there must be rubs everywhere," said I. "''Tis all in the
+day's work.'"
+
+"Not of course," said my Lord. "We make a good many rubs for ourselves,
+which do not come into our day's work at all."
+
+"I don't really know that I have made any of my rubs for myself," said
+I, considering a little, "unless it was about—" and then I stopped, and
+felt my face grow scarlet, for I was just going to speak of Mr. Penrose.
+
+"Well," said the Bishop, as I paused—"except what? Except in tempting
+poor Mr. Penrose away from his vocation, as they say abroad among the
+Papists. Truly that was no great sin. They talk about arguments for and
+against the celibacy of the clergy," he added, more to himself than to
+me. "Truly, I have ever found the meeting and acquaintance of a comely
+maiden, better than any logic in that matter."
+
+"How did you know?" I asked, in utter amazement, forgetting, I am
+afraid, the respect due to his Lordship.
+
+"Oh, a little bird told me. But now I must tell you all, or you will be
+fancying more than there is. Sit you down, if you have a little time. I
+should like to talk with you about that and other matters."
+
+We sat down together on a rude seat which stood well sheltered by a
+thicket of holly, and he went on talking as he might have done to his
+own daughter.
+
+"My Lord told me last night that Mr. Penrose was looking for a wife,
+and Lady Jemima said he had not looked very far, or very high, or some
+such phrase. Then Mr. Tailor asked my opinion about priests marrying."
+He paused, and I suppose I looked curious.
+
+"And 'what then,' you are looking," he said, with a laugh which it did
+me good to hear, it was so clear and genial, yet with nothing coarse
+or rude about it. "Marry then, I told my young friend that if what was
+sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, as our old saw hath it,
+I thought the dressing that did for the bishop might suit the curate
+well enough, and that I hoped to see each of them fitted with as good a
+wife as I had myself. Then—I am betraying no confidence in this matter,
+sweetheart, for I told Mr. Penrose that I should speak to you about the
+matter—Mr. Penrose came to me in private, and told me that he had asked
+you to be his wife, but you had put him off for a year, on account of
+a promise you had made my Lady. But my Lady was willing to let you off
+your promise in such a case, and my Lord was also favorable, and he
+begged my good offices with you. There, you have the whole story."
+
+"My Lord," said I, "Mr. Penrose is under some strange mistake. I never
+said or hinted that I would marry him at the end of the year, or at any
+other time."
+
+"Understand me! He did not say positively that you did so promise,"
+said his Lordship. "He only told me that you had put him off till that
+time before he should speak again. He told me that you had behaved most
+honorably with him, with a great deal to your praise, which I need not
+repeat, and then, with a great deal of humility, he did ask me, if I
+thought right, to speak with you on the matter. So now I have fulfilled
+my word in so speaking; and what do you say thereto?"
+
+"Only what I have said before, my Lord," I answered, trying to speak
+calmly. "Mr. Penrose is a good young gentleman, and I know the match to
+be far above my deserts, but I can never marry him, if he waited ten
+years instead of one."
+
+"But your mind may change in a year," said my Lord.
+
+"I do not believe it will, and I do not want it to change," I answered.
+"I 'know' I shall never want to marry him."
+
+"But why?" asked the Bishop.
+
+"Because," I answered, "I know how I feel now. I like Mr. Penrose very
+well as a friend and neighbor, but the minute I think of marrying him,
+I perfectly hate him, and feel as though I would walk to the Land's End
+to get out of hearing of his name."
+
+"That would be going out of the river into the sea," said the Bishop,
+laughing again at my vehemence. "You would meet with plenty of
+Penroses between here and the Land's End. Ah, well! I see my poor
+chaplain's cake is dough, and though I like him well, I would not have
+it otherwise, so long as you feel so. I would not have you marry for
+interest, my maiden. Wedded life is a lovely and a holy thing where
+love is, but where it is not, there is confusion and every evil work.
+And then, you are but young to settle in life. I am sorry for Mr.
+Penrose, though. He is a good young man."
+
+"Indeed he is!" I answered, warmly. "And that made me so sorry to have
+this come up, because I liked him so well. And now we can be naught but
+strangers. I wish he would fall in love with somebody else."
+
+"'Tis not unlikely your wish may be gratified!" said my Lord, dryly.
+"But let him pass for the present. My Lady tells me that your little
+pupil has improved wonderfully under your hands, and that she is much
+pleased with your management."
+
+"I am very glad," I answered. "My Lady does me more than justice. I do
+not think that Lady Betty has learned so very much, but her health has
+improved, and with it her spirits and temper. She is so bright, 'tis
+but a pleasure to teach her."
+
+"And now for yourself," said the Bishop, with a penetrating, but kindly
+look. "How have you fared? Do you remember the promise I exacted from
+you that day in the church?"
+
+I told him that I had never forgotten it, and that I believed I had
+kept it every day; and added that I had read half through the volume he
+gave me.
+
+"That is well!" said he, seeming pleased. "And have you not found those
+things a help to you?"
+
+"They have been a help," said I, "and also a comfort. But I know not
+how it is, I seem to gain no ground, or what I gain one day I lose the
+next. I have tried to be good, indeed I have!" I continued, feeling
+the tears very near my eyes, but determined, if I could, to keep them
+back. "But I do not succeed, and I sometimes fear that I shall never
+reach heaven at last. When I first came here, Lady Jemima was very
+kind to me; and gave me rules about devotions and fasting, and so
+on. But I cannot keep to them because my time is not my own, nor my
+strength either, and my Lady was not pleased when I gave up my hour
+of recreation to sew on Lady Jemima's work for the poor. Then I am
+conscious of so many failings every day that I am afraid—" I had to
+stop here and look very steadfastly through the tears.
+
+"I understand," said the Bishop. "My dear maiden, do you not see
+wherein your trouble lies? You have undertaken, something which is not
+in your day's work at all, and which therefore is too much for your
+strength. You are trying to purchase eternal life by your own works and
+deservings, whereas it has already been bought for you, and the whole
+price paid by another, so that to you it is offered as a free gift. The
+'gift' of God—observe, daughter, the 'gift' of God is eternal life,
+through Jesus Christ our Lord."
+
+I looked at him, but I could not speak—such a light seemed all at once
+to flash upon me. He went on. I cannot tell all he said, only he made
+it plain to me from many places of Scripture that nothing we could do
+could save ourselves. That God had appointed another way, easy and
+plain, namely, faith in His dear Son, whom He had sent to die for our
+sins and to rise for our justification. That He, by His one oblation
+of Himself, once offered, had made a full, sufficient, and perfect
+atonement and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world, and that
+I should make that atonement mine, and receive all its benefits, the
+moment I should come to Him in faith and humility, giving myself to
+Him, and asking God for His sake to receive me.
+
+"But what becomes of good works?" I asked.
+
+"They are of the utmost value!" he replied. "They show our sincerity to
+ourselves and to the world, for one thing; and they are a part of the
+work our Heavenly Father has given us to do, not as task-work to slaves
+to be sharply exacted and grudgingly paid, but as work laid out for
+good and loving children that they may both improve themselves thereby,
+and also help on His plans for the good of all. Tell me, sweetheart,
+which is best—to make garments for an old woman because she is in need
+and because she is one of God's creatures whom He loves, or because
+clothing the poor is one of the corporal works of mercy, and you are
+laying up just so much merit thereby?"
+
+"The first, of course," I answered. "'Love makes easy service,' dear
+mother used to say. But, my Lord, you say that I have only to believe
+that this sacrifice was made for me—that I have but to believe and be
+saved."
+
+"Well," he said, kindly.
+
+"Then I may know that I am saved now—because I can certainly know that
+I believe now, as well as I can know anything."
+
+"Well, why not?" he repeated. "Is not the knowledge pleasant—to feel
+that you are the beloved child of God, and an heir to everlasting life?"
+
+"So pleasant," I replied, "that I see not what becomes of Mr. Penrose's
+saying that it behoves us to walk softly and mournfully all our days,
+in the bitterness of our souls. It seems to me that there is no room
+for it."
+
+"Ah, my dear maiden," said the Bishop, smiling somewhat sadly, "we
+shall have sorrow enough, never fear—quite as much as is good for us,
+without seeking or making any. I wonder if Mr. Penrose ever thought
+that with all the commands to rejoice, to be exceeding glad, to rejoice
+evermore, and so on, there is not one single direct command to mourn,
+in the New Testament. I would have you go on your way rejoicing. I
+would have you gather every flower which your Father plants in your
+path, and take delight in every innocent pleasure, because 'tis a gift
+from His hand. And even when trouble comes, as come it does to all, I
+would have you rejoice because you are in the hand of One who never
+afflicts willingly, and who is bound, by all His attributes, to bring
+you safely through."
+
+Much more he said, but this is what I remember best—what I am sure I
+shall never forgot as long as I live. I have felt all day as though a
+great burden which I had been trying to carry, but which was beyond my
+strength, had been suddenly lifted off, and I had been told to go on my
+way without it.
+
+When I came in, my Lady asked me if I had heard any good news, that
+my face was so bright. The Bishop preached for us in the chapel this
+evening. There was a great congregation—all the Fultons, and many other
+neighboring gentry, besides Mrs. Corbet and her son, all of whom were
+entertained at supper afterward. Lady Betty sat in her corner, only
+somewhat more out of sight than before, and I by her. The Bishop's text
+was out of the third of St. John's Gospel—
+
+"Whoso believeth on Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life."
+
+I shall never forget it while I live—so clear and plain was it, so full
+of beauty, and delivered with such eloquence, yet so expressed as that
+the youngest and simplest person present could take in somewhat of the
+doctrine.
+
+I saw many looks exchanged, mostly of approval, though Lady Jemima was
+evidently ill-pleased, and I thought Mr. Penrose somewhat dubious. As
+for my Lord, he slept through most of it, as he does at all sermons.
+
+I did not go to the supper table, but Lady Betty and I supped
+sumptuously in Mrs. Judith's room afterward—a great delight to the
+child, to whom every change is a treat. Mrs. Corbet came in to speak
+to her, and spent an hour with us talking about the sermon, which, she
+said, had made her young again. Mr. Corbet was here, but I did not see
+him, save for a moment, as he came to speak to me in the chapel.
+
+Poor Mr. Penrose looks very pale and downcast, but did give me a very
+kindly greeting, and a message from Mistress Parnell, whom he has
+begged to remain in the rectory and keep his house for him.
+
+"I thought you would have one of your sisters," said I, when he told me
+this bit of news.
+
+"Perhaps I shall, by and by," he answered, "but they find enough to do
+at home, and it seems a pity Mistress Parnell should leave the roof
+which hath sheltered her so long. So I have even begged her to stay,
+and she hath consented to do so, instead of going to her niece at
+Bristol. Will you not come and see her sometimes?"
+
+Then, as I hesitated, he added, "Believe me, Margaret, I will annoy you
+with no more importunities. I see that there is no use in it, and I
+will spare myself the humiliation and you the pain, of asking what can
+never be given."
+
+He spoke with much kindness, but with dignity, and without a tinge of
+pique or offence; and then added, smiling somewhat sadly, "You know you
+are to be Aunt Margaret by and by, so you had best begin on Mistress
+Parnell."
+
+"Oh, I shall come," said I. I never was so near liking him as at
+that last minute. If it were not—but there it is. Nobody knows or
+guesses—there is one comfort. O yes! There are a great many comforts.
+What a long story I have made of the matter!
+
+
+                                                _August 15._
+
+The good Bishop has gone, but I might say that his spirit abides with
+us still, everything seems to go on so pleasantly and peacefully. My
+Lord has been away for a few days, but is to return to-morrow. My Lady
+keeps her room a good deal, looking over papers, &c., and has spent
+more than her usual time in the nursery, to the delight of both Betty
+and myself.
+
+This morning she brought me a letter from Aunt Willson, which came
+in one to herself. She showed me the last. It is short, and to the
+purpose, saying much that is kind of me and mine, and thanking her
+Ladyship for her goodness to me. Her note to me was the same, only
+adding at the end that she hoped I should have no more trouble made by
+the schemes of one that should be nameless.
+
+Only Lady Jemima will not be pacified toward me. She stopped me in the
+garden the other day, and told me she had had a letter from Felicia,
+who sent me her forgiveness for the ill offices I had been trying to do
+her, but which had failed; as she hoped, for my own sake, all my plans
+of that sort might do.
+
+"So do I," said I. "If I ever make any plans for mischief, I trust
+they will fail. As yet I have made none, nor done any one ill offices.
+Whether any one has done them for me, is quite another matter."
+
+"Beware!" said she, solemnly. "You are so set up with pride, because of
+the Bishop's ill-judged notice of you, and because my Lady takes your
+part, that you can see no danger; but beware! There is One that sees
+and judges."
+
+"I rejoice to think there is, and to Him I commit myself and my cause."
+And with that I left her. It is strange how prejudiced she hath become.
+
+Mr. Corbet rarely joins Betty in her walks and rides now, and the
+poor child is very much grieved, and thinks cousin Walter has grown
+strangely remiss. I fancy some one—my Lady, perhaps—has spoken to him.
+It is just as well. I only wish he had not begun it. And yet—I don't
+know that I do, either.
+
+
+                                                _August 17._
+
+I said the last time I wrote that things were going on pleasantly, but
+since then we have had a grand explosion, the effects of which are felt
+even yet. It came about in this wise.
+
+My Lord came home the day before yesterday, bringing with him a
+guest—Lord Saville, a court gallant, and I know not what relative of
+my Lady's. Never was anything so fine as this gallant, with his satin
+trunks and hose, his shoes with roses of gold lace and brilliants,
+his jewelled hatband, and I know not what else of bravery in the
+gayest colors—nay, I verily believe he painted his face, at least his
+eyebrows. For my part I cannot think so much finery becoming a man. Mr.
+Corbet, in his plain dark cloth and trimmed hair, looks ten times the
+gentleman that this lovelocked and perfumed court popinjay does.
+
+Well, he was at the supper table, of course, and Mr. Corbet and Mr.
+Penrose also. One of Sir Thomas Fulton's daughters is here visiting
+Lady Jemima, and she was the only lady guest. It fell out that my Lord
+began speaking of Mr. Prynne, and of Lilburne, and now for the first
+time I heard of the barbarous sentence—the branding and cropping of the
+former gentleman—for a gentleman he is, and of as good blood as my Lord
+himself. My Lord swore with many oaths, as his way is, that the canting
+beggar was rightly served, and he would like to see them all served
+with the same sauce.
+
+"It would be a great dish that should hold them," said Mr. Corbet,
+dryly, "and would need to be made very strong."
+
+"You are right, sir," said Lord Saville. "The faction increases
+wonderfully, in spite of the Archbishop, who is a jolly Churchman. They
+say that Mr. Prynne received wonderful tokens of kindness and sympathy
+on his way to prison, and that money was showered on his wife, but she
+would not take it. Marry, that is the wonderful part of the tale."
+
+They should all be served alike, my Lord swore, and said he would like
+to hear one of his household or dependents say a word in favor of the
+sour, vinegar-faced hypocrite or his abettors. My Lady looked at me,
+and I read in her glance what would have kept me quiet but for Lady
+Jemima's interference. She saw my disturbed countenance, as she sees
+everything, and said, in her most sarcastic tone:
+
+"Mrs. Merton, you need not look so distressed. I dare say my brother
+will make an exception in your favor, if you are desirous of pleading
+the cause of your kinsman."
+
+How she knew Mr. Prynne was my kinsman I cannot guess, unless Felicia
+told her.
+
+All eyes were turned on me at once.
+
+"What!" exclaimed my Lord. "That canting scoundrel Margaret's kinsman!
+I do not believe it! Speak up, Margaret, and deny it; or say, at the
+least, that you do not take the part of such an execrable villain. Say
+that he hath had his deserts, or at least some small part of them, and
+I shall be content. Speak out!" he cried, seeing that I hesitated, and
+smiting the table with his fist till the dishes rang.
+
+"Since I must needs speak, then, my Lord," said I, "Mr. Prynne is my
+kinsman, and hath often been at our house in my father's life-time; and
+then I am sure he was an honest gentleman, though somewhat sour and
+austere. What he has now done, I know not, save that he hath printed
+a book inveighing against stage plays, but sure it must have been a
+greater crime than that to merit so barbarous a sentence."
+
+"Barbarous! Do you say barbarous?" exclaimed my Lord, in tones that
+trembled with passion, while Lord Saville looked on with an expression
+of contemptuous amusement.
+
+"I did say so, my Lord," I answered, for my own spirit was up by this
+time. "Branding and cropping do seem to me barbarous punishments, and
+unworthy a Christian age: and I cannot understand how a Christian
+prelate could sit by when such sentence was given, and not protest
+against it."
+
+"He was so far from protesting that he was the very head and front of
+the matter," said Mr. Corbet.
+
+"And am I to hear this?" said my Lord, fairly glaring at me.
+"Elizabeth, do you hear this—this chit brave me at mine own board?"
+
+"Margaret said nothing till she was pressed," answered my Lady, more
+loftily than her wont.
+
+"And you dare to take the part of this fellow!" said my Lord to me.
+
+"How can you be surprised, brother?" asked Lady Jemima, scornfully.
+"'Birds of a feather flock together,' you know."
+
+"But you don't mean it, Margaret," said my Lord: "you do not mean
+to take the part of this crop-eared scoundrel and own him for your
+kinsman? You don't mean to say—"
+
+"I did not mean to say anything, my Lord, and should not, unless it
+had been forced upon me," said I, as he paused for breath, and seemed
+to expect some answer, "but what I have said, I cannot unsay. Mr.
+Prynne 'is' my kinsman, and he has been kind to my mother since my
+father's death. What ill he may have done I cannot say, but if it is
+no more than writing a book against plays and play-houses, I must say
+that the sentence seems to me a very severe and barbarous one, and
+most unworthy of a Christian prelate." I said this, I am conscious,
+with some emphasis and heat, for it seemed to me that I was being very
+unfairly treated both by my Lord and Lady Jemima, and it did not make
+me any cooler to see that Lord Saville was amusing himself with the
+whole affair. But here I received support, though I can hardly say
+assistance, from a very unexpected quarter.
+
+"I am with you, Mistress Merton," said Mr. Penrose (who had hitherto
+been quite silent), in his clear, precise voice. "I have always
+hitherto loved and revered the Archbishop, but I cannot approve his
+course in this matter. It seems to me far worse than the homicide for
+which Archbishop Abbot was deprived. I have seen Mr. Prynne's book. I
+have also seen two or three plays, when I was last in London," (and
+withal he blushed like a girl,) "and though I like not at all Mr.
+Prynne's spirit, and believe him to be guilty of dangerous errors in
+doctrine, I think what he says of the practises of plays and players
+too well deserved. I am ashamed when I remember the play which I saw
+played before the king."
+
+"And what was that play, Mr. Chaplain, an it like you?" asked my Lord
+Saville.
+
+"It was called, if I mistake not, 'The Gamester,'" answered Mr. Penrose.
+
+"I would have you to know, sir, that the plot of that play was
+furnished to Mr. Shirley the poet by his Majesty's own hands," said
+Lord Saville, arrogantly, and as if to bear down all before him: "I
+myself heard the king say it was the best play he had seen in seven
+years."
+
+"So much the worse," said Mr. Penrose, shortly. "I could not have
+believed it of his Majesty."
+
+With that my Lord exploded in a new fury. He put no bounds to his
+language, but called Mr. Penrose all the opprobrious epithets he could
+muster, and reproached him with the benefits which had been bestowed
+upon him in language which I am sure he would not have dared to bestow
+upon an equal. It was enough to make one ashamed of ever having been in
+a passion, to see what a pitiful spectacle this man made of himself.
+Mr. Penrose sat quite still till my Lord paused, from sheer inability
+to say another word. Then he said, rising from the table, as he spoke:
+
+"My Lord, it has been your pleasure to insult at your own table, and
+before your servants, a gentleman whose birth is as good as your own,
+and whose family was known and distinguished, when yours was still in
+obscurity. My profession, if nothing else, forbids me to demand of you
+the satisfaction which one gentleman owes to another in such a case. I
+am your debtor, 'tis true, but I am also a gentleman, and a clergyman
+of the Church of England, and as such entitled to speak my mind. I
+return upon your hands the benefits with which you reproach me, and
+which you have rendered more bitter than gall, by your insults, I will
+be no man's lackey, though I be forced to drudge for my daily bread
+like any plowman. I here resign both the chaplaincy and the benefice
+which you have given me, thanking you for any courtesy you have shown
+me hitherto." And with that he rose from the table, bowed to my Lady
+and the rest, and took his hat to leave the room.
+
+"I will walk with you, Mr. Penrose," said Mr. Corbet, also rising.
+"Give you good-night, fair ladies." And they left the hall.
+
+I could not have believed it was in the little man to look and speak as
+he did, with so much calmness and dignity. Even the allusion to his own
+family (which, he being a Cornishman, is, of course, a good deal older
+than Adam), sat gracefully enough upon him.
+
+My Lord was actually silenced, and had the grace to look ashamed. My
+Lady prevented any more words by rising from the table, and of course
+all of us did the same. As we passed out of the hall, I heard Lady
+Jemima say to my Lady:
+
+"Well, Sister Elizabeth, what think you of the storm your immaculate
+Mrs. Merton has raised? Is she not a fit person, to have charge of your
+daughter's education?"
+
+She spoke in the tone of sarcastic contempt, which she always uses to
+or about me.
+
+My Lady answered more sharply than I ever heard her speak:
+
+"It was yourself, Jemima, who raised the storm, as most storms in this
+house are raised, by your impertinent meddling. Margaret would not have
+spoken but for your drawing my Lord's attention upon her."
+
+"Oh, of course, it was all my fault," Lady Jemima began, but my Lady
+interrupted her:
+
+"It 'was' all your fault! You are constantly tormenting the child for
+no other reason than because she dares to have a mind of her own. But
+I have had enough of it; and have long borne with your impertinent
+interference in household affairs, your contradicting of my orders,
+upsetting my arrangements, and taking the words out of my mouth at mine
+own table: but I will have it no longer. The next time you make such a
+piece of mischief, you leave the house, or I do!"
+
+"Well, I must say!" Lady Jemima began.
+
+But my Lady cut her short: "I will hear no more!" said she, sharply. "I
+am wearied and fretted to death now. Margaret, why do you not go to the
+nursery?"
+
+I might have said that I was only waiting for her to give me room to
+pass, but I saw well that my Lady was driven past her patience, and no
+wonder: so I courtesied and made my escape by the way of Mrs. Judith's
+room.
+
+I did not know what to do, for my Lord had bid me quit the house the
+next day, and I had nowhere to go. I had money enough owing me to take
+me home, but I knew not how to get there, and I had no friend to whom I
+could apply, unless it were the Bishop.
+
+I could hardly calm myself to think of anything for a time, but at
+last, by dint of walking in the gallery, which I did for an hour,
+and by schooling myself to do my usual reading, I found myself in a
+condition to consider matters quietly. I never felt any more unhappy
+in my life, and regretted twenty times that I had not stayed in the
+nursery with my child, but there was no use in that. Besides the
+disgrace which had been put upon me, and the triumph which that
+disgrace would afford to mine enemies, my heart was broken at the
+thought that I must leave my child to a stranger, just at the time when
+she was like to need me most, and have all my work for her undone.
+
+Lady Jemima is mine enemy, though I know she would not own herself so.
+She persecutes me, as my Lady says, because I think for myself instead
+of following her. As for my Lord, I care not so much for him.
+
+Well, I could do nothing that night—so much was plain—and the next day
+might bring cooler councils. So I looked in upon my child, as I usually
+do the last thing, and then said my prayers. I know not whether I did
+entirely forgive Lady Jemima, but I know I tried faithfully to do so.
+I confess I cried myself to sleep, but I did go to sleep at last, and
+slept well, with sweet dreams of walking in pleasant green fields, in
+good company. Methought that a deep river seemed to divide us for a
+time, which I could not cross because of the child who was with me, but
+at last, I know not how, my Lady brought us together again, and then,
+taking Betty by her hand, she smiled lovingly upon us and seemed to
+float away. I awoke not a little comforted, though 'twas but a dream.
+
+I thought I would do nothing good or bad till I saw my Lady, so I
+dressed Lady Betty, as usual, (though she has learned to help herself
+a great deal,) heard her say her prayers, and gave her her breakfast.
+I then went to my room for my workbasket, where I met my Lady. She
+looked pale and tired, but greeted me kindly, as usual, and asked me
+some questions about Betty's lessons. I answered her, and added that I
+had thought it best to go on as usual till I saw her and received her
+commands.
+
+"You have said nothing to Betty, I hope?" said my Lady.
+
+I told her I had not.
+
+"That is well!" said she. "Margaret, have you the patience to let
+matters stand as they are for a few days, and do nothing?"
+
+"Surely, my Lady, if you desire it," I answered. "I would do more than
+that for you."
+
+"I know I ask a good deal," she continued. "I know the position is a
+painful one, but I hope things may be mended."
+
+"My Lady," said I, thinking it was time for me to speak, "I can bear
+all things for your sake and for Lady Betty's. I have been turning the
+matter over in my own mind—I mean what chanced last night—and truly I
+see not what I could have done differently from that I did. Mr. Prynne
+is my kinsman, and, as I said, he has been kind to us; and had my dear
+father taken his advice, it would have fared the better with us at this
+time. I would not have spoken unless I had been called upon, but being
+so called upon, it does seem to me that I should have been base and
+ungrateful not to speak up for my cousin."
+
+My Lady sighed. "I know, Margaret. I do not blame you. I know my Lord
+was somewhat hot and hasty, and he was provoked with Mr. Penrose for
+his uncalled-for words."
+
+Somewhat hot and hasty, indeed! But he is her husband, and, as I once
+heard dear father say, a woman must be somewhat more than an angel to
+be just where her husband is concerned.
+
+"But rest you quiet, sweetheart!" continued my Lady. "Let the storm
+go by! At the worst, I will see that you are taken good care of,
+but I trust not to lose you. It will be my great comfort, under my
+approaching trial, to know that Betty is in such good hands."
+
+After such words from my Lady, I could not doubt what my duty was. So
+I said I would go on just as usual, only praying her leave to absent
+myself from table, which she granted, saying that Betty and I might
+dine either by ourselves or with Mrs. Judith. I know Betty would choose
+the latter, and said so; whereat she bade me inform Mrs. Judith of the
+arrangement.
+
+I went to her room for the purpose, and found her busy blanching and
+shredding almonds, stoning dates and raisins, and so forth, for the
+dinner. She would not let me stay to help her, however, as I would have
+done, but saying that I looked pale, and the fresh air would do me
+good, she filled my pocket with spiced comfits and sent me away to walk.
+
+The day has passed quietly enough. I have been careful to keep out of
+my Lord's way, and also to keep Lady Betty out of his sight, for 'tis
+the way of grand and magnanimous natures like his to revenge their
+humors on little and weak creatures. Marry, they now and then find
+themselves mistaken, as my Lord did with Mr. Penrose last night. How
+grand and dignified the little man was! My Lord has gotten himself into
+a scrape there, and I am wicked enough to be glad of it. It seems that
+the presentation to the living belongs to both houses in such wise that
+my Lord has it one time and Mr. Corbet the next. So by Mr. Penrose's
+resignation last night the next presentation is Mr. Corbet's. I do hope
+he will reinstate Mr. Penrose, and I think he will, for he was clearly
+pleased last night.
+
+
+                                                _August 20._
+
+Things still go on quietly enough in the family. My Lord has said
+nothing to me, good or bad, but I fancy he hath made some sort of
+apology to Mr. Penrose, from something I saw passing between them
+in the garden this morning, and from the fact that Mr. Penrose read
+prayers in the chapel this evening. He made a short but earnest lecture
+on the text, "The temple of God is holy, which temple ye are;" and
+spoke most forcibly and beautifully on the point of purity, not only
+of life but of mind, carrying out the figure, and likening the man who
+entertained unclean and impure thoughts in his mind, to one who should
+feast boon companions in the sanctuary of the church, and make the
+sacred vessels themselves the instruments of his debauchery.
+
+Methought my Lord looked a little uneasy, but Lord Saville kept his
+usual sneering composure. The latter gallant favored me with a low
+reverence—I suppose in the usual Court mode, but I would not so much
+as let him know that I saw him. His very look is an insult. I made my
+reverence to Lady Jemima, in passing, but did not speak to her, nor she
+to me. I have tried hard to forgive her, and I hope I have done so, in
+some measure, for I would not, as Mr. Penrose would say, bring sword
+and dagger into God's sanctuary.
+
+I thought of the sermon all the evening. Surely if a very awful, 'tis
+also a marvellous comforting thought—that abiding of the Spirit in our
+hearts!
+
+Mistress Parnell walked up with Mr. Penrose, and was loud in his
+praises afterwards, when we were at supper together in Mrs. Judith's
+room, saying, with tears, that he was like a son or younger brother to
+her, constantly seeking what he may do to please her, and studying her
+comfort in every way.
+
+"Ah, Margaret, Margaret!" said the old lady. "I doubt you are throwing
+away what can never be gotten back again."
+
+"I don't know but I am, but there is no help for it." If I had never
+seen anybody else—but that 'if' is as wide as the ocean. There is no
+ship to cross it.
+
+Betty, dear child, is as good and loving as a child can be. She has
+taken double pains with her learning of late, and makes wonderful
+progress. This day, after sitting long and silent over her sewing—she
+is making an apron for Goody Yoe—she said to me:
+
+"Margaret, you know Latin, don't you?"
+
+I told her I did know some Latin, and one day I would read her some
+pretty tales out of Virgil, his "Aeneid."
+
+"Will you teach me Latin?" she asked, wistfully.
+
+"That must be as my Lady says," I answered. "But, my love, why do you
+wish to learn Latin?"
+
+"Because," said she, "My little brother will have to learn it some day,
+I suppose, and if I know it, I can teach it to him."
+
+"Suppose your little brother should turn out a little sister?" said I,
+smiling.
+
+"Oh, but I hope he will not!" she answered. "You know papa likes boys
+best!"
+
+Betty rarely shows a spark of her old heat or perverseness, and if she
+does, it makes her very unhappy, and she will not rest until she has
+asked and received forgiveness. I sometimes think her character is
+ripening too fast, and that such deep feelings in a child forebode an
+early death. And yet, why should I say fear? 'Twould be a blessed thing
+for her. Her life is not like to be a happy one.
+
+
+                                                _August 21._
+
+Another explosion, and by my means, though not by my fault. I only wish
+all the consequences had fallen on myself. I should find it easier to
+forgive the author than I do now.
+
+It chanced on this wise. I have kept Betty out of the way as much as
+possible, but the morning was so fine that I could not resist her
+entreaties for a ride, and we went as far as the Abbey ruin, which
+Betty has always wished to see, and which, from its stillness and
+loneliness, hath been a favorite haunt of mine own. I had no thought of
+meeting any one, for none of the family ever came thither.
+
+So we let the donkey graze at his will while we wandered about and
+spelled out the inscriptions on the stones, I translating the Latin for
+Lady Betty's benefit. There was no danger of Jack's straying far, for
+he loves Betty with all the force of his donkeyish nature, and will
+come prancing and flinging in most ludicrous sort to meet her, whenever
+she comes near.
+
+Well, as I said, we were spelling out the inscriptions, and Betty was
+much interested in the tomb of Abbot Ignatius, when we heard my Lord's
+voice, and presently he and Lord Saville came from behind the wall
+of the ruined refectory. Now, Betty loves her father's very shadow,
+and before I could hinder her, she had run to meet him, with a cry of
+delight.
+
+"Hallo!" exclaimed my Lord Saville. "What little 'mundrake' have we
+here? Are your grounds haunted with dwarfs and pixies, my Lord?"
+
+My Lord's brow turned black as thunder.
+
+"This is my daughter, my Lord!" said he, in a lofty tone: but Lord
+Saville was by no means overawed.
+
+"I crave your pardon!" said he, carelessly: "I knew you had a daughter,
+but I thought her to have died long since." And with that, he turned
+away.
+
+"What are you doing here, Bess?" asked my Lord, harshly.
+
+"I-I-only came—I don't know!" answered Betty, flushing and stammering,
+as she is apt to do when startled.
+
+"Mrs. Merton, since you pretend to have the government of the child,
+methinks you might at least keep her out of sight!" said my Lord,
+turning the vials of his wrath on me. "'Tis surely misfortune enough to
+be the father of such a changeling, without having her paraded to shame
+me at every turn! I think the devil himself served her alive, to vex
+me. I would she had died at her birth, like her brothers yonder," he
+added, muttering between his teeth.
+
+I don't suppose he meant she should hear him, but she did. She drew
+herself up as I should not have supposed possible, and looking her
+father in the face with her flashing black eyes, she said:
+
+"God made me, my Lord!" Then turning to me, she said, with as much
+dignity as ever I saw, "Margaret, we will go home!"
+
+Felicia used to say sometimes that if I could command the lightning,
+her life would not be safe. I am sure my Lord's would not have been
+at that moment. I am ashamed to write it, but I do think I could have
+killed him. I could not trust myself to speak to him.
+
+To make the matter worse, Betty's little dog ran between his legs and
+nearly upset him. With a curse, he kicked the poor beast violently out
+of his way, and against a stone, where he lay stunned for a moment.
+
+This was too much, and Betty burst into passionate tears and
+lamentations. "Oh, my dear dog! Oh, what shall I do!"
+
+"Hush, hush!" said I. "The dog is not dead! See, he moves now!"
+
+I set her on her donkey, and put into her arms poor Gill, who was
+beginning to make a feeble whining, and so we went away, leaving my
+Lord looking foolish enough.
+
+I thought all day the poor beast would die, but he is better to-night.
+Betty never said one word all the way home, and she has moped all day.
+I have not told my Lady, and shall not.
+
+My Lord met me in the hall to-night, and said something about a game
+of backgammon, but I would not understand, and passed him with only a
+reverence. Maybe I am wrong, but I dared not trust myself with him.
+Since we are to order ourselves reverently to our betters, 'tis to be
+wished that our betters were a little better!
+
+
+                                                _August 23._
+
+The poor little dog is dead! We nursed it up as well as we could, and
+I hoped it would get well, but it died last night, after two or three
+hours of great suffering. It was pitiful to see the poor little wretch,
+how in its greatest agonies it would look up in answer to Betty's
+voice, and make a feeble effort to wag its tail. The poor child was
+broken-hearted, and no wonder. I thought to have a sad time with her;
+and so indeed I did, but not as I expected. There was no screaming,
+none of the violence she has shown heretofore, but deep, distressful
+sobbing, which seemed to shake her poor thin frame all to pieces. It
+was not only the loss of the dog, her only playfellow, though that was
+enough, but that "papa" should have done it. I had at last to come to
+my final argument, which I keep in reserve when all else fails to quiet
+her.
+
+"My love, you will make yourself sick!" I said. "And that will distress
+my Lady, and perhaps make her sick as well."
+
+"I 'am' sick!" said the poor thing, sobbing. "I am sick of 'being' at
+all. Everything is so hard for me. I wish I had never been made! Oh,
+Margaret, why do you suppose that I was made?"
+
+"To be happy in heaven forever!" I said. "That is what we were all made
+for."
+
+"Then I wish I had gone there when I was born!" said she. "I think it
+is a very hard road to get there!"
+
+"It is a hard road to many beside you, my dear one," I answered. "Think
+how hard it was made to the poor men Mr. Corbet told us of, who were
+shut up for years and years in the dungeons of the Inquisition, only to
+be burned at last, because they would not deny the truth."
+
+"But why should it be so?" asked Betty.
+
+"That I cannot tell you," I answered. "But, Betty, don't think all the
+time of the hardness of the road. Think of what is at the end thereof,
+and how you may help those who are going the same way; and perhaps turn
+some back who are travelling in the opposite direction. If you live
+and grow up, you will have a great many chances of doing good, both to
+men's souls and their bodies. There are your little god-daughters down
+at the Cove, and the children in the school, and as you grow older,
+more people still."
+
+She seemed a little comforted, and to divert her still farther, I told
+her of Goody Yeo's granddaughter, who needed a petticoat, which she
+might make for her.
+
+At last, she ceased crying, and allowed me to loosen her dress and lay
+her down to rest. I thought she was asleep, when she roused herself and
+asked me:
+
+"Margaret, what sort of a man was your father?"
+
+I told her he was a good man, and much beloved by all who knew him.
+
+"If you had had a little dog, he would not have killed it," said she.
+"If you had been crooked and sickly, he would not have wished you were
+dead!"
+
+"My love," said I, "you think too hardly of your father. He did not
+mean to kill the dog."
+
+"He did not mean to break my heart, either," said this strange child;
+"and yet he has done both, and they can't be cured because he did not
+mean to do it. It was not the saying so—it was the thinking so."
+
+"I don't think he meant it, either," I answered. "People often say a
+great deal more than they mean. The other day, when Mary broke your
+china image by accident, you told her that she was an awkward clod, and
+you wished she was a thousand miles off. Yet I am sure you would be
+very sorry to have her go even ten miles away, would you not?"
+
+She was silent at this, and seemed to be turning the matter over in her
+mind. When Mary came in, shortly after, Betty roused up and called her.
+
+"Mary," said she, "I am very sorry that I was so cross with you about
+breaking the china image. I said I wished you a thousand miles away,
+and it was not true. I would not have you go away for anything, and I
+will never say such wicked things again."
+
+"Bless your dear, tender heart!" said Mary, kissing the hand Betty held
+out to her. "I thought nothing of it, my lambkin. I knew you were only
+angry, and we all say more than we mean at such times."
+
+"I will try never to be angry again," said Betty. "Margaret, will you
+ask Thomas to bury my poor dog near to our seat in the wood, and to
+mark the place? I should like to have Thomas do it, because he was
+always fond of poor Gill."
+
+I promised that it should be done as she desired, and leaving her with
+Mary, with a charge not to talk, but to lie still and try to sleep, I
+carried the poor little beast down to the stable, and asked Thomas to
+bury him. As he was smoothing the turf over the little grave, my Lord
+came along.
+
+"Hullo, what are you doing here?" he asked.
+
+"Burying my little lady's dog," answered Thomas, shortly. He hath been
+here since the time of my Lord's father, and is apt to say his say to
+every one about the place, my Lord included.
+
+"Why, what ailed the dog?" asked my Lord.
+
+"You ought to know, if anybody did, I should say," was the surly
+answer. "The poor whelp had half his ribs broken. More shame for them
+as used a dumb beast so—or a Christian either," he muttered to himself.
+"There, Mistress Merton, that is done as well as if old Sexton himself
+had had the job; and I'll beg Dick Gardener for some of his double
+'vilets,' to plant over him." So saying, he shouldered his spade and
+stalked off.
+
+To do my Lord justice, he did look heartily ashamed and sorry.
+
+"Well, well," said he. "I never meant to hurt the dog, I am sure. I
+suppose Bess is screaming herself into fits about it."
+
+I told him Lady Betty was very unhappy, but that she had not screamed
+at all, only cried bitterly.
+
+"Well, well, I am sorry," he said again. "Give my love to Bess, and
+tell her I did not mean to kill him. I will get her another, if I have
+to search the country for it."
+
+I was glad to hear him say so, and gave his message to Betty, though I
+did not say he meant to get her another dog. I knew she would not take
+kindly to the notion just yet, and, besides, it might be only another
+disappointment. She was very much comforted, and is beginning to be
+quite cheerful again, though I hear a deep sigh now and then.
+
+And here I must say that I am conscious of never having done justice to
+my dear father so long as he lived. He had his faults, no doubt, the
+chief of which were an over-sanguine disposition, which made every new
+scheme look absolutely desirable and feasible, and a too lavish use of
+money while he had it, but never was a pleasanter man to live with. He
+was always so genial and kindly: so sunny and cheerful, not by fits and
+starts, but steadily, and at all times. If mother were disappointed
+in her calculations—if some favorite dish were spoiled, or some book
+or paper mislaid, he was always the one to laugh it off and make
+everything pleasant again.
+
+Dear mother had her sorrows and cares, 'tis true, but I think she was
+a happy woman, after all. Father was such a help to her, and he was
+such a "safe" man to live with. It was like walking on the firm, solid
+ground, instead of upon treacherous ice, or over a mine; like sailing
+on the open sea instead of among rocks and quicksands, where one must
+be all the time on the lookout, and after all some sudden gust or
+unsuspected current may make all one's caution of no avail.
+
+I fancy it is this constant observing of her husband's humors which has
+made my Lady so silent and self-restrained in company, even at her own
+table, and which makes many people think her stiff and cold. She is
+like another person here in the nursery, or with Mrs. Corbet.
+
+And yet my Lord hath many excellent qualities. He is generous to a
+fault, and I am sure he would spare neither time nor gold to procure
+for my Lady anything he thought she would like. He is brave too, and
+would venture his life without a thought, if even the poorest fisher
+lad were in danger; as he did, they tell me, in the storm last winter.
+I am the last one to judge him hardly, for I know my own failings in
+that line, and how often I have said or done in a minute of provocation
+what I would have given a great deal to undo again. I am sure my Lord
+is not malicious. He would never lay such a trap for any one as Lady
+Jemima did for me the other day, nor would he persevere in a course
+of tormenting, day after day, or take advantage of a time when one
+was feeling unhappy or annoyed about something else, to say the most
+aggravating thing he could think of. But there! I said I would never
+think of Felicia if I could help it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+_MORE THAN A FRIEND._
+
+                                                _September 3._
+
+SOMETHING has happened since I wrote last, which, though it makes no
+seeming change in my outward circumstances, has changed my whole life,
+so that I seem to myself to be living in another world. Mr. Corbet hath
+asked me to be his wife.
+
+It chanced on this wise. I had been down to see Goody Yeo and carry her
+the petticoat Betty had been making for her grandchild. Betty was to
+have gone herself, but the day was damp, and I thought it not safe for
+her to go out. I would have kept the petticoat till next day, but Betty
+would not hear of that, so I wrapped myself in my cloak and went down
+to the village. It cleared up before my return, and I thought I would
+come back by the ravine, which is ever a favorite walk of mind, from
+its lonely stillness. The servants rarely use the path, from I know not
+what superstition of a ghost which haunts it. There is a ghost, or a
+dobby, or a pixy, or some such creature in every corner of the place,
+it seems to me.
+
+Well, as I was lingering a little by the spring, and looking into its
+clear depths, where the water boils up from a large and seemingly
+deep cleft in the rocks, I was startled by a voice, and looking up, I
+beheld Lord Saville. I have hated the man since the first time I ever
+saw him. His very look is an insult: especially when he tries to look
+fascinating and amiable.
+
+"So the fair Margaret is admiring her own beauty in the mirror of the
+spring!" said he. "Are you not afraid of exciting the jealousy of the
+naiad of the fountain? Nay, be not in such haste—" for I would have
+passed him, with only a greeting, but he stopped into the narrow path
+and would not let me go by. "Surely you will not be so cruel as not to
+vouchsafe one word to your most humble admirer!"
+
+"I understand no court compliments, my Lord!" said I, trying to speak
+coldly and calmly, though I was in a fever of indignation. "I am but a
+simple country maid. I pray you to let me pass!"
+
+He would not, however, but went on in the same strain of fulsome
+flattery, and said things which I will not write here. Seeing that I
+could not pass him, I turned to go back to the village, but a single
+stride brought him to my side.
+
+"Not so fast, fair lady!" said he. "You are the rightful captive of
+my bow and spear, and do not escape so easily. What! It was another
+cavalier you were waiting for!"
+
+"I was waiting for nobody!" said I. "I was on my way home about my own
+business and my Lady's."
+
+He laughed in his impudent, jeering fashion, and saying something about
+pretty Puritan airs and graces, attempted to put his arm round my
+waist. Then all the old Merton temper flashed up in me in an instant,
+and I am ashamed to say, I turned upon him and slapped his face so
+soundly as to leave the prints of my fingers on his pink cheeks. Nay,
+I verily believe I made his nose bleed. I am sure my own palm smarted
+for an hour after. He withdrew his arm with an oath, which sounded much
+more genuine than his compliments, and clapped his hand to his face. I
+burst from him, and running down the path, half blind with shame and
+anger, I ran right into Mr. Corbet's arms, who was coming up the coomb,
+followed by his dogs.
+
+"Margaret!" he exclaimed, in amazement, and well he might, for my dress
+was disordered, and I dare say I looked like a fury. "What is the
+matter? What has so discomposed you?"
+
+For the moment I saw him, I felt myself safe, and, like a fool, I burst
+into tears, and cried as Betty herself might have done. In the midst of
+my distress, and while he was trying to soothe me, and get some sense
+out of me, Lord Saville made his appearance.
+
+"So!" said he. "Oriana hath found her Amadis, it seems. Doubtless
+the fair dame knew her knight was in hearing when she resisted with
+such ferocious virtue. 'Tis an old trick, but it may do for the west
+country."
+
+"My Lord!" said Walter—I may call him so here—"If you say another word
+or offer another affront to this lady, I will put you over the cliff
+yonder, and give you a worse wetting than old Norman Leslie did in
+Paris, when he laid your face downward in the gutter for sneering at
+his Scotch accent."
+
+Lord Saville grew pale with rage. "You shall answer this!" said he.
+"You shall give me the satisfaction of a gentleman!"
+
+"The satisfaction of a gentleman is due to gentlemen!" answered Walter.
+"Nay, never grind your teeth at me, I know you well!" And with that, he
+said some words in Italian, at which Lord Saville blenched as if he had
+been struck.
+
+"Allow me to see you home, Mistress Merton!" said Walter. And putting
+the courtier aside, as if he had been an intrusive dog, he passed him
+and led me toward home.
+
+"Sit down a moment," said he, kindly, seeing that I trembled so that I
+could hardly stand. "You are quite overcome."
+
+"I am very silly," I stammered, "but oh, nobody ever spoke so to me
+before."
+
+"'Tis not worth minding," said Mr. Corbet. "How did it chance?"
+
+I told him, as well as I could, though I would not repeat all that Lord
+Saville said to me.
+
+"Aye, he is a fine specimen of a Court gallant," said Mr. Corbet,
+bitterly. "'Tis such as he, ruffling in his fine clothes and spending
+money and compliments, that are alienating men's hearts from the king,
+and raising among sober, hard-working people in London, such hatred
+toward the Court party, as I fear will bear bloody fruit ere long."
+
+"But surely," said I, "the King cannot approve him?"
+
+"The King, sweetheart, sees with his wife's eyes, and hears with her
+ears: and Lord Saville is mighty great with the Queen and her party.
+But are you enough recovered to go home? I was on my way to my Lady
+with a message from my mother, which concerns you. I am obliged to go
+to Bristol for a week, on public business, and my mother means to beg
+you and Betty to keep her company for the time. It will be a change for
+the child, and for you also, and my mother will be much pleased."
+
+I was glad of the chance for such a change of air and scene for Betty,
+who was still rather drooping, and not sorry for my own sake to go away
+for a little time.
+
+"I think you will find our old house a pleasant one, though it is
+nothing so grand as the Court," continued Walter. "I want you to learn
+to love it, for my sake."
+
+Perhaps he might have said more, but at that moment, he met Mrs.
+Priscilla Fulton, who has been staying in the house: so leaving me with
+her, Walter went straight to my Lady.
+
+"I have been looking for you," said Mrs. Fulton, who is always very
+gracious to me and everybody: "my Lady says you are a famous knitter,
+and I want you to teach me the stitches. Is that asking too much of
+your good nature Mrs. Merton?"
+
+"Surely not, madam," I answered. "I will do so with pleasure."
+
+So we went up to the nursery, and really had a very nice time over our
+knitting. She is a very pleasant young lady.
+
+In the midst thereof came my Lady with a note in her hand, and calling
+me out of the room, she imparted its contents to me, and asked me how I
+should like to make a visit to Corby-End? I told her that I should like
+it very well, and that I thought the change would do Betty good. So it
+was settled.
+
+Mr. Corbet went to Bristol next day, and Betty and I to Corby-End,
+where we are now. 'Tis beautiful old house—far more to my mind than
+Stanton Court, with all its grandeur. Betty is delighted, though she
+was a little homesick the first night, and cried for her mother. She
+goes with Madam to see and feed the fowls and calves, and seems to be
+gaining strength every day.
+
+But I am a long time coming to the gist of my story. Only three days
+after Walter went away, we were sitting by the fire late one evening,
+after Betty had gone to bed (for Madam uses a little fire now the
+evenings are growing cool and damp), when we heard some one ride up the
+road, and presently Walter entered in his riding suit, splashed with
+mud, and looking so distressed that his mother started up in alarm.
+
+"Walter, my son, what brings you back so soon? And surely you have
+heard some bad news?"
+
+"Aye, that have I, mother—evil and bitter news," said he, gravely.
+"Mother, Sir John Elliot is dead."
+
+"Alas! Alas! Is he gone, the good and brave man?" said Mrs. Corbet.
+"Did he die at home?"
+
+"Not so! He died in prison—in the Tower, whence he had vainly prayed
+to be removed. The King hath even refused to his orphan children the
+poor comfort of paying the last rites to their father's body, which is
+thrust into a hole, like a dog's. The brave good man hath been denied
+that mercy he ever showed, even to his enemies. Alas, my brother!" And
+with that he covered his face and wept like a child. 'Tis a terrible
+thing to see a strong, self-restrained man weep. He controlled himself
+in a moment, however, and sat silently looking at the fire.
+
+"But how did you hear?" asked his mother, presently.
+
+He told her that he had met in Exeter a messenger with letters from
+London, and that he must himself go up to town next day but one. "I
+must see what can be done for those children. Maybe something can be
+saved for them," said he; "and I must see and consult with our friends.
+I think the King is utterly mad. At the rate things are going, the
+Court will leave us neither King nor Church before another five years.
+We are fallen on evil days, and the worst is, one knows not which side
+to take."
+
+"If only one need take neither side," said Madam, sighing. "But I well
+know that cannot be. 'Tis a woeful thing that the King should be so
+ill-advised. But are you sure that Sir John's body was refused to his
+family? I can scarce believe it." *
+
+   * I here take a slight liberty with history. Sir John Elliot died in
+1632. The circumstances were as related above.
+
+"So Mr. Hampden writes me," returned Walter, taking a letter from his
+pocket; "and he is not a man to speak at random. Here is what he says:
+
+   "'Sir John petitioned again and again that he might be set at liberty,
+to regain his health, injured by the close and bad air of his prison,
+but the King's only answer was that the petition was not humble enough.
+At last he died, and his son begged most humbly that he might have
+liberty to carry his father's body into Cornwall, there to be buried
+with his ancestors. His Majesty wrote at the foot of the petition:
+
+   "'"Let Sir John Elliot's body be buried in the church of the parish
+where he died," and accordingly our friend's corpse was thrust into an
+obscure corner of the Tower church. This is the end of an honorable and
+just man, after ten years' languishing in prison, and that for no fault
+save that of upholding valiantly the constitutional liberties of the
+House of Commons. The Court party make no secret of their exultation,
+but the King's real friends are in great dismay; and for mine own part
+I see not any good end possible.'"
+
+"Mr. Hampden writes very moderately," remarked Madam.
+
+"'Tis ever his way to say less than he feels," replied Walter. "The
+others are hot enough. But I am forgetting my trust," he added, turning
+to me with a grave smile. "My grief makes me but a faithless messenger.
+I have letters for you, Mrs. Merton, which Mrs. Carey received in a
+packet from her son, and prayed me to deliver."
+
+So saying he took out a packet and put it into my hands.
+
+"And I am forgetting, too," said his mother; "you have had no supper."
+
+"I have tasted nothing since morning, save a cold morsel at Dame
+Howell's, where we stopped to feed the horses," replied Walter.
+
+"Margaret, will you order supper?" asked Madam. "You see," she added,
+smiling, as I rose to obey, "I treat you as a daughter."
+
+I could have boxed my own ears worse than I did my Lord Saville's for
+the burning blush which mantled my face at these simple words.
+
+Mr. Corbet smiled in his sudden fashion, which makes me always think
+of the shining out of the sun from behind a cloud, and repeated some
+lines of poetry in Italian, for which I was none the wiser. I ordered
+his supper (and I might have spared the pains, for old Mrs. Prudence
+had it already prepared, and was nowise pleased, I could see, at my
+interference), and then escaped to my room to read my letters.
+
+They were both pleasant and painful. Mother and the children are well,
+and everything goes on comfortably at home. Mother says that many of
+the farmers and neighboring gentry have sent her presents of fruit,
+honey, and the like, as they used to do when my father was alive; and
+she hath wool and flax enough to keep her wheel going in all her spare
+minutes. Eunice hath learned to spin flax, and sends me a sample of her
+thread, which is very fair, but Lois cannot manage it. However, she
+hath learned to write nicely, and my mother says Jacky is growing a
+good boy, and a great help to her, and does well at his books. Richard
+has an increase of wages, and is in great liking with his master. The
+disagreeable part is that Felicia has written to mother, saying she has
+heard a very bad account of me from one of the ladies of the family,
+and begs mother to advise me to hold my tongue and keep to my own
+place, with other such matters. Mother says she does not regard the
+news, knowing so well the quarter from whence it comes, but I can see
+that it troubles her.
+
+The next day we were all busy in preparing for Walter's journey to
+London. Betty was made happy by being allowed to help make some
+gingerbread and biscuits. The servants all pet her and make much of
+her, and she goes about the house freely wherever she likes, and is as
+one of the family, which is a great deal better than being confined to
+one room. I fear she will feel the change greatly when she goes home
+again.
+
+A little before sunset I was in the garden, whither Madam had sent me
+to gather some early apples for supper when Walter joined me.
+
+"I fear my mother lays too much upon you," said he, bending down with
+his strong arm the bough I was striving to reach.
+
+"Not at all," I answered. "It makes me feel happy to be going freely
+about house again, and helping in household matters. If I only had my
+wheel, I should feel myself quite at home."
+
+"So would I have you feel," said Walter, earnestly. "I would have you
+look upon this house as your home, and my mother as your mother. All
+that I have to give is yours if you will but take it. Margaret, will
+you be my wife, and a daughter to my mother?"
+
+I hardly know what I said, but he went on speaking.
+
+"I am not a fit mate for you in many respects," said he. "You are a
+fresh young maid, and I am a middle-aged man, worn and browned by much
+travel, and many wars by sea and land—too grave and sober, mayhap, to
+please a maiden's fancy, but I love you, and I believe, with God's
+blessing, I can make you happy!"
+
+"And your mother—and your friends—and my Lord!" I stammered.
+
+"My mother will be well-pleased with what pleases me, and she also
+loves you for your own sake," he rejoined. "As for my Lord, it is no
+concern of his that I know of!"
+
+"But as the head of your house and family," I said.
+
+"He is no more the head of my family than I am of his!" was Mr.
+Corbet's reply. "For the matter of that, the house of Corbet is older
+than that of Stanton, and lived on their own lands when the Stantons
+were unheard of. Don't you know the rhyme:
+
+   "'Corby of Corby sat at home,
+     When Stanton of Stanton hither did come.'
+
+"'Tis true, I am the next heir to the title at present, but I covet
+it not, and should rejoice heartily if my Lady had half a dozen boys
+to-morrow."
+
+"So would not I," I could not help saying. "One would be quite enough!"
+
+"Well, perhaps so. But, at all events, Margaret, I owe no duty to my
+Lord, in that respect."
+
+I cannot tell all he said, but at last he made me confess that I loved
+him.
+
+"Good!" said he, kissing my hand. "That is all I ask or need. And now,
+when shall we be married?"
+
+I felt my face flush like fire.
+
+"Not for a long time yet!" I answered him: "I have solemnly promised
+my dear Lady to stay with Lady Betty for at least a year, unless I am
+turned away, and I do not think that will happen, for from something my
+Lord let fall, I know he has promised my Lady not to interfere."
+
+Walter looked annoyed, and his brow darkened. "When was this promise
+made?" he asked.
+
+I told him it was at the time of the affair with Mr. Penrose.
+
+"But my cousin would surely release you in such a case as this!" said
+Walter. "She is the most unselfish of mortals."
+
+"I suppose she would, and therefore she must not ever be asked to do
+so," I replied. "I know well my duty to her and to Betty, and I should
+feel that I was making an ill-beginning, should I fail in that regard."
+
+"But do you not also owe something to me?" he asked.
+
+"Much!" I answered. "So much, that were it to do again, I should not
+make such a promise. But having made it, when I had everything to gain
+thereby, I dare not break it, now that such a course would be to my
+advantage. I would not have the matter even mentioned, till the trying
+time is past. There is sure to be a storm, and such a scene as that of
+the other night is as much as her life is worth."
+
+I cannot write all the arguments he used. We talked till Madam herself
+sent to call us in to supper.
+
+"I bring you a daughter, mother!" said Walter, as we went into Madam's
+room, where she sat alone. "A dutiful daughter, but also an obstinate
+one. I trust to you to bring her to reason."
+
+Madam folded me in her arms, and gave me her blessing most heartily.
+But when she heard the matter in dispute, she took my part, and said I
+was right. And after a time, Walter yielded so far as to consent that
+the matter should rest till after Hallowmass, by which time we hoped
+all would be happily over.
+
+"Margaret must have the approval of her own mother and brother, as well
+as my Lady's, under whose care and authority she is at present," said
+Madam: "and though, as my son says, he owes no obedience to my Lord
+in this or any other matter, yet, for Margaret's sake, as well as our
+own, I would have no broils or disagreements. In these troublous times,
+family bonds should be drawn as closely as may be. Let matters rest as
+they are till Walter's return."
+
+So it was all settled. I called Betty, who was helping Mrs. Prudence in
+the still-room, and we sat down quietly to supper. Afterward, and when
+Betty was gone to bed, Walter and I sat over the fire, talking for a
+long time, Madam being in her chamber.
+
+"You will go and see my Aunt Willson in London, will you not?" I
+asked. "She is a good woman, though somewhat rough in her manners, and
+hath been very kind to me." And then, suddenly remembering Felicia, I
+checked myself and wished I had not spoken.
+
+"You have another kinswoman staying with her, have you not?" he asked.
+"A young lady who is very much engaged in Lady Jemima's scheme of the
+nunnery?"
+
+That was news to me, but I said yes, my father's sister lived with Mrs.
+Willson.
+
+"I heard of her from Lady Jemima," continued Walter: "you are not in my
+Lady Abbess' good books, Margaret, I can tell you."
+
+"I know that, only too well," said I. "She has been prejudiced against
+me, and nothing I can do or say pleases her. I am very sorry, for I was
+fond of her, and she began by being very kind to me in her way."
+
+"She has a great deal of good in her," remarked Walter, "but she is
+wholly governed by her imagination, and she can see no good in anybody
+who differs from her. After all, I think the root of her fault lies in
+her overweening estimate of herself, which makes it a crime in her eyes
+for any one to cross or oppose her."
+
+So we talked till Madam herself sent us to bed.
+
+Walter went away early next morning, promising to write me under cover
+to his mother. The day after to-morrow Betty and I return home. I must
+say I dread it. My life here has been so pleasant and homelike; so free
+from any dread of giving offence, so full of quiet and homely pleasures.
+
+I have been to church, and so has Betty, and she has also had the
+supreme pleasure of visiting the school, and distributing to the
+girls with her own hands the buns she helped to make. The school is
+wonderfully effective, Madam tells me, and has been the greatest
+blessing to the children of the village.
+
+Mistress Ellenwood has been here many years, and is now teaching the
+children of those who were her pupils when she first came hither. I
+have also been down to the Cove, where I heard the tale of Madam's
+persecutions, as a witch, many years ago, and made the acquaintance of
+Uncle Jan Lee, the fisherman, who had the chief hand in rescuing her
+from the mob. He seldom goes out now, and has no need to do so, for his
+son and nephew (who is also his son-in-law) provide for him handsomely.
+The latter, Will Atkins by name, is an officer on board the same ship
+as Walter, and much honored for his bravery and seamanship.
+
+Aside from the great happiness it has brought me, I am heartily glad,
+for Betty's sake, that we made this visit. She has had her little world
+wonderfully enlarged thereby. She has been into the cottages and seen
+how the poor folks live: she has actually taken a little month old babe
+on her lap, and seen it dressed and suckled; she has seen cows milked
+and poultry fed.
+
+My Lord met us one day as we were coming from Goody Yeo's cottage. I
+knew not what would happen, but he only asked where we had been, and
+when he heard, laughed and patted her cheek, and called her "Little
+Dame Bountiful." And then, putting his hand in his pocket, gave her a
+handful of pence to bestow on her pets. It is a pity he will ever give
+place to the evil spirit, as he does at times. He is so very gracious
+and pleasant when he is his better self.
+
+
+                                                _September 7._
+
+We are at home again, and have fallen quite back into our old ways.
+Not quite, either. Betty is much more active, goes about the house
+and grounds, and has persuaded Mrs. Judith to give her some share in
+feeding the poultry.
+
+We found a pleasant surprise awaiting us at our return. Betty's room
+had been cleaned, and all new hung with fresh, pretty tapestry,
+representing scenes from the Morte d' Arthur, and a little room next,
+hitherto used as a lumber-room, hath been cleared out and fitted up
+as a sitting-room for her and myself. Here I found standing a pretty
+carved spinning-wheel and a basket of fine flax, and Betty a still
+greater surprise—a beautiful little dog, as like poor Gill as two peas,
+which at our approach sprang from his cushion, and began fawning around
+her feet, and looking up in her face as though he would entreat her
+favor. Betty looked at him and then at me, and then stooping down to
+pat him, she burst into tears.
+
+"See how kind my Lord has been!" said I. "He told me he would get you
+another dog, if one could be found."
+
+"It was very good in papa, and it is a very pretty dog," said Betty,
+sobbing, "but I shall never love him as I did poor Gill."
+
+I did not think it worth while to argue that point, knowing that the
+dog would make his own way, but told her she should write a letter of
+thanks to my Lord.
+
+She took to the notion at once, and after some trouble made a very fair
+copy of a note of thanks, which I carried to my Lord at supper time. He
+was pleased, and said 'twas very well done, and a credit both to Bess
+and to me.
+
+"But did she really write it herself?" he asked.
+
+"Of course not," interrupted Lady Jemima. "I wonder you cannot see that
+'tis all Mrs. Merton's own work, from first to last."
+
+"You are mistaken, madam," I answered. "I did indeed put the idea into
+Lady Betty's mind, but both words and handwriting are all her own. I
+never gave her any help, save to tell her how to spell the words."
+
+"And very well done it is," said my Lord; "and you may tell Bess I am
+heartily glad she likes the dog. And I thank you too, Mrs. Margaret,
+for taking so much pains with the child, as I believe you do. You must
+not mind if I am hasty now and then. 'Tis only my way."
+
+"I wonder you can be so deceived, brother!" said Lady Jemima.
+
+"Tut, tut!" he answered, more gravely than he is wont to speak. "I have
+eyes in my head, I warrant you. See you not that the words and the
+writing are all those of a child? But never mind her, Margaret," he
+added, relapsing into his usual careless tone. "She is in an ill-humor.
+She has dismissed her fine court suitor with a flea in his ear, and
+now she is sorry, as all women are when a lover takes them at their
+word—eh, Margaret?"
+
+From which words of my Lord's, and from what Mrs. Judith told me, I
+learned that Lord Saville was a suitor for the hand of Lady Jemima. It
+seems she has a good fortune of her own, and though she must be older
+than Lord Saville, she is a handsome woman still, or would be, if she
+dressed like other women of quality. But I am glad to say she would
+none of him, but sent him packing with but little ceremony. She is full
+of her notion of a kind of nunnery, which she means to establish at a
+house she has near Exeter, and has engaged several ladies to join with
+her, one of which, it seems, is Felicia. They will have a peaceful
+household, no doubt. She is very earnest with Mrs. Priscilla Fulton to
+join her also, but it seems the latter is not yet decided.
+
+I cannot feel right about keeping this matter secret from my Lady. She
+stands, as Madam said, in the place of a mother to me, and she has been
+so very kind. I think I must tell her all about it, happen what may. I
+told Madam Corbet so this afternoon.
+
+She smiled, and said:
+
+"I knew it would come to that, dear heart, and I think you are right.
+She may, perhaps, be ill-pleased at first, but she is the most
+reasonable of creatures. But, now, suppose I undertake the commission
+for you?"
+
+"Oh, I should be so thankful!" I exclaimed. "Surely no poor girl was
+ever so blessed with kind friends as I am."
+
+"Well, well! I hope you will never want them, my love," said Madam,
+kissing me. "But, Margaret, I think we will confine our confidence to
+my Lady. It need go no farther, at present. Not that I am ashamed or
+unwilling to let the whole world know what wife my son hath chosen, but
+coming events may change the aspect of matters, and for all our sakes,
+but especially for Elizabeth's, I would fain avoid a storm. Are you
+still resolved to abide your year's waiting?"
+
+"I am, unless matters should greatly change," said I. "It seems to me
+one of the cases where a man sweareth to his neighbor and disappointeth
+him not, though it were to his own hindrance. I promised my Lady in the
+most solemn manner not to leave Lady Betty for at least a year, and
+I do not think that I have any right to break that promise, because
+it would be greatly to my advantage to do so. It does seem to me that
+the first thing to be thought of is our duty. The rest is of little
+consequence in comparison to that."
+
+This little conversation took place in our sitting-room, Betty being
+out with Mrs. Judith feeding the fowls, in which they both take as much
+interest as though they were human beings. (I often wonder that Mrs.
+Judith can allow any of her subjects to be killed, she thinks so much
+of them. I believe she feels it a great hardship that they cannot have
+the freedom of the place, and she can hardly forgive Dick Gardener for
+stoning an old hen out of the garden, where she was making herself much
+at home among his gillyflowers. Richard used to say at home it was
+father's and my maxim that "A cat could do no wrong;" and I believe
+Mrs. Judith applies the same to her hens. Thus much, by the way.)
+
+We were interrupted by Mrs. Fulton coming in with her knitting, about
+which she is much engaged. She had gotten into difficulties, and I
+asked her to sit down by me and do several rows, that I might overlook
+her. This same knitting of Mrs. Priscy's has made us well acquainted,
+and her visits are ever a pleasure both to Betty and me, but I don't
+think Lady Jemima is at all pleased with them.
+
+After the knitting was rectified and going on well again, Mrs. Priscy
+began talking about Lady Jemima's nunnery, which is no longer any
+secret. She was quite full of enthusiasm about the matter, and thought
+it such a beautiful fancy for women to vow themselves to God's service,
+retire from the world, and occupy themselves with good works, such as
+nursing the sick and bringing up children.
+
+Madam Corbet smiled. "But, dear heart, why should one retire from the
+world to do all these things? Tell me, Priscilla, how many children
+hath your own good mother brought up?"
+
+"Sixteen," answered Mrs. Priscy, smiling.
+
+"And, withal, she hath done not a little nursing, hath she not?"
+
+"Indeed she hath!" answered Mrs. Priscy, with animation. "You know,
+Madam, my Gaffer, my father's father, was with us all the latter years
+of his life, when he was very feeble both in mind and body, and needed
+as much care as a babe and then there was poor little Amy, and my
+brother, who was wounded at Rochelle, and lingered on a year, besides
+the care of the little ones. Yes, indeed, my mother has had her share
+of nursing."
+
+"And, with all that, she has found time not only to read the Scriptures
+and other good books herself, but to instruct her children in the
+same," continued Madam. "Moreover she has done what lay in her power to
+promote the innocent happiness of all about her."
+
+"Yes, indeed she has," answered Mrs. Priscilla, with tears in her eyes,
+and a rising color, which made her, methought, prettier than ever. "Oh,
+Madam, nobody knows nor ever will know how much good my dear honored
+mother hath done in the world!"
+
+"And all this without any ostentatious retirement from the world—any
+conventual robes, to say to every one, 'See how much better I am than
+you!'—any vows but those of her baptism," said Mrs. Corbet, smiling.
+
+Mrs. Priscilla smiled and blushed in her turn. "That is true!" said
+she. "I am sure no nun ever did any more; but yet—"
+
+"But yet all this was done in the station wherein she was placed by
+God, and following out the duty to which God hath called her, instead
+of placing herself in one which He hath never appointed, and for
+which He hath given no directions!" said Mrs. Corbet. "In His word we
+find abundance of councils and commands to wives, husbands, widows,
+servants, and children, and the like, but not one that I can remember
+to nuns!"
+
+"And to bishops and ministers," said Mrs. Priscy.
+
+"Yes—that they should be the husband of one wife!" I could not help
+saying, whereat they both laughed, and Mrs. Priscy blushed. (I think
+she hath a fancy for Mr. Penrose. I wish he would take a liking to her.
+I am sure she would make him an excellent wife.)
+
+"But all women do not wish to marry, or have not the chance to do so,"
+said Mrs. Priscilla. "What would you have them do?"
+
+"Whatever Providence brings in their way," answered Mrs. Corbet. "If
+they are in earnest about wishing to serve Him, they are not like
+to go begging for work. Look at Mistress Ellenwood, our excellent
+schoolmistress. Where will you find a life more useful and devoted than
+hers?"
+
+"But still there seems something so noble in devoting oneself, body and
+soul, to His service!" remarked Mrs. Priscilla. "In vowing all one's
+energies to His work!"
+
+"Well, my dear one, have you not already vowed as much at your
+baptism?" asked Madam. "Tell me, now, what were those things which your
+sponsors then promised for you?"
+
+Mrs. Priscy repeated according to the Catechism:
+
+"'First, that I should renounce the devil and all his works, the vain
+pomp and glory of the world, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh:
+secondly, that I should believe all the articles of the Christian
+faith: thirdly, that I should keep God's holy will and commandments,
+and walk in the same all the days of my life.'"
+
+"You see these promises cover a great deal of ground," said Mrs.
+Corbet. "You engage nothing less than absolute obedience and giving up
+of yourself to God all your life-long. Now tell me, having promised all
+to begin with, what can any other vows add to the force of these?"
+
+"But it seems as though it would be so much easier," said Mrs.
+Priscilla—"so much easier, I mean, to serve Him in retirement, away
+from the distractions of the world and all the temptations and
+interruptions of every-day life."
+
+"Then it seems it is your own ease you are seeking, after all!" said
+Madam, with a penetrating look.
+
+Mrs. Priscy blushed, but made no answer.
+
+"I believe, however, that you make a great mistake in thinking so!"
+continued Madam. "I believe you would find that you had only exchanged
+the great world for a very narrow one, with which the flesh and the
+devil have as much commerce as with the other. I have heard in years
+past a great deal about convent life from my grandame, who brought me
+up, and who was herself bred in one of the best religious houses of
+this country, and I do not believe that life within the convent walls
+is, as a general thing, either holier or happier than ordinary family
+life."
+
+The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Betty, in a
+state of great excitement, with a red-breast, which she had found lying
+on the ground with a broken wing. Launce (so she hath called her new
+dog, being short for Launcelot in the Morte d' Arthur) was as much
+excited as herself, and the small tempest diverted and broke up the
+conversation.
+
+After the red-breast was comfortably accommodated in a cage which I
+found for him, and Betty had gone to put her dress to rights and wash
+her face, Madam rose and said she would go see her cousin, anal Lady
+Jemima came to seek Mrs. Priscilla.
+
+I called Betty to her lessons, which she now does regularly every day,
+but I am afraid I was rather absent-minded and distracted; for while
+Betty was repeating the verses I had set her to learn, she stopped, and
+said, rather sharply, "Margaret, you are not paying attention. I have
+said it wrong twice, and you have taken no notice at all!"
+
+"Then if you have said it wrong twice, you had better take the book
+and learn it over!" I answered her gravely, handing her back the book.
+Whereat she looked so blank that I could not forbear laughing.
+
+"Come!" said I. "Begin again, and we will both try to do better."
+
+So I compelled myself to attend, and we finished the lessons
+prosperously.
+
+At night, after Betty had gone to bed, my Lady sent for me to come
+to her room. I did so, I must confess, with fear and trembling, for
+though I knew not that I had done anything wrong, I could not tell how
+my Lady might take the matter. And, for all she is so gentle and kind,
+or perhaps I should say because she is so gentle and kind, I dread her
+anger far more than I do my Lord's tantrums.
+
+I found her alone, sitting in her great chair, and looking thoughtfully
+at the fire on the hearth. My Lady, like Madam, will have a fire when
+she pleases, without waiting till Michaelmas, according to the old
+rule; and, indeed, I can see no sense in going cold because it is one
+time of the year rather than another. So there was a little fire of
+pine cones and sticks blazing on the hearth, and my Lady sat before
+it. She beckoned me to take a low seat by her side, and I did so, in
+silence, waiting for her to begin.
+
+"So," said she, presently: "I have been hearing of fine doings between
+you and grave Cousin Walter, whom every one thought to have a head too
+full of public matters to meddle in love-making. What think you I shall
+say to you, maiden?"
+
+"I am sure you will say nothing but what is right and kind, my Lady,"
+I answered, taking courage from her tone. "I begged Madam to tell you,
+because I felt that I ought not to have any secrets from you."
+
+"So my cousin said, and so far it was well done but, Margaret, ought
+you to have promised yourself to any man, much more a member of mine
+own family, without asking me?"
+
+"I did not, my Lady," I answered her, eagerly. "I told Mr. Corbet I was
+bound to be ruled by you, and I could not marry without your consent:
+and I said I would not leave you for a year, at all events, because I
+had promised to abide with Lady Betty for that space of time, whatever
+might happen."
+
+"Why, that was well," said my Lady, "but, sweetheart, a year is a
+long time. I fear you are laying out for yourself a hard piece of
+work—harder than you will have strength to perform."
+
+"I think not, my Lady," I said. "It is my duty to be faithful to my
+word and to you, and I am sure that I shall have strength given me to
+do it. Beside that, I do not think it will be as hard now as it has
+been heretofore."
+
+"I suppose it was this same regard for Master Walter, which so hardened
+your heart against poor Mr. Penrose," said my Lady, after a little
+silence.
+
+"I think not, altogether, my Lady," I answered. "I don't think I should
+have cared to marry Mr. Penrose, even though I had never seen Mr.
+Corbet; though, I confess, I never knew what Mr. Corbet was to me till
+then."
+
+"So Jemima was right, after all," continued my Lady: "right, I mean,
+in thinking that your mind was fixed elsewhere. Not that I accuse you
+of using any art or coquetry, so you need not flush so angrily," she
+added, patting my cheek. "Marry, it needs no coquetry in the candle,
+to make the moths fly into it. Well, Margaret, I know not what to say
+to this matter. My cousin hath a right to please himself; and though
+you are somewhat too young for him, I believe he hath chosen wisely.
+His mother, I can see, is well-pleased, and I suppose yours will hardly
+make any objection. Walter is a good man, though grave and sombre at
+times, but I believe he will make you a good husband. I think you, too,
+have made a wise choice."
+
+"If it please you, my Lady, I do not feel as if I had made any choice,"
+said I. "I cannot think that one goes to work to choose a husband or
+wife as one does a horse or a new gown. It seems to me as if those
+things should be ordered by Providence. I am sure I never chose to care
+for Mr. Corbet. It came upon me unawares, and I was as much surprised
+when I found it out as any one could be."
+
+"And suppose Mr. Corbet had not cared for you, what then?" asked my
+Lady. "Would you then have gone on mourning all your days, or would you
+have turned your affections on another object?"
+
+"Neither, I think, my Lady," I answered. "I do not think a woman is to
+throw away her life, because she cannot have her own way, and marry
+the man she loves, like a petted child, which flings away its bread,
+because it cannot have sweetmeat thereon. And I think to marry the man
+one did not love to spite the man one did love, would be more foolish
+still. I think, in such a case, I should try to take up my cross and
+bear it as long as God saw fit, and seek to find my comfort in helping
+and comforting others, and in doing, as best I could, the work which
+was given me to do—in doing my duty in that state to which He was
+pleased to call me."
+
+"You are wondrous fond of that word 'duty,'" said my Lady.
+
+"I am," I answered. "It seems to me the bravest and best word in the
+world. Our feelings change with every wind that blows, and we are
+wondrous apt to be mistaken about them; but one's duty is usually
+plain, if not always easy."
+
+"You are a wondrous sensible girl for your age, Margaret," said my Lady.
+
+"I will write to them at home that you say so, my Lady!" I answered,
+laughing. "'Twill be greater news than the other."
+
+"But the grand difficulty is to come," said my Lady. "What think you my
+Lord will say? You know that Walter is the heir, and is like to succeed
+to title and all, as things stand at present. Then, should ought
+miscarry with me, or should my Lord die without male issue, you would
+stand in my shoes and be Lady Stanton."
+
+"God forbid!" said I, as fervently as I felt. "We both hope that may be
+changed after Michaelmas, and I thought matters might rest till then."
+
+"Perhaps that will be the best way," said my Lady, after some
+consideration, "though I love not secrets in the house. But, Margaret,
+bethink you whether with that matter on your mind, you will be able
+to do your duty by my child? Will not her interests suffer? And will
+you be content to meet Walter as a stranger, or only as you have done
+heretofore?"
+
+"As to Lady Betty, I believe I have never yet neglected her, even when
+I have had the most on my mind," said I. "You are the best judge of
+that, my Lady. Have you seen any reason to be dissatisfied with me?"
+
+"Surely not, sweetheart, but quite the contrary," said my Lady,
+kindly. "The child is wonderfully improved, and seems to gain health
+and strength every day. You would be like to hear of it, if I saw any
+fault."
+
+"I hope so," said I: "and as to the rest, it must be as it happens. Mr.
+Corbet will be away in London for a month or more, and by that time we
+shall see what will be the state of things."
+
+My Lady kissed me at parting, and so the matter ended. I do not believe
+I shall neglect my duty to Betty. I love the child more and more every
+day.
+
+
+                                                _September 14._
+
+Madam Corbet has given me a beautiful present—namely, a gold locket
+containing a fair likeness of her son, which he had painted when he was
+abroad in the Low Countries. It has a gold chain attached, and I wear
+it round my neck under my kerchief.
+
+Having a chance to send to Exeter this day by Mr. Penrose, I have
+written a long letter to mother, for Mrs. Carey to send with her own to
+her son. But this writing is cold work. I would I could kneel down by
+her and tell her all.
+
+The sick robin is getting well, and is very tame and playful, perching
+on Launce's back and plucking at his ears, to Betty's great delight,
+more than to the poor dog's, but he takes all patiently, as he would
+anything which pleased his mistress. He has fairly made good his
+entrance into her heart, and I believe she loves him quite as well as
+ever she did Gill, though she will not own as much. I can see that her
+father's hasty words still rankle in her heart, though she never speaks
+of them directly.
+
+Yesterday eve, going down into the kitchen, I found all the servants
+looking on with great interest at a charm old Dame Penberthy was
+preparing, to learn whether the new-comer was to be boy or girl. She
+had found a stone with a hole therein, which she was suspending by a
+string, and with many ceremonies, over the door; and the first person
+who enters in the morning, whether man or woman, tells the sex of the
+babe. I told her of our old country charm to the same effect, made by
+burning a blade bone of mutton; and as they had one for supper, she
+must needs try that also. The maids would have had her hang her charms
+over some other door, because they said Peggy the milkwoman was always
+the first one to enter the kitchen, but she said no, it must needs be
+the kitchen door, and no other.
+
+"What is the use of the pebble with a hole in it?" asked Thomas, who is
+an old soldier, and a bit of a Sadducee, I should fancy. "Why would not
+any other stone do as well?"
+
+"Because it wont!" answered the dame, shortly. "How can I tell why, any
+more than why one who finds four-leaved clovers should always be lucky?"
+
+"Then should I be the luckiest person in the world!" said I. "For I am
+always finding them."
+
+"And so you are, and will be!" answered the old dame, looking earnestly
+in my face. "'Tis written on your very forehead. Any one may see that
+you have brought luck to this house, and so you will to any house you
+enter."
+
+"Many thanks, dame, for the prediction!" said I. "Methinks I
+shall never want happiness myself, in that case. But now I want
+to ask a favor of you. I know there is no hand equal to yours in
+clear-starching, and I want you to wash and do up for me the robe I
+have been working for my Lady."
+
+"That I will—that I will, dear heart!" said the old woman. "And I hope
+I may live to do as much for yourself, on the like joyful occasion!"
+
+I made my escape at this, but as I left the room, I heard Anne say,
+"That will you not, dame. Mrs. Margaret scorns her suitor, and will
+have none of him, though 'twould be a fine match for her."
+
+"When the right one comes, she will not scorn him!" Dame Penberthy
+answered. "She is no common maid to snap at a lover like a trout at a
+fly. She will marry well, I promise you, though she will see trouble
+first."
+
+This morning Mary told me, with great glee, that the first person who
+came into the kitchen was Roger, my Lord's groom; and I was silly
+enough to be pleased likewise. But Mrs. Brewster was vexed, and said
+that trying such spells was unlucky, and would bring ill-hap on child
+and mother. I am sure I hope not.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+_TRAVELLING MERCHANTS._
+
+                                                _September 15._
+
+WE have heard nothing from Walter yet, though it is full time. I cannot
+help feeling uneasy.
+
+Yesterday we had a visit from a travelling bookseller, well-known,
+as I learn, in these parts. He seemed a man of more than ordinary
+intelligence, and much gravity, and even austerity of deportment.
+
+"Well, Master Blanchard," said my Lord, greeting him heartily; "what
+now play-books or romances have you brought us this time?"
+
+"Truly, but few new ones, my Lord," answered Master Blanchard. "I like
+not the books of that kind lately printed, so well as to make myself
+very busy in spreading them abroad."
+
+"I thought the Archbishop very careful in the matter of licensing
+books," remarked my Lady.
+
+"He is," answered the old man, dryly. "He hath forbid the reprinting of
+'Foxe, his Book of Martyrs,' and of the works of Bishop Jewell, as well
+as of the 'Practise of Piety,' a book which has gone through no less
+than thirty-six editions!"
+
+"By my faith that is being particular with a vengeance!" exclaimed my
+Lord. "Methinks if all we hear be true, his grace might find other
+things to forbid than the 'Practise of Piety.' Why, my own mother used
+and loved that book next to her Bible. I believe between the Papists
+and the Puritans, the world hath gone stark mad."
+
+"It will be madder yet, or I am much mistaken," said Master Blanchard.
+"I have good store of paper and blank books, if you need them, my Lord,
+and some new music-books, and cards of patterns, and the like, for the
+ladies."
+
+We were all purchasers. I bought a new blank book and some paper, and
+my Lady gave me a silver pen and a pretty fashioned inkstand. Betty
+would needs buy a Bible and Prayer-book, as christening gifts for her
+god-child. Lady Jemima turned over the books of devotion and selected
+two or three, though she made a very disapproving face over some that
+she found there.
+
+"But I cannot but think you are misinformed, Master Blanchard," said my
+Lady. "Why should the Archbishop forbid the printing of the 'Book of
+Martyrs'?"
+
+"That is a question asked by many people, my Lady," answered the old
+merchant. "I only know the fact in the case. 'Tis certain the books are
+to be printed no more, and they have risen in price in consequence.
+Folks say it is all the Queen's doing, but of that I know nothing."
+
+"It was an evil chance that gave us a Papist Queen!" said my Lord. "I
+say nothing against the Lady herself, but 'twas a great pity."
+
+"It gives the Papists great confidence," said Master Blanchard. "They
+are holding up their heads everywhere, and boasting of their favor with
+the King, and of the great things they will do hereafter. For mine own
+part I would as soon have an Italian Pope as an English. But least
+said soonest mended. I have Master Shakespeare's Plays and some of Ben
+Johnson's, my Lord, if you choose any of them."
+
+I shall value my "Practise of Piety" more than ever, now I know that
+the printing thereof is forbidden. I have begun to read it over again
+this very night.
+
+
+                                                _September 18._
+
+We have had another travelling merchant, but of quite a different sort
+from Master Blanchard. This was a sharp, alert, and withal somewhat
+sly-looking little man, profuse of his bows and compliments, who
+brought ribbons, laces, and all sorts of trinkets and perfumes. My
+Lord, who is in high good humor about these days, would buy us each a
+fairing, and he gave me a little ivory and gilt box for sweetmeats—a
+pretty and convenient toy.
+
+"Now must you have it filled," said the pedler, and taking it from
+my hand, and first laying in the bottom a piece of white paper, as
+it seemed, he poured the box full of colored and perfumed comfits;
+and then closing the lid, he put it back into my hand with a look of
+intelligence which I did not at all understand.
+
+The mystery has explained itself since, in a very disagreeable manner.
+I was going down to see a little lame girl in the village, and thinking
+to please the child, I poured all the comfits out of my box on the
+table, and was about to take the paper in the bottom to wrap some of
+them in, when looking at it, I discovered that it was a letter, and
+addressed to myself. Very much astonished, I opened it, and found it
+to be a regular love-letter, written in the most ornate and flowing
+style, and treating of broken hearts, flames, Cupid's arrows, and the
+like, bewailing my cruelty to the sender, and promising, if I would
+reconsider the matter, to make it more to my advantage than anything
+that had ever happened to me. Should I consent, I was to send my answer
+by the bearer, who was in the secret, and all should be managed with
+the greatest discretion. This precious epistle was signed "E. S."
+
+I was absolutely stunned for the moment, and knew not what to do, but
+presently resolving, I carried the letter directly to my Lady, in her
+own room, and begged her to read it, telling her at the same time how
+it had come into my hands.
+
+"This is very strange," said my Lady, her cheek flushing as it does
+when she is displeased. "Have you any idea as to the writer?"
+
+"I have," said I, "but as I do not know for certain, and have moreover
+no wish to know, perhaps I had better not mention him."
+
+"Do you mean Lord Saville?" asked my Lady, and as I assented; "why
+should you think of him? Had he ought to say to you when he was here?"
+
+I told her what had chanced at the spring.
+
+"And what did you say to him?" asked my Lady, something sharply. "I
+fear you must have given him some encouragement, or he would not have
+ventured to write."
+
+"I boxed his ears soundly, if that be any encouragement," I answered,
+forgetting, I am afraid, the respect due to my Lady in my vexation: "I
+only wish I had boxed them harder still."
+
+"So that was the history of his swollen cheek," said my Lady, much
+amused. "Truly I think you left not much to be desired in that way. And
+how did you escape from this modern Amadis?"
+
+I told her the farther history of the encounter, adding that I should
+have spoken to her before, only that I did not like to annoy her.
+
+"Well, well I see no fault to find with your conduct, on the whole,"
+said my Lady: "though 'twas rather a rustical way of defending
+yourself. However, I hardly know what you could have done. I am
+heartily sorry for the whole matter—sorry that you should have been
+annoyed—that my kinsman should have no more respect for me than to
+attempt an intrigue with one of my family, and specially sorry, that
+Walter should have made an enemy of him. Despite his gay and careless
+manner, he hath a sullen and revengeful temper, and is like to be a
+dangerous foe. I think you had best keep quiet at home, Margaret, till
+this man leaves the neighborhood. As for this precious missive, we will
+give it to the flames. You will make a good wife, sweetheart, if you
+are as frank and open with your husband as you have ever been with me."
+
+So I have kept close house over since, having a good excuse in the
+great rains. I am confident I saw the pedler in the avenue last night,
+and as I was going to bed, a pebble rattled against my casement more
+than once.
+
+I would not go near it, and Ban, the great mastiff, scenting some
+disturbance, came barking and baying round the corner in such savage
+sort, that the intruder, whoever he was, beat a hasty retreat. I begged
+of the cook a good bone for the old dog this morning, and carried it to
+him with my own hands.
+
+
+                                                _September 19._
+
+I ventured this morning to go down and see Jenny Lee; and walking on
+to Corby-End, whom should I meet in the wood near the wicket-gate, but
+this same pedler. I would not stop, however, though he called to me,
+and even followed me on the path, asking me in a fawning tone whether I
+had no word for him.
+
+"You are turning your back on your own good fortune, my pretty lady,"
+he said. "Could you but see the lodging and apparel that awaits you,
+you would change your tone. I pray you give me a word for my master."
+
+"I will give you this word, not for your master, but yourself," said I,
+at last. "If you ever dare to accost me again, I will tell my Lord and
+Mr. Penrose of your practises, and have you set in the village stocks
+for a vagrant and mischief-maker, as you are."
+
+The fellow was silent, and slunk out of sight. As soon as I got home,
+I threw all his comfits in the fire, not knowing what charms might be
+contained in them, though, I believe, a pure loving heart that trusts
+in God, may set all charms and enchantments at defiance.
+
+It is very strange that we hear nothing from Walter.
+
+
+                                                _September 28._
+
+I must write, if I cannot speak. Oh that I dared tell the whole to my
+Lady, or to Madam Corbet, my second mother!
+
+This morning I went down to the Cove to carry some comforts to a sick
+woman Mr. Penrose had been telling my Lady of, and after I had finished
+my visit to her, I turned into Jan Lee's cottage. I knocked, and the
+door was opened to me by Will Atkins, who greeted me with such a
+perturbed and anxious countenance as made me exclaim at once:
+
+"O Will, have you any news of Walter,—of Mr. Corbet?"
+
+"In sooth, I fear so, and that none of the best, madam," answered Will.
+"Come in, if you please, and give us your advice how we shall deal with
+the matter."
+
+He gave me a chair as he spoke, and I sat down, with a curious feeling
+of being in a kind of dream.
+
+"I was over at Exeter yesterday," said Will, "and there whom should I
+meet but Tom Andrews, who you remember went away with Mr. Corbet. At
+first, I could get naught out of him, save that some great misfortune
+had happened to Walter; so dazed and muddled was he. But by questioning
+him, I at last made out that his master had been set upon one night,
+as he drew near to Salisbury, by a party of highwaymen, and, as he
+believed, murdered."
+
+"You are too hasty, son Will!" exclaimed old Jan, rising from his seat.
+"The young lady is fainting."
+
+"No, no!" I exclaimed, putting him back with my hand. "I am not
+fainting. Let me hear all, I beseech you! No one has a better right
+than I."
+
+Will then went on with his tale. He said he had questioned and
+cross-questioned the man, and had at last discovered that Tom did not
+stay to see the end of the fray, but had hastened to save his own neck,
+and had then been ashamed to show himself. He told a great story of
+the number and strength of the assailants, and was quite sure that Mr.
+Corbet and John must have gone down among them.
+
+"And now the question is, what shall we do with this tale?" concluded
+Will. "I shall myself ride post at once toward London and try to
+discover the truth or falsehood of Tom's story, which I do not half
+believe. What shall we do in the mean time about Madam and my Lady?
+The story may not be true, and then they would have all the alarm and
+suspense for nothing, and it would be ill for my Lady."
+
+"You are right!" said I. "She must not know it—but how to keep it from
+her, and from his mother! Have you told any one here?"
+
+"Nobody," answered Will. "I have but just now come home, and was
+consulting with my father as to the best way of dealing with the
+matter. He is disposed to treat the whole as an idle tale, made up by
+Tom to shield himself, and believes that Walter hath dismissed him for
+some misdemeanor."
+
+"Master Watty never should have taken him," said the old man, "and so I
+told him. 'Tis a poor rascal and comes of a poor stock, but Watty must
+needs try to make a man of him. 'Tis always his way, ever trying to
+make whistles out of pigs' tails!"
+
+"I will make him whistle to purpose, if he has put such a lie upon
+us," answered Will, grimly, "but I fear there is more in the matter
+than mere lying. That fine lord who was here last month was no friend
+to Walter. They have crossed each other's path more than once before
+this last time, and it would be quite in his way to hire bravos or
+highwaymen to execute the vengeance he dare not attempt himself. He
+hath lived in Italy long enough to learn all their tricks. But we lose
+time in talking."
+
+"What do you mean to do?" I asked, still with the same strange, dreamy
+feeling, as if the matter concerned somebody else and not myself.
+
+"I shall take horse at once, and ride toward Salisbury," answered Will
+Atkins. "I can easily find out by inquiring at the inns whether Mr.
+Corbet hath been there within a month. He is well-known on the road,
+and always uses the same houses."
+
+"But you will not go alone?" I said.
+
+"No, David Lee will ride with me, I am sure, and I must go to him for a
+horse."
+
+"And for money. Have you money enough?" I asked, putting my hand in my
+pocket. It is curious to me now to consider how cool I was. I seemed to
+think of everything at once.
+
+"I have a plenty for my purpose, Madam," answered Will. "But you look
+very pale, and your hand trembles," he added, as a blink of sun shone
+in on my face.
+
+"I fear the keeping this matter a secret, will be a task beyond your
+strength!"
+
+"No, no!" I answered, hastily. "I can do whatever is necessary. I shall
+have help, I am sure."
+
+"Aye, that she will!" said old Jan. "I can see it in her face. They
+call women the weaker vessels, but they ever seem to me the stronger,
+when there is anything to be borne. But 'tis hard the burden should be
+laid upon her, poor young maid!"
+
+Will looked at me with such a penetrating yet puzzled glance, that I
+thought best to tell him all, knowing that Walter hath no nearer or
+warmer friend than this his foster-brother and old playmate.
+
+"I am betrothed to Mr. Corbet," said I; "we do not make the matter
+public as yet, but his mother and my Lady are in the secret. You see, I
+have the best right to know everything, and to help—"
+
+But here, for the first time, I broke down, and sobbed hysterically.
+
+No woman could be more tender in her ministrations than the old sailor.
+And when I recovered myself, which I did presently, he opened some
+secret nook and brought out a bottle of wine, of which he would have me
+take a glass, and indeed I was glad to do so.
+
+"My Lord hath none such in his cellars," said he, with some pride.
+
+"'Tis Canary, which hath made the voyage to South America. Marry, the
+Bishop who carried it over to St. Jago for his own drinking, little
+guessed whose palate it would regale!"
+
+'Tis strange to myself how I remember and write down all these trifles.
+I seem to find therein a kind of comfort and relief.
+
+My Lady noticed my pale looks at supper, and asked me if my head ached
+again, for ever since the fall of the candlestick, I have been subject
+to hard headaches. I told her it did, which was true enough, and she
+bade me go to rest early, and not rise in the morning unless I felt
+able.
+
+But I cannot rest. Oh that I had some one to whom I could tell all!
+And so I have. Faithless that I am, is there not One who knows all,
+who has promised help and comfort according to our needs, and in whose
+all-powerful hands my Walter is, and must be safe, wherever he is. He
+cannot go out of God's sight. We are both His children, and love Him,
+and so all things must needs be well with him, however hard and bitter
+they may seem now. Oh, how thankful I am that I have learned before
+this great trouble came upon me to regard my Maker, no longer as a hard
+taskmaster, exacting so much for so much, but as a kind, tender, loving
+Father.
+
+"He that spared not His own Son—" His own Son!
+
+
+                               _Feast of St. Michael. September 29._
+
+I have been to church to-day, and feel wondrously comforted and soothed
+thereby. It seemed at first as if I could not go—as if my service would
+be only a mockery, and a lip-service: but Betty wished to go, and I
+know what my duty was. She hath become very fond of going to church,
+and my Lord no longer puts any obstacle in the way.
+
+Her deformity is not nearly so noticeable now that she is stronger and
+sits up straighter, and she grows pretty every day, while her aptness
+and quick replies make her an amusing companion, even to her father.
+I think he will end with being very fond of her, unless some new
+influence should come in the way. I earnestly hope so, for the poor
+child loves him with an intensity painful to see, and far more than he
+deserves. It is a different kind of affection from the quiet, trustful
+love she bestows on her mother, and in a somewhat less degree, on me.
+Any chance careless word of his—and there are plenty of them—cuts her
+to the heart; and any instance of thoughtfulness or affection makes her
+happy for all day.
+
+My Lord is fond of chess; though, with reverence be it said, he is
+about the worst player I ever saw, and I have to play my best to ensure
+his beating me now and then: and I am teaching Betty to play. The more
+of a companion she can be to him, the better for her in the event of
+anything happening to my Lady.
+
+There was but a small congregation in church, as usually happens on
+a holiday. Lady Jemima was there, kneeling on the stone floor, and
+did not even look up as we came in. Madam Corbet was also present, as
+indeed she never misses a church service, and old Mistress Parnell.
+It was pretty to see Mr. Penrose hand the old lady to her place
+before going into the vestry. Mrs. Priscilla Fulton was present, and,
+methought, Mr. Penrose did send a glance in that direction.
+
+I found the service as ever, so now in my greatest need, wonderfully
+soothing and comforting. The words seemed just what I needed—more to
+the purpose than any words of mine own could be. They always seem to
+me to be hallowed, and as it were perfumed by the devotions of all the
+thousands who have used them in the ages past. I am sure no prayers
+composed on the spur of the moment, such as they say the Puritans are
+wont to use, would be as grateful to me as these. I could not be sure
+that another and a stranger would express my wants—nay, he might, even
+as poor Mr. Prynne used, I know—say what would seem to me downright
+irreverent and untrue. I should have to hear, and in a manner criticise
+every sentence, before joining in it. Of course this does not apply to
+private prayer, though even there I find myself constantly falling back
+on the well-known and familiar psalms and collects, especially when my
+feelings are most strongly excited. I must begin to teach Betty the
+collects.
+
+I could not forbear weeping during the prayers, but my tears were a
+relief, and I rose up feeling much more hopeful than when I went to
+church. Mr. Penrose read the whole of the invitation to the Communion,
+on Sunday. I wish it were old Doctor Parnell. Then indeed I could go to
+him and open my grief; but I cannot, for many reasons, make a confidant
+of Mr. Penrose. O that dear mother were within my reach! Sure 'tis a
+hard fate which sends a young maid away from her mother, at my age. And
+yet I ought not to say so, considering the many kind friends I have met
+here. Then, too, I should not have known Walter. However this matter
+may turn, I shall always rejoice and be thankful that we understood
+each other before he left home. How much worse would the suspense be
+to me now, if I did not feel sure that he loves me and thinks of me,
+wherever he is.
+
+Lady Jemima never rose from her knees during the whole service; and
+just at the end she fainted and sunk down on the floor. We got her into
+the air, and by and by she revived, only to burst into hysterical tears
+and sobs. I was glad the rectory was close by, where she could take
+refuge from gazers. It turned out presently that she had eaten nothing
+since noon the day before. I would have had her ride home on Betty's
+donkey, but she refused, yet with more kindness than she hath lately
+shown me, saying that the walk would do her good.
+
+She appeared at supper, as usual, though she looked pale and worn.
+
+"Brother," said she, presently, "when do you mean to have a new
+chaplain?"
+
+"Not at all, as I know of!" said my Lord: "Why should I? Penrose is a
+good fellow enough, for all his crotchets, and a gentleman beside. You
+thought there was nobody like him when he first came here."
+
+"He hath changed very much since he came here," answered Lady Jemima.
+"He is not the same man at all, and I have no trust in him. I want a
+spiritual guide and director—one in whom I can place confidence."
+
+"That is to say, you want a guide who will be guided by you!" said my
+Lord, shrewdly. "What is the use of a spiritual director if you only
+mean to be guided by him just so long as your notions happen to square
+with his own?
+
+"But if by a man in whom you can place confidence, you mean one who
+will not fall in love with Margaret, I had best look out for one
+who hath a handsome young wife of his own. Here hath been Basil
+Champernoun, with his grave face, asking me about the young lady's
+family, and so forth. I doubt he is looking out for a stepmother
+to those black girls of his, and I dare say Wat Corbet, with his
+Puritan ways, will be the next, if indeed he hath not fallen under the
+enchantment already!"
+
+Lady Jemima shot at me a glance of absolute fire, but did not speak,
+while my Lady said, gently:
+
+"It is hardly fair to put Margaret to the blush in this way, my Lord. I
+am sure nobody could be more circumspect than she, or take less pains
+to attract admiration."
+
+"Oh, she does not care!" answered my Lord, carelessly. "She knows my
+ways. Sure 'tis no shame for a maiden to have admirers, especially when
+she is, as you truly say, so circumspect and prudent as Margaret. I
+verily think she cares more for Betty's little finger than for all of
+them."
+
+So all ended well. But, as I recalled the look that Lady Jemima
+bestowed upon me, I cannot but wonder whether she herself hath any
+thought of Walter. I am sure she hath something on her mind which makes
+her very unhappy.
+
+
+                                                _October 1._
+
+My Lady sent me down early this morning to ask Mrs. Corbet for a
+pattern. I found her rejoicing over letters from Walter, sent from
+about Illchester, where he had stopped a day to see some friends of Sir
+John Elliott's and his own. They were gravely cheerful, as usual, and
+there was one for me, which I put in my bosom unread. I dared not trust
+myself to read it under his mother's eye when I thought it might be,
+perhaps, the last of him that I should ever see.
+
+She asked me kindly of my health, and on my telling her that my head
+troubled me again, she pressed on me a little flask of distilled and
+rectified vinegar, very pungent and refreshing, as well as a bottle of
+some strong sweet water, wherewith to bathe my temples and forehead. If
+she knew what I know—but I am glad she does not. I should suffer none
+the less because she suffered the more.
+
+Coming home, I found the church door open, so I went in and spent
+a few minutes quietly in prayer, and in reading the ninetieth and
+ninety-first psalms. I wish it were the custom here, as they say it
+is abroad, to keep the church always open. Surely many, especially of
+the poor, who have no place of retirement at home, would gladly resort
+thither now and then for devotion. Methinks there is something in the
+very air of the place which disposes one to a quiet and worshipping
+frame of mind.
+
+When I got home, and could be alone, I read my letter—a long one,
+full of goodness and love—how precious none can tell. Oh, could I but
+certainly know that he was safe and well!
+
+Lady Jemima met me in the gallery, and after passing me, she came back
+and said, abruptly enough:
+
+"You have been down to Corby-End, I hear. Have they any news of
+Walter—of Mr. Corbet?"
+
+"His mother had letters this morning, written at Illchester, my Lady,"
+I answered. "Mr. Corbet was well when he wrote, but the letters have
+been a long time on the way."
+
+"Aye, no doubt you know all about the matter!" said she, with a kind of
+scornful bitterness. Then with a sudden change of tone, "Margaret, tell
+me what you do to make everybody like you?"
+
+"I don't think I do anything, madam," I answered: "and besides every
+one does not like me. You yourself are my enemy, though I know not
+why, for I have never willingly or knowingly injured you: yet you are
+ready to believe every evil report about me, and to put the worst
+construction on all I say or do—or have done, for that matter."
+
+She colored deeply. "You are too free!" said she, austerely. "You
+forget yourself very much when you speak thus to me."
+
+"I beg your pardon, madam!" I answered. "I meant not to be so. You
+asked the question, and I answered it."
+
+"Well, well, let it pass!" she said, impatiently. "What is this I hear
+from my brother about Mr. Champernoun and yourself?"
+
+"I have heard nothing more about the matter," I replied. "I think it
+was only one of my Lord's jests. Mr. Champernoun hath never seen me
+except in church, and when the Bishop was here, and I have never so
+much as exchanged a word with him."
+
+"He is an excellent man, and it would be a match far above anything you
+have a right to expect," she continued: "and you might make yourself
+very useful as step dame to his little daughters. I advise you to
+accept his offer!"
+
+"Time enough for that when he makes it, my Lady!" I answered, laughing
+in spite of my vexation. "For me, I am quite content as I am for the
+present. I do not believe Mr. Champernoun ever thought of such a
+thing!" With which I made my escape.
+
+Betty's tame robin flew away this morning. She shed some tears at
+first, but finally said it was natural the poor bird should love the
+woods and fields best, adding, sadly enough, "I am sure I would fly
+away, if I could."
+
+"And leave me?" I asked.
+
+"No, I would take you with me!" she said. "And I would not fly away to
+stay either, but would come back after a while—after I had seen the
+world."
+
+"Perhaps your bird may come back," said I.
+
+And sure enough, at sunset, the little creature came pecking at the
+casement, and being let in, flew to his favorite place on Betty's
+shoulder, and showed great joy at seeing her again. I was as
+well-pleased as the child to see the truant return. I believe I had
+made a kind of omen of it.
+
+I dreamed last night of a great fall of snow, and telling my dream to
+Dame Yeo, she tells me that snow out of season means trouble without
+reason, and shows that I am or soon shall be fretting myself about some
+matter without cause. I am sure I hope it is so, but I am no great
+believer in dreams.
+
+
+                                                _October 3._
+
+This day brought me two letters, or rather three—one from Dick
+enclosing a note from dear mother. They are all well at home, though
+mother says there is fever in the place, and that two have died out
+of Robert Smith's family. She also tells me, what I am sorry to hear,
+that Sir Peter Beaumont hath prosecuted John Edwards for holding a
+conventicle in his house.
+
+It seems several of the neighbors have been in the habit of assembling
+there to worship, at which time they prayed and spoke to each other
+on religious subjects, but all in a quiet way. Mr. Carey would have
+nothing to do with the matter, and was much vexed at Sir Peter's taking
+it up, saying that it was the next way to make the thing popular, to
+make martyrs of the promoters thereof: and sure enough the parish is
+in arms about it, some taking one side and some the other. I am very
+sorry. We were all so quiet and peaceable in my dear father's time.
+Methinks Sir Peter would better show his zeal for religion and the
+church, by leaving off drinking and swearing, and some other worse
+matters, than by hunting out prayer meetings and the like.
+
+I remember John Edwards was a very strict Calvinist, and he and my
+father used to have many arguments, but they always ended pleasantly,
+however much heat John Edwards might fall into.
+
+My father never lost his temper, which I fancy gave him somewhat the
+advantage. At any rate John Edwards was a good friend to us, and always
+remembered us when his Warden pears were gathered, we having none of
+that sort. I am heartily sorry for this trouble which hath befallen him.
+
+My other letter I did not at all understand, at the first. It purported
+to be from a lady of quality residing near Exeter, who said she had
+heard of me by Mrs. Carey, and wishing to engage me at a liberal
+salary—twice as much as I have here—to act as companion to herself and
+her daughter, promising to treat me in all respects as an equal. If I
+consented to come, she said, she desired I would not mention the affair
+to my Lady, between whom and the writer there was an old feud, arising
+out of family matters, and who would be sure to prejudice me against
+her; but I was to ask leave to go to Exeter on some errand of mine own,
+where I would be met and conducted to the gentlewoman's house.
+
+I thought this a very dishonorable way of proceeding, and what of
+itself would be enough to set me against the author of the letter, but
+I thought of nothing more till all at once it did seem to me that the
+writing was familiar. It happened that I had preserved the cover of
+Lord Saville's first letter to me, and on comparing the hands, they
+were clearly the same, though the last was a little disguised. Then I
+carried the letter at once to my Lady.
+
+"Margaret," said she, after she had read it through, "this letter is
+not genuine. I know no such gentlewoman as the person signing it, nor
+do I think it to be in a woman's hand."
+
+"Nor I, my Lady," said I, "for the best of reasons:" and with that I
+showed her the cover of the other letter. "I believe it to be a wicked
+trap, but it is very hard—" And then my voice failed me and I burst
+into tears. It did seem very hard that with all my other troubles, I
+should be so persecuted: and though sure of mine own innocence and
+right dealing, I could not but feel very much humbled and degraded in
+mine own eyes.
+
+"It 'is' very hard!" said my Lady. "And it must be stopped. I will
+myself write to my kinsman and see if this persecution cannot be put an
+end to at once. You have done well in showing me this letter, Margaret,
+and you will always do well so long as you are thus open and truthful."
+
+Then she asked me about my other letter, and was kindly interested, as
+usual, in my news from home: but seeing me still sad, she kissed me,
+and bade me not to fret over the other matter, saying that all would
+come right in time.
+
+"Unless I see you more cheerful," said she, smiling somewhat sadly, "I
+must perforce release you from your engagement and marry you and Walter
+out of hand so soon as he returns. I like not these long engagements."
+
+Oh, how my heart sank, as my dear Lady said these kind words.
+
+"You are not looking well yourself, my Lady," said I, feeling as if I
+must say something, and indeed she was not.
+
+"I am not well," she answered, wearily. "My head is heavy, and I have a
+sinking of the spirits, such as I never felt before in all my life. I
+do not sleep well, and I dream constantly of my mother and of my dead
+children. It is well that I have no real cause of trouble or anxiety,"
+she added. "I think I should sink under it, if I had."
+
+Oh, how glad I was that I had borne my burden myself alone. Hard as it
+has been, and is, I am thankful that I have had the strength to keep it
+all to myself. I believe the alarm and suspense might have made all the
+difference to my Lady. And 'tis certain I have been wonderfully helped.
+Never in all my life have I had such a sense of the nearness of God and
+of His goodness and love to me, as during this trouble. I have felt—I
+say it with all reverence—such a freedom with Him—such an ability to
+go to Him, not only with all my trouble and anxiety, but with all my
+fretfulness, and rebellion, and impatience, yea and faithlessness, for
+I have been very faithless at some times.
+
+
+                                                _October 6._
+
+"Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." For two
+or three days, life hath seemed to me merely an intolerable burden.
+It was as if I had carried my load till my strength was spent to the
+last ounce, and I must lay it down or die. I could scarce attend to my
+ordinary duties or collect myself enough to answer a simple question;
+and I felt so irritable and fretful that I longed to shut myself up and
+see or speak to no one. Doubtless it was well for me that I could not
+do so, but had my work to occupy me even more than usual; for Betty
+herself hath not been well, and hath shown more of her old exacting and
+fractious spirit than I have seen in a long time.
+
+Last night I said to her, "Lady Betty, cannot you help being so peevish
+and fretful? Do you know you almost wear me out?"
+
+"Do I?" asked the child, as if surprised. "I did not know I was
+peevish, Margaret, but I feel so tired and uncomfortable."
+
+"And so do I feel tired and uncomfortable," I answered; "and I have a
+headache, beside, but you would not like me to be as unkind to you as
+you are to me. Such conduct does not make you feel any better, does it?"
+
+"I don't know," she said, pondering, instead of saying yes or no at
+once, as any other child would. "Sometimes I think it does. But then
+that would not be any excuse, would it, Margaret?"
+
+"I think not," said I. "Beside that I don't believe it does you any
+good. The more you allow yourself to speak crossly and impatiently, the
+easier it is to be cross and impatient next time."
+
+"Well, I will try to be good," she answered, drawing a long breath;
+"but oh, Margaret, you don't know how hard it is!"
+
+"Indeed I do, sweetheart!" I said, kissing her upturned face. "I'll
+tell you what, I don't believe it is one bit harder for you than it is
+for me."
+
+She seemed a little comforted at that, and presently went to sleep,
+and I escaped to my room, feeling almost desperate. I was ready to say
+with the wicked man in the Scripture, "What profit shall we have if
+we pray unto Him!" My prayers of late had seemed so destitute of any
+real devotion, and had seemed to bring me so little help. Still I knew
+it was not right to neglect them, however I might feel. So, it being
+Friday night, I said the Litany, as my custom is. At the prayer "for
+all who travel by land or water," I surprised myself by bursting into
+tears and weeping freely, and my heart seemed to be a little lightened
+of the intolerable weight which lay upon it.
+
+I slept well, and arose feeling somewhat refreshed in body, and under
+a strange calmness of spirit, such as I never felt under any trouble
+before. I seemed, without any effort of mine own, to be settled upon
+the ground of God's unchanging love, and to be made sure that all would
+be well, however He should see fit to order the matter.
+
+After breakfast my Lady came in to stay with Betty, bringing her work,
+and telling me to go out for a long walk, to refresh myself. I was only
+too glad to do so, and bent my steps to Corby-End. As I entered Madam's
+room, I found her just opening a great packet of letters, while Will
+Atkins stood at the side of the fire. The first look at his face told
+me that he brought naught but good news, which Madam confirmed, looking
+up with her sweet smile at the moment of my entrance, and saying:
+
+"You see I am well employed, dear heart. I have at last news from
+London of my runaway boy!"
+
+The sudden relief overcame me, as the trouble had never done, and I
+sank down and swooned clear away—a thing I never did in all my life
+before. When I opened mine eyes again, I was lying on the couch, and
+Prudence was fussing over me with hartshorn and burnt feathers, and
+what not.
+
+"She is better now!" said Madam's tender voice. "Leave her to me, good
+Prudence, and by and by bring some little refreshment."
+
+When Prudence was gone, I raised my head, and said, dreamily enough,
+I believe, for I was still bewildered: "Did Will bring news from
+Walter—from London. Was he not killed, after all?"
+
+"Killed!" said Madam. "No, dear love! What put that fancy in your head?
+Walter is safe and well, and sends you a packet by Will. Come now, and
+be a brave maid, and we will see what he says."
+
+I gathered together my scattered senses at this, perceiving that Madam
+had not yet heard the story. After saying how glad he was to see Will,
+and to have his company to London, Walter went on to add:
+
+"But I am sorry he should have been so misled by that miserable coward,
+Tom Andrews, as to come on such a bootless errand; and sorry, above
+all, that my dearest Margaret should have had to bear such a burden of
+anxiety."
+
+"What means that?" said Madam, pausing, and looking perplexed.
+
+"Perhaps we shall see, if we read on," I answered. So she read on:
+
+"It was true, indeed, as Andrews told Will, that I was set upon near
+Salisbury by a party of villains, but as Andrews ran away at the very
+beginning of the fray, he had no chance to see how it ended. We were
+the better armed and mounted, and though they outnumbered us, we soon
+beat them off, with the gift to one of them, at least, of a broken arm.
+I would not say it publicly, but I verily believe the man I shot was
+the Italian who was lately in attendance on one who shall be nameless,
+at Stanton Court. However, I have spoiled his sport for one while, I
+fancy. Pray convey news to Margaret at once, my dear mother. Poor maid,
+how she hath been suffering all this time, though I doubt not her stout
+heart hath kept her up through all."
+
+"And so you have been going about all this time, bearing this heavy
+burden all alone!" said Madam: "And all to save me from bootless
+anxiety! Dear heart, how could you do so?"
+
+"It seemed my duty," I answered. "Your anxiety would not have relieved
+mine, and I feared the news reaching my Lady's ears. She is far from
+well, and a little matter might make a difference with her."
+
+"But all alone!" said Madam, again. "And a young maid like you!"
+
+"Not quite alone," I answered, smiling. "Alone, I could never have
+endured it."
+
+She clasped me in her arms, kissing and weeping over me, and calling
+me her dear, brave maid, her dear stout-hearted, good daughter, with
+many other kind words, more than I deserved, but which made me very
+happy, nevertheless. Then we finished reading the letter, which was
+long and very interesting, containing much public news, and that not of
+a pleasant kind, but I could not let it make me unhappy.
+
+Madam would have me eat and drink before I left her, and I was glad
+to do so, for I had not broken my fast that day. I could not forbear
+opening my letter and glancing at it as I walked home, through the
+wood; and so doing, I ran against Mr. Penrose, who was coming down the
+path.
+
+"Good news wont keep, eh, Mrs. Margaret!" said he, smiling at my
+confusion. "I wish you joy of your letters from home!"
+
+He is much more free and brotherly with me than he used to be, for
+which I am very glad. I can't but think Priscilla Fulton hath something
+to do with this change. I did not think it needful to tell him that my
+letters were not from home.
+
+As I was going on, he called me back, much to my annoyance. 'Twas
+to ask me whether I had ever held any conversation with Dame Yeo on
+religious matters? I told him how I had read to her, and that we had
+talked over what I had read, adding, what was quite true that she had
+cheered me up, and done me a great deal of good.
+
+He shook his head. "I know not what to say," said he. "I cannot but
+fear she is in a very dangerous way."
+
+"Why?" I asked, surprised. "She always seemed to me one of the best
+Christians in the world."
+
+"I fear she is guilty of the sin of presumption!" said he. "She says
+she knows her sins are forgiven, and that she is accepted of God."
+
+"Well," I answered—"why not? Don't you read in the church every day
+that 'He pardoneth and absolveth all those who truly repent and
+unfeignedly believe His holy Gospel'? And does not our Lord say, 'He
+that believeth on me, hath everlasting life, and shall never come into
+condemnation'?"
+
+"'Tis true!" said he. "But yet—"
+
+"I can't stop to talk to you about it now," I said; "my Lady will be
+waiting for me. But, Mr. Penrose, I don't believe our Lord intends his
+dear children shall walk through the world with a rope round their
+necks, as it were. He tells us to rejoice evermore, and that because
+our names are written in heaven!"
+
+"You believe in the doctrine of final perseverance?" said he, turning
+back and walking with me.
+
+"I know naught of theological terms," I answered him. "But when I feel
+God's grace enough for me to-day, why should I distress myself for fear
+I should not have it to-morrow, or next week, or next year? We are
+taught to ask daily bread for daily needs, and why not daily grace? I
+see no presumption in taking our Lord at His word."
+
+"But how can you know that you love Him, or that your faith is
+sufficient?" he persisted, still going on by my side.
+
+"As I know anything else," I answered. "How do I know that I am glad to
+get my letter? I don't need any deep self-examination to find that out,
+I trow!"
+
+"Nor I!" said Mr. Penrose. "It needs only to look at your face. But we
+will talk of this matter again."
+
+And so, to my relief, he turned and left me, with a kind good morning.
+He is far more patient of contradiction or opposition than he used to
+be. He formerly seemed to resent my having any opinions of mine own in
+such matters. I hope he will not go teasing Dame Yeo with his notions,
+though, indeed, I believe the old woman is quite able to hold her own
+with him.
+
+I only glanced at my letter, reserving that and the contents of the
+package for the time when I should be alone. But though I knew my Lady
+was waiting, I did steal a few minutes for a fervent thanksgiving.
+
+When I went into the nursery, my Lady smiled, and said, in her usual
+kind way, but with a touch of gentle malice:
+
+"You must have found your walk pleasant, Margaret?"
+
+"I fear I have been gone too long, my Lady," I answered. "I went to
+Corby-End, and Madam detained me a little."
+
+"Oh!" said my Lady, significantly. "Well, what is the news at
+Corby-End? Hath my cousin any tidings of her son?"
+
+"Yes, my Lady," I answered. "Will Atkins is returned, and has brought a
+great package of letters to Madam, and some to my Lord, I believe, as
+well."
+
+"Oh!" said my Lady, again. "And doubtless Master Walter is well. When
+does he mean to return?"
+
+"In about a month," I told her.
+
+"I wish Walter would come home!" said Betty, a little plaintively. "It
+is not nearly so nice going out riding and walking, when I know he is
+not here, and there is no use in expecting him. We used to meet him so
+often, didn't we, Margaret? Mamma, what are you laughing at, and why
+does Margaret blush so?"
+
+"Never mind, Betty," answered my Lady, composing her face. "Little
+maidens should not ask too many questions."
+
+Betty looked far from satisfied, but she never disputes her mother's
+commands.
+
+When I had time to open Walter's package, I found it contained, among
+other keepsakes, a small thin volume of poems by Mr. John Milton, and a
+small but beautifully bound and printed prayer-book. "I know you have
+one already," Walter writes: "but it pleases my fancy to think of you
+using this book, which is besides of a convenient size for your pocket.
+I think you will like the poems. I hold not with Mr. Milton in all
+things, but he has more of the true poetic fire than any other man in
+this age."
+
+Walter says public affairs are very discouraging. The King, wholly
+governed by his wife and his own arbitrary temper, vexing and
+oppressing the subjects with monopolies, and all other little provoking
+exactions. The Archbishop punishing with the utmost rigor all
+"innovations," as he calls them, in religion, yet daily making more
+than any one else, and, as it is believed, urging on the king—Wentworth
+in Ireland pressing his scheme of "thorough," and as many think
+favoring the Papists against the Protestants.
+
+I can see that Walter feels greatly discouraged, and fears some great
+disasters both to Church and State. He says there is a new sort of
+people risen up, who call themselves "Independents," and believe in a
+toleration of all men, except it may be Papists—and that they have some
+strong men among them. He says he does not believe the Archbishop to
+be altogether a bad man, but that he is weak and arbitrary—two things
+which he believes often go together—and very narrow-minded; and he
+says, what I do believe to be true, that foolish people often do more
+harm in the world than downright wicked people.
+
+He says, also, that the Archbishop's innovations are not usually
+in matters of any great importance, only in vestments, postures,
+decorations, and the like, which makes it the more provoking that
+they should be so pressed upon people as matters of conscience and
+religion. The two things which have made him the most unpopular, Walter
+thinks, are the reviving and promoting the book of Sunday Sports, and
+the forbidding preachers to handle certain points of doctrine, as
+predestination and the like, on which the Calvinists lay great stress:
+and that these two have alienated the minds and hearts of many who were
+well affected, nay, deeply attached to the Church. Then the growing
+luxury and laxity of the Court—for though the King is a grave and
+religious prince himself, he does not scruple to employ and forward men
+of the most openly bad lives, and of course that has its influence; and
+because the Puritans practise great strictness and purity of morals,
+the younger men of the Court party affect just the opposite; so that it
+is coming to be the mark of a fine gentleman to swear, cast dice, and
+drink, not to speak of worse matters. Truly the nation is in evil case.
+
+Walter's letter was very long, and contained much beside politics.
+I must not forget to say that he sent me a watch—which is a toy I
+have always longed for. This one is incased in gold, and is smaller
+and prettier than any I have ever seen. Walter bought it of a French
+artisan, a very ingenious man, and one of the persecuted Protestants
+who came hither from France. It does seem cruel and shameful that they
+should not be allowed to find rest even here, but should have their
+worship and the education of their children interfered with.
+
+
+                                                _October 7._
+
+Madam Corbet sent up the letters for my Lord yesterday, and last night
+at supper time he spoke of them peevishly enough, saying that the
+world had run mad, and there was no peace in it for any honest, quiet
+gentleman, who desires nothing but to live at home and mind his own
+business.
+
+"Here hath been Sir Thomas Fulton's chaplain telling me that David Lee
+holds a conventicle at his house, and urging me to prosecute him. But
+I wont do it!" said my Lord, with an oath, and striking the table with
+his hand, as his wont is when excited. "Old David is an honest fellow,
+and his family have been good friends to me and mine these hundreds of
+years, and I wont interfere with him for any parson of them all. Let
+him manage his family his own way—and sing psalms through his nose, if
+he likes. What do I care?"
+
+"But you ought to care, and to act too, so long as he breaks the laws,
+brother!" said Lady Jemima, sharply. "Why else are you a magistrate and
+Lord of the Manor, save to execute the laws?"
+
+"You think so, do you?" said my Lord, turning short round on her.
+"Suppose somebody chooses to bring up the laws, of which there are
+plenty, against Popish ornaments and books, and after spying into your
+closet, should come to me with a complaint against you. Should I be
+bound to execute the laws therein?"
+
+"That's a very different matter!" answered Lady Jemima, looking a good
+deal discomfited. "The Archbishop sanctions those things."
+
+"The Archbishop does a good many things which he would find it hard to
+answer, if he were brought before a court of law—as he may be, sometime
+or other," said my Lord. "Here is Walter writes me from London that the
+Puritan party is gaining strength every day, and the people cry out on
+all sides for a Parliament, and no wonder. It is twelve years since
+we had one, or nearly that. And, by the way, Wat himself had a narrow
+escape. He was set upon by highwaymen, not far from Salisbury, and came
+near coming by the worst. Had you heard of that, Margaret? You were
+down at Corby-End this morning, I think."
+
+I answered quietly that I had heard the story.
+
+"And why didn't you tell it, then?" demanded my Lord, with some
+impatience. "Think you nobody but yourself hath any right to news of
+Walter?"
+
+"My Lady was not well this morning," I answered. "I thought the news
+might perhaps disturb her."
+
+My Lord smoothed his brow. "You think of everything," said he. "You
+are a good girl, Margaret, and Wat might do worse, after all said and
+done," he added, as if speaking to himself.
+
+I don't know what I should have done, but that poor Lady Jemima made a
+diversion by fainting away, in her place, almost scaring my Lord out of
+his wits.
+
+"It will be nothing," I said, as I was loosing her boddice: "she is
+better already."
+
+"Do you think it was the story about Wat that upset her?" asked my
+Lord, like a marplot, as he is.
+
+"Not at all," said I (I fear it was a fib on my part). "She hath had
+these fits more than once lately. I think they come from going too long
+without eating. See, her color is coming back already."
+
+The poor lady opened her eyes and gave me a look of gratitude and woe,
+which went to my heart. I do wish she would be friends with me. But in
+ten minutes she was as cold and austere as ever.
+
+As I arranged her dress for her, I saw that she wore sackcloth next her
+skin, and a cross with sharp edges turned inward, which had left their
+mark on her tender bosom. Alas! Poor lady, my heart bleeds for her!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+_A SON AND HEIR._
+
+                                                _November 9._
+
+SO many things have changed since I wrote last, that I hardly know
+where to begin. My Lady is safe, that is the great thing, and has a
+fine sturdy pair of twin boys, to every one's great delight. I think it
+is my luck to have to do with twins.
+
+Then my engagement with Walter is openly acknowledged and sanctioned,
+too, by everybody concerned, and I am now treated quite as a daughter
+of the house, though I go on mine old way with Betty.
+
+Lady Jemima hath been very sick, but is, I hope, in a way to recover.
+And we are at last the best friends in the world.
+
+It all came about in this wise. My Lady had been ailing for a good many
+days, and kept her chamber for the most part. I had partly promised to
+ride to the revels at Langham with my Lord, Mr. Penrose and his sister,
+a very pretty and pleasant young lady, lately come out of Cornwall to
+visit him. I confess I looked forward to the jaunt with some pleasure,
+for I love seeing new places and people, and I have been very quiet
+since I came hither.
+
+But the evening before we were to set out, my Lady sent for me to her
+room. I found her lying on the couch, with no other light but that from
+the fire, and she beckoned me to a low seat by her side.
+
+"Margaret," said she, "is your heart very much set on going to these
+revels to-morrow?"
+
+"No, my Lady," I answered: "not set upon it at all, if you wish me to
+stay at home."
+
+"I fear I am very selfish in asking it," continued my dear Lady, taking
+my hand in hers, and stroking it with her slender fingers: "but,
+sweetheart, if the disappointment will not be too grievous, I should
+like to have you stay. I am not well, and I am very fanciful—and I have
+learned to depend very much upon you, my dear. Maybe I shall not ask
+much more of you in this world."
+
+"My dearest Lady, don't say so," said I, kissing her hand, and hardly
+able to speak as quietly as I know that I ought, for the lump that rose
+in my throat. "It will be no disappointment for me to stay at home,
+since you desire it. I shall be glad to do so."
+
+"Mr. Penrose will be ready to say hard things of me, I fear," said my
+Lady.
+
+"I don't think he will mind," I answered. "They are to join the party
+from Fulton Manor, you know, so Mrs. Kitty will not want for company or
+countenance."
+
+"Do you really think he is looking in that direction?" asked my Lady.
+
+"I told her that I did, and I was very glad, both for his sake and Mrs.
+Priscilla's."
+
+"'Tis just as well, as things have fallen out," said my lady, sighing a
+little, methought, "but I gave Mr. Penrose credit for more constancy.
+Then, my dear, I will break this matter to my Lord to-night, and save
+you any trouble about it.
+
+"And, Margaret, I have written a letter to my Lord in case of my death,
+in which I have explained your relations to Walter, and asked him,
+for my sake, to countenance them. I am sure he will do so in the end,
+but you know my Lord's hasty spirit, and you must not mind a little
+roughness just at first. 'Tis ever his way to say more than he means. I
+have also explained my wishes with regard to Betty, and have written a
+letter to her and one to Walter, which will all be found in my cabinet.
+And now, Margaret, if you can listen quietly, I want to speak to you of
+some other matters."
+
+"I will try, my Lady," said I.
+
+And so I did, while she went over various matters respecting her laying
+out and burial, and the disposal of her clothes, together with the
+provision she wished to have made of mourning for the school children,
+and the old folks at the almshouses.
+
+"I have tried to talk over those matters with my Cousin Judith,"
+concluded my Lady, "but she always breaks into tears, and that is ill
+for both of us. I have good hope that they will be unnecessary, but I
+shall not die the more for having them arranged and off my mind."
+
+"I think not, surely, my Lady," I answered, as she seemed to expect me
+to speak. "On the contrary, your mind will be the easier for having
+them all settled. I never could understand the feelings that people
+have about such matters—making wills and the like. A man is none the
+more likely to die for having made his will, and settled his affairs,
+and if he does receive a sudden call, what a comfort to him to think
+that he has left everything in order for those he must leave behind."
+
+By this time, I had talked away the lump in my throat, and felt quite
+calm and composed. So I said to my Lady that I thought I had best take
+notes of what she had told me, that there need be no mistake. She
+agreeing thereto, I got lights and paper, and wrote down her desires as
+she dictated them to me, and then read them over to her.
+
+"That is all clear and plain!" said my Lady. "And now for your own
+matters, Margaret. I believe I ought to release you from the promise
+you made to me, to remain with Betty for a year. As matters then were,
+it seemed best for both of you, but the case is altered."
+
+"I don't desire to be released, my Lady," I answered her. "I mean to
+keep my word with you. I have told Mr. Corbet so, and he agrees that I
+am right."
+
+"Mr. Corbet is the most reasonable of men, and will have the most
+reasonable of wives," said my Lady, smiling somewhat sadly: "but that
+is no argument for his being imposed upon, or you either."
+
+"Indeed, my Lady, I don't feel that I am being imposed upon," I said,
+eagerly. "I am very happy with you. I am very young to be married, and
+I am all the time learning what will make ma the more worthy of my new
+position."
+
+"Learning of Mrs. Judith to make tarts and conserves, and to order a
+household; and of Mrs. Brewster to clearstarch and work lace—and what
+of me, sweetheart?" asked my Lady.
+
+"Everything good, madam," I said, kissing the hand she had laid on
+mine—"Truth, and kindness, and patience—" and here the lump came in my
+throat again, and I could say no more.
+
+"Aye, patience! Learn patience, maiden. It will stand thee in good
+stead," said my Lady, with something nearer to bitterness than ever I
+heard from her before, and then she murmured some lines, which, as I
+remember, ran thus:
+
+   "Bring me a woman constant to her husband,
+    One that ne'er dreamed a joy above his pleasure;
+    And to that woman, when she hath done most,
+    Yet will I add an honor—a great patience."
+
+"Do you know who writ those lines, Margaret?"
+
+"Shakspeare, I should say, Madam, though I never read them," I answered.
+
+"You are right; they are Shakspeare's. No one else could so have
+expressed that character of Queen Catharine. People do not set much
+store by him nowadays, but I cannot but think the time will come when
+he will be set far above those playwrights, who are now so much the
+fashion. You shall have the book and read the play for yourself. But
+never mind that now.
+
+"Margaret, I have no special directions to give you regarding my poor
+child. I am sure you will manage her rightly and reasonably, and always
+be her friend. For her sake, I am glad that you are like to be settled
+so near us. I might say more on this head, but that I feel an inward
+persuasion, almost amounting to a certainty, that Betty will not be
+long behind me, if I am taken away."
+
+She paused a little, and then went on to speak of the child that was
+coming, saying: "If it should be a boy, he will have friends, more than
+enough, but if a girl, I commend her to your love and care. I am sure
+you will care for her, Margaret."
+
+I answered her as well as I could.
+
+"You must not mind my Lord's humors," she continued. "He is brave,
+generous and kindhearted, but he is naturally high-spirited, and
+having been used to living so much amidst dependents, he is naturally
+impatient of contradiction."
+
+"Or of anything else but gross flattery and subserviency," I could
+not help thinking. And in truth 'tis hard to believe very much in the
+greatness of a man, who must be managed like a child, and who cannot
+hear the least word of dissent or contradiction, without scolding and
+fretting, till he makes himself a spectacle. I am glad Walter has been
+knocked about the world a little more, for I am sure I should lose all
+respect for him if he should treat me many times as my Lord treats my
+Lady, who has more sense in her glove than he ever had in his hat.
+
+My Lady finished what she had to say to me, and my Lord coming in, I
+retired.
+
+"So I find we are not to have your company to-morrow," said my Lord,
+meeting me afterward on the stairs. "'Tis very kind in you to stop with
+my Lady, and lose the pleasure of the day, but you shall fare none
+the worse, I promise you. Of course it is not to be expected that I
+should remain at home—" (I did not see the "of course—" it would have
+seemed to me only natural, remembering my dear father's way at such
+times)—"but I am glad you will be with her, and I shall not forget it.
+You are a good girl, Margaret."
+
+I courtesied, and said, "Thank you, my Lord."
+
+"By the way, I hear that Wat Corbet is coming home soon," said he,
+detaining me on the stairs, as I was about to pass him. "Have you heard
+of it?"
+
+"I knew he expected to be at home about Hallowmass," I answered.
+
+"You know a great deal about him, it seems to me," said my Lord, in
+rather a discontented tone. "However, an' that come to pass which I
+hope for, he may marry whom he likes, for all me. You have always been
+a good girl, Meg, and fond of my Lady. You are not scheming to stand in
+her shoes, are you?"
+
+"No, my Lord, that I am not!" I answered, rather hotly. "I hope my Lady
+may stand in her own shoes this many a day to come. As for scheming, I
+am scheming for nothing, and I see not why I should be accused of it!"
+
+"Well, well, you need not be so tart!" said my Lord. (People like him
+always wonder how folks can be so tart.) "I only asked the question. I
+am sorry to miss your company, and so I dare say some other folks will
+be, but my Lady's fancies are to be considered, of course. Tell me what
+I shall bring Betty from the revels? Poor child, 'tis a hard case that
+all such things must pass by her, and she have none of the fun: but I
+suppose she would like a fairing."
+
+I felt sure she would, and told him what I thought she would fancy,
+namely, a thread-case and scissor-case—for she is beginning to take
+great pleasure in needlework.
+
+"I will remember," said he, taking out his tablets, and setting down
+what I had told him; "and what shall I give you?"
+
+"I will leave that to your own taste, my Lord," I was saying, when Lady
+Jemima coming down the stairs, a little way, called out, "Brother, I
+wish to speak with you!" and I made my escape.
+
+But going down again presently, to carry some message which my Lady had
+given me to Mrs. Judith, I heard my Lord say to Lady Jemima, as he left
+her room:
+
+"Well, well, we can do nothing now, my Lady is so set upon her. But if
+you are right, Jem!—" I hurried on and heard no more, but I felt sure
+that they were talking of me.
+
+
+The next day dawned clear and bright, though there were signs which
+might portend a storm before its close. I did not go down to the early
+breakfast, for Betty had had a turn of pain in the night, and Mary had
+called me up to soothe her, and give her some quieting medicine, which
+she will take from no hand but mine and her mother's. So after I had
+given it her, I lay down beside her in the bed, and would not rise for
+fear of waking her.
+
+She waked herself when my Lady came in, and I rose and went to my room.
+Here I found Mrs. Judith, intent upon taking down and brushing the
+hangings, and performing I know not what other cleaning operations.
+So after I had dressed, I locked up all my small treasures in my
+cabinet, and putting my watch in my bosom, and in my pocket the little
+Prayer-book and the Thomas à Kempis which Walter had sent me, I went
+down to the chapel to say my prayers there.
+
+I found Lady Jemima before me, busied in decorating the altar with late
+flowers, which she arranged with a great deal of taste. She seemed to
+make an effort to be pleasant with me, I thought, for she bade me good
+morning, and then said, as I stopped to look at her work:
+
+"I suppose your Puritan notions would condemn these decorations?"
+
+"I have no Puritan notions that I know of," I answered: "and certainly
+not that one. I love flowers anywhere, and I don't know any place where
+they seem prettier or better bestowed than in church. I should not like
+to see artificial flowers in such a place, because they would look
+tawdry and unworthy, but the real flowers are quite another thing."
+
+"I should not have expected to hear that from a friend and upholder of
+Mr. Prynne!" said Lady Jemima.
+
+"Mr. Prynne was my father's friend and kinsman, and hath been kind to
+my mother since his death," I answered: "but he never was specially a
+friend of mine. On the contrary, I am afraid I had a mortal fear and
+dislike to the poor man, because he used to contradict and browbeat my
+father so."
+
+"And yet your father was friendly with him!" she remarked.
+
+"Yes, madam," I said. "My mother would be indignant sometimes, and then
+my father would laugh and say that he knew how to separate the husks
+of opinion and prejudice from the sound and sweet fruit of the man:
+but I must confess the husks ever stuck too much in my throat to let
+me relish the fruit. But I could not but grieve for his hard fate when
+I remembered his kindness to the poor, and to my mother, above all. I
+should love a Turk if he were kind to my mother."
+
+She made no answer to this, but turned to go away, gathering up the
+rejected stalks and leaves of her flowers, in which I made bold to help
+her. She thanked me, but rather stiffly, and asked me what had brought
+me thither so early. I told her I had come to say my prayers, as Mrs.
+Judith was cleaning my room.
+
+"That is well!" said she. "Do you pray for your enemies?"
+
+"I should, if I had any, madam," I answered: "but I think I have none,
+or at least only one," I added, thinking of Felicia.
+
+"I am that one, I suppose!" said she.
+
+"No, madam," I answered her. "I was not thinking of you."
+
+"Pray for me, nevertheless!" said she, her face growing pale and sharp,
+as if with some hidden pain, and with that she went quickly away.
+
+I could not but wonder at her words, but she is always unlike other
+people, so I did not think so much of it.
+
+I said my prayers, not forgetting to pray for the poor lady, and then,
+as my books were heavy to carry in my pocket, I bestowed them, as I
+thought, safely in a corner of my usual seat, little thinking what a
+scrape they were going to bring me into, and went about my business.
+
+The weather was gloomy and lowering all day, but the sun shone out
+bright and clear about half an hour before its setting, and Betty,
+taking a fancy to go out, I wrapped her up and took her into the
+garden, on the west side of the house, which is warm and sheltered in
+the afternoon. Here she played about awhile, talking to Dick Gardener,
+who is a great ally of hers, and gathering a nose-gay of late flowers
+for her mother.
+
+When, just as I was thinking that we must go in presently, I saw Lady
+Jemima coming down the steps toward me.
+
+As she drew near, I saw that her face was white with passion, and that
+she had my two books in her hand. She came close up to me, and holding
+them up before me asked, in a voice which trembled with anger:
+
+"Where did you get these books? Whose hand is this in the beginning?"
+
+Then, before I could speak, she added: "Tell me no lies, wench! This is
+Walter Corbet's hand!"
+
+I was cool in a minute. I saw that the time had come, and that I must
+hold mine own with her, and if possible keep her from disturbing my
+Lady.
+
+"I do not mean to lie—why should I?" I said. "It is Walter Corbet's
+hand, and he gave me the books!"
+
+"And you dare to tell me so!" said she, turning paler still, if that
+were possible. "You receive love tokens from Walter Corbet—you!"
+
+She caught her breath, and stood looking at me with the utmost scorn
+and abhorrence in her face.
+
+"We shall see what his mother will say to such treachery, my dainty
+mistress—'his beloved Margaret,' forsooth! I will tell her what an
+honor is in store for her, and what a fine intrigue her pure-minded son
+is carrying on under his cousin's roof!"
+
+"You will tell her no news, and there is no intrigue in the case!"
+said I. "I am Walter Corbet's betrothed wife, with his mother's full
+knowledge and consent, and also with my Lady's!"
+
+With that I stooped to pick up the books which she had cast on the
+ground at my feet, when, as ill-luck would have it, my watch and
+Walter's picture slipped from my bosom and fell on the grass, the
+picture face uppermost, of course. With a cry of wrath and anguish such
+as I never heard, she set her heel on the picture, and crushed it to
+atoms, and then turning to Betty, who had come up panting and full of
+amazement, she seized her by the arm, saying, in a stifled voice:
+
+"Come away from this wretch—this viper! Come away, before she shall
+poison you!"
+
+Then, as Betty hung back, and clung crying to me, scared by her aunt's
+violence. "Come with me, I say, or I will drag you away by force!"
+
+"I wont!" screamed Betty, all her passionate temper aroused in turn.
+And, wrenching away her arm: "You are a viper yourself, and a dragon
+too, Aunt Jemima, and I hate you!"
+
+"Yes, you have profited by your teaching!" said Lady Jemima, in the
+same strange, unnatural voice. "Come with me, I say!"
+
+And with that she seized the child by the shoulder, and by a sudden
+wrench, pulling her away, she dragged her toward the house.
+
+I was horrified, knowing how easily she was hurt, and sprang to the
+rescue, and at the same moment Betty gave a shrill cry of agony, and
+called out, "Mamma! Oh mamma! Aunt Jem is killing me!"
+
+Then looking up—oh, sight of horror!—I saw my Lady running down the
+stone steps of the terrace, and, catching her foot, fall headlong to
+the ground!
+
+I forgot all else—even my child, at that sight, and I was by her side
+in a moment, raising her head in my lap.
+
+Betty burst out crying—"Mamma is killed! Mamma is killed!" And threw
+herself on the ground by her side.
+
+Lady Jemima stood as if turned to stone.
+
+I saw in a moment that my Lady still breathed, and presently she opened
+her eyes. By this time Dick Gardener and his assistants came running
+up, and I made Ambrose, who is a great, strong, handy fellow, take up
+my Lady and carry her to her room, while I ran before to call Mrs.
+Judith and Mrs. Brewster.
+
+By this time all the servants were alarmed, and came running into the
+hall to meet us. I sent Mary to bring in Betty and put her to bed, and
+the others on different errands to get them out of the way, for somehow
+I seemed to have everything to do, and to think of everything at once.
+
+As for Lady Jemima, she had never moved from her place, and nobody
+seemed to think about her at all.
+
+By the time we got my Lady to her room, she was quite herself, and gave
+directions about everything she wanted, bidding Brewster undress her,
+and telling me to go and see to Betty and bring word how she was; for
+she feared she had been hurt in the struggle.
+
+I found Betty crying and sobbing in Mary's arms, who was trying to
+coax her to be undressed, instead of going to her mother, as she was
+determined to do.
+
+I now found the benefit of having reduced the child to obedience. She
+submitted, sorrowfully, but passively, when I told her that she could
+not go to her mother to-night, but if she wanted to please her she must
+be good and quiet and do as she was bid.
+
+"I will try to be good!" said she, pitifully, as I began to unlace
+her boddice. "But oh, Margaret, Aunt Jem did hurt me so! I could not
+help crying out! You don't think it was my fault that mamma fell
+down-stairs, do you?"
+
+I told her no—that she was not to blame in the least; and indeed I
+could not feel that she was.
+
+"How is mamma? Is she dying?" asked Betty.
+
+"O no!" I answered, as cheerfully as I could. "I think perhaps she will
+be quite well in the morning, if she is not disturbed to-night. She is
+troubled about you, and I want to carry back a good account of you."
+
+Betty was all docility in a minute, and let me undress her and rub her
+back and shoulders. "Does it hurt you, now?" I asked.
+
+"Not so 'very' much," she answered, with a strong emphasis on the
+"very." "Not so very much, when I am quite still. Tell mamma so,
+please."
+
+"You shall go to bed now, and I will sit with you while Mary brings
+your supper," said I. And I made her a sign to make haste, for I was on
+thorns to get back to my Lady.
+
+When I had seen Betty comfortable, I went back again to my Lady's
+room. By this time it was quite dark—the wind was blowing, and the
+rain dashing against the windows, and it promised to be a wild night.
+I found Mrs. Judith had sent man and horse after the doctor and nurse:
+"For though my Lady seems quiet enough just now, my dear, we shall want
+help before morning, I am sure. I only wish my Lord had left us Roger,
+instead of Harry Andrews."
+
+I wished so too, for Harry was young, and not over steady, and besides
+he was brother to Tom Andrews, which was enough to set me against him.
+I could not help wondering at my Lord, knowing as he did what was like
+to happen at any time, and said so.
+
+"Oh, there's no use in expecting any sense in 'men!'" said Mrs. Judith,
+with decision. "They are all alike in those matters, my dear. An ounce
+of trouble for themselves outweighs a pound for anybody else."
+
+"Not with all men, I think!" said I, remembering my dear father. "What
+time ought Harry to be back?"
+
+"By eight o'clock, at farthest."
+
+"And when ought we to expect my Lord?" I asked.
+
+Mrs. Judith looked grave.
+
+"Not to-night, I am afraid: or at least not till late. They will sup
+with Sir Thomas Fulton, and most likely stay all night, as it is such a
+storm."
+
+Eight o'clock came, and half-past eight, but no Harry, and no doctor.
+My Lady began to grow worse very fast, and by half-past nine she was in
+convulsions. Mrs. Brewster lost her head entirely, and could do nothing
+but cry. And Mrs. Judith was terribly flurried, and evidently quite at
+her wits' end.
+
+"You see I have had so little experience!" said she to me, as she came
+out into the antechamber. "I never had but one of my own, and my Lady
+always had her mother with her before. I would give my right hand if
+Mrs. Corbet were here—but how to bring her!"
+
+"Surely she would come if she were sent for!" said I.
+
+"Aye, but how to send. You see, my dear, this is All-Hallow's even,
+and I don't believe you could get one of the servants to go down to
+Corby-End for love nor money!"
+
+"What, not for my Lady?" I exclaimed.
+
+Mrs. Judith shook her head.
+
+"Fear makes people selfish, my dear. And indeed, considering what hath
+been seen between here and there on All-Hallow's eve, I should not like
+it myself. Not but that I would go if I could."
+
+"I will go down to the kitchen and see what can be done," said I, and I
+went.
+
+I found the maids, with old Thomas and David, who were the only men
+left at home, gathered closely round the fire, listening to some
+dreadful tale of ghosts and what not, which Anne was doling out to
+them: and one or two of them shrieked as I opened the door, as if I had
+been the White Dame herself.
+
+I told my errand, but was answered only by blank looks and a torrent of
+expostulation and assurance that no one would dare to go through the
+park this night, no not to have the whole of it, for fear of meeting
+the Halting Knight and a certain evil spirit which is supposed, at this
+time, to be mousing about the Abbey for any unlucky soul that ventures
+out after dark.
+
+"And so you will let your good Lady die for lack of help!" said I, as
+soon as I could get a hearing.
+
+"As to that, our lives are worth as much to us as my Lady's to her!"
+answered Anne, pertly enough. "And who knows what Madam Corbet might
+do, if she did come? I'll be bound she hath heard the news before
+this time. She doth not need earthly messengers, as honest folks do.
+Everybody knows that!"
+
+"Everybody knows that you are an ungrateful fool, Anne Hollins," said
+old Thomas; "and if you do not lose your place for that same speech,
+it will not be my fault, I promise you. I would go in a minute, Mrs.
+Merton, but you know I can scarce put one foot before the other."
+
+"And you, David!" said I.
+
+David only shrank together and muttered something, but it was clear he
+would not go.
+
+"Get me the lanthorn ready—I will go myself!" said I, at last. "I fear
+no evil when on a good errand, and hold myself safer out in this storm
+and under God's protection, than you are here round the fire. Remember
+stone walls cannot keep out spirits, and the Evil One himself is like
+enough to be busy among you—selfish cowards that you are!"
+
+With that I left them, and running to mine own room, I put on my thick
+woolen gown, which mother would have had me leave at home, and in less
+time than I can write it, I was back in my Lady's room, telling Mrs.
+Judith of my purpose.
+
+"God bless you, dear maid!" she exclaimed, kissing me and bursting into
+tears. "Go then, and good angels guard you!"
+
+"And so you are really going!" said Dorothy, the fat cook, as she put
+the lanthorn into my hand: "And you, you idle, good for nought men,
+will let her go alone! I would go myself, but I should hinder more than
+help you!"
+
+"I'm going with Mrs. Merton!" said Jacky, the little knife-boy,
+starting up from his corner, and buttoning up his doublet, while his
+pale face and staring eyes showed his fears were only less strong than
+his sense of duty. "I'm only a lad, but I am somebody, and she shan't
+go alone—so!"
+
+"Good boy!" said Dorothy, as she tied her own kerchief over his ears
+to keep his cap on. "Thou shalt have a fine plum bun, I promise thee!
+There, go along, and God bless you both!"
+
+As we went out into the night, the wind caught us, and we had much
+ado to keep our feet. It came not steadily, but in heavy gusts, laden
+with sharp, stinging rain, and roared fearfully in the great trees.
+It was not so very dark, for there was a moon, which shone out now
+and then through the flying clouds, but a wilder night sure no two
+young things were ever abroad in. I walked on as fast as I could, and
+Jacky trudged manfully by my side, not even blenching when we passed
+into the Abbey church-yard, which we must needs cross, as the shortest
+way to Corby-End. As we were in the midst thereof, the moon shone out
+suddenly, and an owl—I suppose it was an owl—gave an unearthly screech.
+
+"Save us!" cried Jacky, pressing close to my side. "What's that?"
+
+"Only an owl," said I, valorously. "Never mind him!" But I did not feel
+as brave as my words, by any means.
+
+However, we crossed the church-yard safely enough, and descended into
+the ravine.
+
+Here it was very dark. The brook, already swollen with the rain,
+narrowed the path, so that we had to go one by one. There were strange
+sounds in the trees, and the passing gleams of the lanthorn made
+strange shapes on the rocks and bushes. I grew very impatient to reach
+the end, for, aside from all other fears, I knew the brook, which hath
+its rise in the high moon, sometimes swelled very suddenly, and made
+the track quite impassable. But the more haste, the worse speed. In my
+hurry, I stumbled and fell, putting out the light.
+
+Jacky burst out crying: "Oh, mistress, what shall we do now?"
+
+"Push on as fast as we can," said I, affecting a courage I by no means
+felt. "Take hold of my gown, and make what haste you are able."
+
+Even as I spoke, something seemed to brush past me, so near to my face
+that I felt it, and again we heard the same wild scream which had
+greeted us in the church-yard. Stumbling and tripping, however, we
+hurried on, and at last came out at the little gate I have mentioned
+before in these memoirs. We were still in the thick woods, but then the
+path was plain, and at last—oh, welcome sight!—we saw the lights in the
+windows of Corby-End!
+
+Never did any one look more amazed than Madam Corbet, when I burst into
+her pretty, orderly room, all dripping, torn, and draggled as I was,
+and told my tale with breathless haste. Not till it was ended, did I
+see that Walter was at my side. Then all my strength seemed gone in a
+minute, and I should have fallen, but for his arms.
+
+"I must go to my cousin instantly," said Madam, rising. "Walter, will
+you order my horse, and tell Will to get ready to ride? There is no
+time to lose!"
+
+"I will myself go with you as far as the great house, and then ride on
+in search of the doctor," said Walter. "As for Margaret, she must abide
+here and go to bed."
+
+"No, no!" I cried. "I must go back. Indeed I must! If Betty wakes and
+misses me, no one will be able to manage her, and I shall be wanted,
+beside. I must go back directly!"
+
+"I believe she is right!" said Madam, to my great joy.
+
+She would have me drink some hot wine, however, and indeed I was glad
+of it. I believe they made all the haste possible, but it seemed an age
+before we were ready to set out.
+
+As for Jacky, he was left with the servants to be dried, warmed and
+feasted to his heart's content.
+
+I rode behind Walter, and Madam her own horse, and we were not long
+in reaching the house. When we were safely dismounted, Walter said he
+would ride on with Will and find the doctor.
+
+"You will be drenched through!" said I.
+
+"Nay, I have my horseman's coat, and I am not made of sugar nor salt,
+more than yourself, my dear love!" said he: "But, dear mother, do see
+that Margaret changes her clothes."
+
+And with that he was gone. Many people would have thought it not a
+very sentimental greeting, after so long an absence: but I was well
+contented with it.
+
+I hurried to my room to dress myself, for indeed I was wet through, and
+I know it was but right that I should take due care of my own health.
+
+When I had done so, I looked in at my child. She was awake, and started
+up at my entrance.
+
+"Mamma!" said she, breathlessly.
+
+"She is likely to do well, I trust," I answered. "Your Cousin Corbet is
+come to stay with her. Try to go to sleep, my dear one."
+
+"But you will come and tell me?" she said, holding my hand. "I don't
+want you to stay, because mamma might need you, but you will come and
+tell me. And I have tried to be good, haven't I, Mary?"
+
+"Indeed you have, my dear, tender lamb—my sweet, precious young Lady!"
+said Mary, wiping her eyes: "I am sure an angel could not have behaved
+any better!"
+
+I kissed her and again assured her that I would bring her the first
+news, and bade her pray for her mother.
+
+And then I left her and hurried back to my Lady's antechamber, where I
+met Lady Jemima coming out.
+
+"Mrs. Corbet is with her," said she. "She will not endure me in her
+sight—and no wonder. I feel as if I had murdered her."
+
+"You have!" I answered her, bitterly enough. I was wrong, but at that
+moment I did really feel that if my Lady died, Lady Jemima would be
+answerable for her death.
+
+Lady Jemima looked strangely at me for a moment, and then turned and
+fled swiftly to her own room.
+
+Mrs. Judith opened the door in a few minutes to whisper to me that
+my Lady was already quieter, and seemed soothed and comforted by her
+cousin's presence, and to ask me to go down and see that some supper
+was prepared for my Lord, in case of his coming home, which I did.
+
+I found Dorothy had anticipated me, however, for she had made
+everything ready. And not only that, but she had some dainty broth
+keeping hot by the kitchen fire, which she begged me eat a part of, and
+carry the rest up to Mrs. Judith.
+
+"I had not thought of wanting anything to eat, Dorothy," said I.
+
+"No, I dare say not, nor Mrs. Judith neither," answered Dorothy, dryly.
+"You're not the kind that always thinks of your own insides, whatever
+happens; so much the more need that others should think for you."
+
+I would not seem ungrateful for the good soul's care, so I drank a cup
+of broth, and indeed it did me a great deal of good. I had hardly got
+up-stairs again when I heard a clatter of horses' hoofs, and my Lord's
+voice above the storm, directing Roger and Will about the horses. Mrs.
+Corbet at the same moment opened the door.
+
+"Go you down to meet my Lord, dear heart!" said she. "Tell him
+Elizabeth is going on well, but do not let him come up. Everything
+depends on quietness, just now!"
+
+I needed no second bidding, but ran down-stairs, and met my Lord at
+the door. He was coming in, after his usual jolly, careless fashion,
+evidently merry, yet not much the worse—but that he never is—for the
+wine he had drank at supper. He checked his whistle on seeing me.
+
+"What, Margaret! What keeps you up so late?" Then, as I held up a
+warning finger, he seemed to divine the state of the case. "My Lady! Is
+she—?"
+
+"She is in a way to do well, I trust and believe!" said I. "But she has
+been very ill, and Mrs. Corbet says all depends on quietness."
+
+"The surgeon is here, I suppose?" said he, after a minute.
+
+I told him how it was—that Harry had gone for him at first and did
+not return. And that, growing alarmed, Mrs. Judith had sent for Mrs.
+Corbet, about an hour ago.
+
+"Aye, that was well!" said he. "But who went for her? I would have
+said there was not a wench about the place who would have gone down
+to Corby-End to-night on any errand whatever; and David is a greater
+coward than any of them."
+
+"I went myself," said I.
+
+"You!" exclaimed my Lord, putting his hand on my shoulder, and holding
+me off to look at me. "Meg! You never went down to Corby-End alone,
+this wild night!"
+
+"Nay!" I answered. "I had Jacky the knife-boy for protector. We had a
+rough walk, but we met with no worse misadventure than slipping into
+the brook two or three times, and putting out our lanthorn. And I rode
+back and left Jacky to be petted by the maids down there!"
+
+He caught me in his arms, kissing my forehead, called me his brave
+maid, his good girl, and I know not what else, and swearing a great
+oath, as his fashion is, that I should marry whom I liked and no one
+should hint a word against me. I got him quieted at last, and set down
+to his supper, and then stole away, promising to bring him news from
+time to time. But when I went down again, at the end of an hour, he was
+fast asleep and snoring on the settle, so I even let him sleep.
+
+The night wore slowly away, and still the doctor did not come. But I
+dare say we were as well without him. Between five and six, just as the
+gray dawn began to show in faint streaks above the high moor, there
+was a bustle in my Lady's room—and then—oh, sound of joy, which I well
+knew—the cry of a little babe. I sprang to my feet, but dared not go
+near the door.
+
+Presently, after what seemed an age of suspense, Madam opened it, her
+dear fair face all flushed with joy!
+
+"Good news, Margaret! We have two bouncing boys—and I believe the
+mother will do well, in spite of all! Go you and tell my Lord—you have
+well earned the right—but do not let him come up-stairs, just yet!"
+
+I ran softly but quickly enough down-stairs to the hall, where I found
+my Lord awake, rubbing his eyes and shivering. He started up when he
+saw me.
+
+"Good news, my Lord—the best of news," I cried out. "Two nice lads—and
+my Lady is doing well!"
+
+"What!" said he, staring, as if he had not taken in my words.
+
+I repeated them.
+
+"But my wife—Elizabeth!" he said, paler than I ever could have believed
+possible. "How is she doing? Will she live?"
+
+"I believe she will!" I said. "Madam thinks so, but she bids you not
+come up just yet!"
+
+I shall ever like my Lord the better for what followed. The great
+strong, soldierly man fell on his knees, and, amid streaming tears and
+sobs which shook him like an infant, gave broken and heartfelt thanks
+to Heaven for his wife's deliverance.
+
+I cried heartily, and the tears seemed to wash from my heart the
+bitterness and weight which had lain there all night, ever since Lady
+Jemima had trodden under foot Walter's picture.
+
+"But the bearer of good news must be rewarded!" said my Lord, when he
+had calmed himself a little—(I saw with pleasure that he seemed no ways
+ashamed of his emotion). "What shall I do for you, Margaret?"
+
+"If I might ask so much!" said I.
+
+"Let me hear it!" said he. "It will be hard if you ask what I cannot
+grant."
+
+"It is that you will go and carry Lady Betty the good news yourself, my
+Lord!" I said. "It will be better to her from your lips than from any
+other source, and it may prevent some jealous fancies, such as children
+sometimes have."
+
+"You are always thinking of your bantling!" said he, evidently
+well-pleased. "I bade you ask something for yourself."
+
+At that moment the hall door opened and Walter entered, followed by the
+surgeon. Walter told me afterward that he had found Harry Andrews drunk
+at an alehouse near Biddeford, and that he had rode five miles beyond
+the town before he found the surgeon.
+
+"Hallo, Wat!" cried my Lord, cheerily. "Doctor, you are a day after
+the fair. You have lost your chance of the title this time, Watty, my
+boy! Meg here and your lady mother have choused you out of it fairly,
+between them!"
+
+"Thank God!" said Walter, fervently.
+
+"Good! That's well said," returned my Lord. "And what is more, I
+believe you mean it, both you and Margaret! And that is more than I
+would say of some folks."
+
+"I mean it, I know, and I am sure I can answer for Margaret!" said
+Walter.
+
+"Aye, you are mighty ready to answer for Margaret," said my Lord. "You
+and Margaret have been a pair of sly-boots, I believe. However, all is
+well, and I am sure you will never find a better wife or a fairer, if
+you look the west country over, so here's God speed you with, all my
+heart!" And he gave Walter a mighty shake of the hand and a slap on the
+shoulder, which might have staggered a giant. "However, I have promised
+to break the news to Bess, and I must keep my word."
+
+He went up-stairs, and I followed, for I wanted to see how the child
+would take it. As my Lord opened the door, I saw that Betty was
+kneeling in the bed, with her hands clasped. She looked up with an
+eager glance, and a burning blush, when she saw her father.
+
+"That's right, Bess, my girl!" said her father, coming to the bed, and
+taking her in his arms. "Thank God for giving you a pair of fine little
+brothers to take care of you!"
+
+She clung round his neck. "Oh, papa, has my little brother come?"
+
+"Aye, that has he, and brought another with him!" answered my Lord,
+cheerfully: "And what is better, dear mamma is doing well."
+
+Betty seemed quite overwhelmed, and laid her head down on her father's
+shoulder. Presently she raised it again, and looked anxiously in his
+face.
+
+"You wont wish I was dead 'now,' will you, papa?" said she. "Indeed, I
+will try to be very good!"
+
+"Wish you dead! No, child, of course not!" said my Lord, quite shocked.
+"How could you think of such a thing as that?"
+
+"You said so that day in the church-yard, papa!" said Betty. "You know
+I could not help being crooked, and, indeed, I will try to learn all I
+can, so that I can help mamma and teach my little brothers!" she added,
+with wistful pathos.
+
+"Bless the child!" said my Lord, kissing her with real tenderness, and
+hugging her in his arms. "I never thought of such a thing! Why, Bess,
+you must not lay up every word I say as if it were gospel. What will
+you do when you are married, and have a husband of your own, if you
+make so much of every rough speech?"
+
+"I never will be married!" said Betty, with decision. "I mean to live
+single all my life, as Margaret does!"
+
+"But suppose Margaret gets married—then what will you do?" asked my
+Lord.
+
+"I should not like it at all, and I won't have it!" said Betty. Then
+gravely, as if reconsidering the matter—"Unless she will marry Walter,
+and live at Corby-End. That would be very nice, I think, don't you,
+papa?"
+
+My Lord gave one of his great laughs, kissed her again, and calling
+her a wise little maid, put her down on the bed, and pulled out of
+his pocket I know not what expensive toys in the way of scissors,
+needle-cases, and the like, telling her that he had bought them for her
+yesterday. Then saying he must go and look after his guests, and giving
+my ear a parting pull, he went away, leaving Betty happier than any
+queen.
+
+"What did Aunt Jemima say?" asked Betty, after she had found out that I
+had not seen the babes, and making me promise to take her to her mother
+as soon as possible.
+
+"I don't know that she has heard yet," I answered, my conscience
+smiting me, as I remembered my own words to her the night before, and
+the look she had given me. "I will go now and tell her."
+
+I tapped gently at Lady Jemima's door, but as no one answered, I
+ventured to open it and look in. Lady Jemima had not been to bed all
+night, and now crouched on the cold floor before the little altar in
+her closet, pale as death, and with eyes swollen with long and bitter
+weeping. She started up as I entered, but did not speak.
+
+"Good news, madam!" I said, cheerfully. "The best of news!" And then I
+told her what had happened.
+
+"Is not my sister dead, then!" she asked, in a strange, bewildered way:
+"I thought I had murdered her. You said so!"
+
+"I was angry and said what was very wrong, and I beg your pardon," I
+answered. "My Lady is like to live, I hope and trust. Madam thinks she
+is doing well, and also the surgeon, who is come just in time to be too
+late."
+
+She threw her arms round my neck, and burst into hysterical sobs and
+cries. I got her into her chair, and supporting her head, I soothed and
+quieted her as well as I could, till she was in some degree herself
+again.
+
+"You heap coals of fire on my head, Margaret!" said she, when she could
+speak. "But you did not come here to triumph over me, did you?"
+
+"God forbid!" said I, earnestly. "I came but to bring you the good
+news, and to ask your forgiveness for my wicked words last night."
+
+"They were true words!" said Lady Jemima, hastily. "I had the spirit
+of a murderer, if not toward my sister, yet toward you. I could have
+killed you, Margaret!"
+
+I did not ask her why. Poor Lady! I knew well enough how she felt I had
+injured her. I only said:
+
+"Dear Lady Jemima, I never meant to harm you!"
+
+"I know it!" said she, bitterly. "You never did harm me. If you had
+never come near the place, it would have made no difference. It was my
+own insane vanity and passion. I have been a wicked woman, Margaret—a
+wicked hypocrite, condemning and judging others, when I was far worse
+than they: but mine eyes have been opened this night, and I have seen
+myself as I am!"
+
+"I am not so sure of that!" I said.
+
+She looked at me in surprise.
+
+"When the Saviour put his hands on the blind man's eyes, and asked him
+if he saw aught, the man answered that he saw men as trees walking. He
+saw, it was true, but as yet nothing clearly. It needed a second touch
+before he saw things as they were. It may be so with you."
+
+She shook her head sadly. "I can never trust myself again," she said.
+
+"I would not try!" I answered her. "But you know whom you can trust—who
+will never fail those who seek Him. But, dear Lady Jemima, you are now
+in no fit state to judge of anything. You are wearied out with grief,
+and watching, and fasting, too, I dare say. Your hands are as cold
+as ice. Let me help you to bed, and get you some food, and when you
+have eaten and slept, you will be much better fitted to see and feel
+rightly."
+
+"Tell me one thing, Margaret," said she, taking my hands, "are you and
+Walter truly betrothed?"
+
+"We are," I answered her; "and my Lord hath given his consent."
+
+She made a movement, as if to draw her hand from mine, but refrained.
+
+"And you will soon be married, I suppose!" she added, after a pause.
+
+"I believe not," said I. "I promised my dear Lady before there was any
+likelihood of such good fortune befalling me that I would not leave
+Lady Betty for a year, whatever happened. And I mean to keep my word,
+unless I have more reason than I see now for breaking it."
+
+"How I have wronged you!" she said, sighing. "Margaret, there is hardly
+any evil that I have not thought of you."
+
+"You were prejudiced against me by one whom you might well have
+believed," said I. "I know not why Felicia hath always been mine enemy,
+except that it seems a part of her nature to have to hate somebody."
+
+"It was not that—not altogether!" said Lady Jemima. "It was—"
+
+"You shall tell me another time," said I, venturing to interrupt her;
+"that is, if you see fit to honor me with your confidence. I really
+think you ought to go to bed now, and rest, that you may be ready to
+see my Lady when she asks for you, and to make the house pleasant for
+my Lord."
+
+"I will do anything you tell me," she said, sadly.
+
+"Dear Lady Jemima, I don't mean to dictate!" I began to say, but she
+stopped me.
+
+"Yes, you shall dictate!" said she. "You shall command, and I will
+obey. It is fit that I should humble myself before you, aye, even in
+the dust—that I should be humbled in the eyes of all the world—if so I
+make any atonement for my sins."
+
+I could not let this pass. It seemed to me such a dreary notion, and at
+the same time such a false one, that I felt I must speak.
+
+"Dear madam, why should you think of making any such atonement?"
+I said. "Surely the one oblation of our Lord, once offered, is a
+sufficient atonement and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world,
+let alone yours and mine: and no suffering of ours, no voluntary
+humiliation or penance, will add anything to its virtue. Only cast all
+your care and sin on Him, and leave Him to lay upon you such crosses
+as He sees best: I don't think we need be afraid of having too much
+ease in this world, if we are willing to bear the burdens and do the
+tasks He provides for us. And if we go to work making burdens and tasks
+for ourselves—doing our own work—I am afraid we are in great danger of
+neglecting His."
+
+I doubted how she would take my little sermon. She did not seem
+displeased, however, but said we would talk of it again. I helped her
+to undress, and got her to bed.
+
+"I do not see how you can find any rest on such a bed!" I said, feeling
+how hard and uneven it was. "I wish you would let me make it up
+comfortably."
+
+"Do as you will!" said she, wearily, leaning back in her chair.
+
+I looked out into the gallery, and seeing one of the maids, I bade her
+bring a matrass and quilt from an unused room near by, wherewith I made
+the bed as nicely as I could. The poor lady could not help a sigh of
+relief and satisfaction, as she lay down. Then I sent Dolly down for a
+manchet and a cup of cream, and persuaded Lady Jemima to eat a little.
+She promised me that she would lie still and try to sleep, and asked me
+to come in again after a while, kissing me at parting.
+
+As I shut the door, I heard her sobs burst forth, but I did not return,
+thinking that she would at last weep herself to sleep.
+
+
+I found Betty up and dressed, and in due time took her in to see and
+kiss her mother.
+
+My dear Lady looked very lovely in her paleness, but Madam would
+not let her speak a word to any one, which was no more than right,
+of course, though Betty was inclined to murmur thereat, till Madam
+explained to her the reason; after which she seemed hardly to dare to
+breathe. She was sadly disappointed in the babes.
+
+"They are so red and spotty—they are not nearly as pretty as kittens,"
+said she, pouting a little: "I think they look more like the young rats
+Ambrose showed me."
+
+My Lord nearly exploded into a laugh at this criticism, and my Lady
+smiled, but Mrs. Brewster was indignant.
+
+I explained to Betty that all very young babes looked so, and that they
+would grow pretty in time.
+
+"Will they?" she asked, wistfully. "When will they get their eyes open?"
+
+This was too much for my Lord, who fled precipitately into the gallery.
+
+But, at that moment, one of the babies opened his eyes and showed that
+they were blue. I made Betty slip her finger into one of the little
+hands, which closed on it at once, and Betty was more than satisfied.
+
+Since that time, we have gone on very quietly, My Lady is not so strong
+as we could wish, but the doctor says it is only because she exerted
+herself too much just at first, and that a long rest will set all right
+again. The babies are all that any one could desire, stout, well-grown,
+and healthy.
+
+Betty sees new beauties and wonders in them every day, and would, if
+she were permitted, nurse them all day long. She does not show the
+least jealousy of them, but seems to rejoice in all the attention and
+admiration they receive.
+
+Only the other morning I found her taking Anne severely to task for
+something she had said. As I entered, she appealed to me in great
+excitement:
+
+"Anne says my nose is broke, and that nobody will care for me any
+more," said she, half crying; "and it is not true, is it, Margaret? She
+says I shall be nobody, now that there is an heir, and—"
+
+"Anne is a very bad girl to say such things!" I answered her. And then
+turning to the girl, I reproved her sharply.
+
+Whereto she answered me at first saucily enough. But when I said I
+should speak to Mrs. Judith, she cooled down and begged my pardon. I
+have forbid her speaking to Betty hereafter, and have told her plainly
+that I shall complain to Mrs. Judith if she disobeys me, or if I hear
+any more of her pert speeches.
+
+Lady Jemima continues very ill, with a kind of low fever, and her mind
+is worse than her body. From thinking herself all but a saint, with
+her penances and fastings, she has gone round to the opposite extreme,
+and now believes herself such a sinner that there can be no hope for
+her. It is painful to see how woe-begone and sorrowful she is. I spend
+as much time with her as I can, and try to cheer her up: and I really
+think she likes to have me with her. I have not encouraged her to talk
+to me of her feelings about Walter. I believe such things are almost
+always best kept to oneself, and I am afraid of her saying what she
+will be sorry for by and by: but I read to her, and tell her stories
+about the poor folks in the village and what happens in the family. And
+sometimes I sit by her in silence whole hours at a time, busy with my
+needle.
+
+For myself, I can only say I am as happy as the day is long—happier
+than I ever believed anybody could be in this world. My engagement
+is now spoken of as a matter of course, and my Lord treats me as a
+daughter or younger sister, and will have me receive all tokens of
+outward respect, as one of the family.
+
+I think Mrs. Judith was a little shocked at first, but she is
+reconciled now, and is quite sure that all is for the best, especially
+since she has found out that my mother was a Seymour, and my father's
+mother a grandchild of my Lord Falkland. But setting that aside, I do
+think she loves me enough for my own sake not to grudge me any good
+fortune.
+
+Walter has written to mother and Richard, and also to Aunt Willson,
+which, he says truly, is only her due, since she has been so kind to
+me. I would love to be married at home, in my dear father's own church,
+but the journey is a long one, and I don't know how that will be. At
+any rate, Walter has promised that I shall go very soon to visit them
+all. I see him every day.
+
+My Lord begins to fret at the wedding being put off, and to say that
+Bess can do well enough without me: but I am quite content that matters
+should rest as they are for the present. I am sure I shall never be
+happier than I am now.
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+_NEWS FROM HOME._
+
+                                                _November 30._
+
+MY journal is not very regularly kept, nowadays, I have so much to do
+and to think about.
+
+Letters have come from home, and from Aunt Willson. They all write very
+kindly, and dear mother is greatly pleased. She says she is thankful
+to have seen and liked Walter, for she would hardly have felt like
+giving me to a stranger. Dick writes gravely, after his fashion, and
+Aunt Willson bluntly, after hers. She says she had a shrewd guess how
+matters were going when she saw Walter in London, and she believes I am
+about to do well.
+
+"I have only one bit of advice to give thee, child," she says; "and
+that is, never, on any account, to speak to any human being, however
+near and dear, of thy husband's faults and short comings, nor let any
+one talk to you. I dare say you wonder that I should think such advice
+necessary, but 'tis a rock which has wrecked the happiness of many a
+married pair. Amend what thou canst, and what thou canst not amend,
+bear with patience and love, in God's name. For the rest I daresay you
+will do well enough. You were brought up as a gentlewoman, and you are
+young enough to mold your habits where they need molding. You will have
+a second mother in Madam Corbet, who is one of the chosen ones. I send
+you some matters, for your fitting out, and likewise some money for
+your purse."
+
+The "matters" turn out to be a great mail filled with beautiful stuffs
+and silks, such as I never thought to wear, with store of fine linen
+and laces, and a set of pearl jewels, good enough for a countess. But
+that I know that my aunt is rich, and that it is a pleasure for her
+to be giving, I should feel oppressed with her bounty. I have had
+beautiful presents from all the family.
+
+I must not forget to say that Felicia is also going to be married to a
+rich merchant of London, a worthy man, Aunt Willson says, but a great
+Presbyterian, and very strict in all his notions. Aunt says he hath
+altogether converted Felicia to his own way of thinking, insomuch that
+she looks upon a Bishop as Antichrist in person, and believes that no
+prayer read from a book can possibly meet with any acceptance.
+
+My new uncle sends me a fine shawl or mantle, of some kind of Eastern
+stuff, called crape, white and embroidered in heavy silk, with roses
+and other flowers, in quite a wonderful way; also a treatise by Mr.
+Baxter, a young Presbyterian divine, which I have not yet found time
+to look at. Felicia sends me nothing, save a civilly scornful note, in
+which she says she is glad I have played my cards so well, and that I
+am going to be "married"—the words underlined—to Mr. Corbet. For her
+own part she is content with her lot, and would rather be the wife of a
+godly, honest merchant, than of any hanger on of a great family.
+
+I did not show the note to Walter, for I knew it would vex him. For
+myself I care not for her venom, which hath lost its power to sting me,
+but I am sorry for her husband. She sends her respects to Lady Jemima,
+and bids me tell her that she (Felicia) has seen the error and darkness
+of her ways, and the wickedness of the scheme in which they had both
+been engaged, and hopes her Ladyship may have grace to repent the same.
+I was not going to tell Lady Jemima the message, but she heard I had
+received letters, and at last I showed her Felicia's.
+
+"How I was deceived in her, as well as in myself!" said she, sighing
+deeply, as she returned me the letter. "My fine scheme has vanished
+into air, like the bubble it was."
+
+"Perhaps it has vanished that something better may come in its place,"
+said I.
+
+She shook her head sadly. "Nay," said she, "I have learned more about
+myself since then."
+
+She is better in health, but sadly out of spirits, and seems to find
+little comfort in anything. I do hope the Bishop will be able to set
+her right.
+
+My Lady hath recovered faster than we could have expected, sits up
+all day, and has walked a little in the gallery, but does not yet get
+out or come to the table. The babes are all that any one can wish,
+and Betty now resents bitterly any criticism upon their good looks. I
+think she loves the blue-eyed babe, perhaps, the best of the two. Her
+own health has not been good since the shock of that day. She is again
+growing thin, and complains of the pain in her back and side once more.
+I cannot but fear that she received some injury in the struggle. She
+hath made up her quarrel with Aunt Jemima, and often sits by her bed
+and reads to her in the Bible, though she has to spell a good many
+words.
+
+We are to have a distinguished guest in the course of two or three
+weeks, no less a person than Anthony Van Dyke, the great court painter.
+Walter knew him well both abroad and in London, and hearing he was to
+be in Exeter, invited him to paint his mother's portrait, to which she
+consented, on condition that Walter's and mine should be painted also.
+My Lord is much taken with the fancy of having my Lady and her children
+sit to him, and I hope the plan will be carried out, but it seems
+doubtful whether the great man can stay so long in this west country.
+Walter says he is a very fine gentleman, and is glad that the king
+gives him encouragement to stay in this country.
+
+
+                                                _December 10._
+
+The Bishop hath been with us nearly a week, holding his visitation, and
+especially inquiring into the condition of the moorland parishes, which
+he finds sad enough—no preaching save perhaps once or twice a year, no
+catechising, the young folk growing up like utter heathen, knowing no
+more of the word of God (so Walter says, who hath accompanied my Lord
+in most of his journeys), than so many Turks or Indians. They believe
+enough, however, in the devil and his servants, in witches, pixies,
+moormen, Jack Lanterns, night crows, and what not; and through fear of
+such like creatures live all their lives in most cruel bondage.
+
+The Bishop is greatly exercised by this state of things, and hath a
+great many schemes for improving the condition of these poor folks,
+by sending them faithful preachers, and establishing schools among
+them. He hath already found a mistress for one of these schools, in
+the person of Mabel Winne, an excellent woman in the village, and
+daughter of a substantial farmer, who being single, and in a manner
+left alone by the death of all her friends, desires to devote her life
+to some such good work. Jane Atkins tells me that Mabel was for a long
+time head girl of the school, and a good scholar, though proud and
+high-spirited, but that having caused the maiming and final death of a
+friend by pushing her down in a sudden fit of passion, the sad event so
+changed her that she hath ever since sought her pleasure in doing good
+offices among her poor neighbors, nursing the sick, and so forth. She
+seems just the person to carry out the Bishop's plan, especially as she
+is by no means poor, but hath enough to support her comfortably, in a
+simple way.
+
+Lady Jemima hath had many talks with the Bishop, and I think is in a
+fair way of regaining her peace of mind. She seems for a day or two
+past quite cheerful, and at last, at my Lord's earnest entreaty, came
+down-stairs to supper. I was sorry, for I knew Walter would be there,
+and I dreaded their meeting, but it passed very nicely, she wishing him
+joy with a sweet smile, and saying most kind things of me. But, withal,
+I saw tears come into her eyes as she took her seat. I don't know
+whether Walter suspects aught or not: I am sure he shall never hear it
+from me.
+
+After supper she told me that she was tired, and would withdraw. I went
+with her to her room, and when there she told me that she had been
+telling the Bishop about her scheme for a nunnery, and that he had put
+another plan in her head, namely, to turn her house near Exeter into
+a refuge for orphan girls from the city, where they might be trained
+to usefulness and piety, and fitted to earn an honest and comfortable
+living.
+
+"He says," she continued, "that I might always have six or eight such
+young maidens in my family, and he would have me live among them
+myself, and oversee them. Is not that a pretty castle in the air?" she
+added, sorrowfully smiling.
+
+"Indeed, I think it a much prettier one than your nunnery," I answered,
+"and one much more easy to erect on firm ground."
+
+"Aye," said she. "My sisterhood has turned out finely, with one sister
+marrying a priest, and another a Presbyterian." (For it is quite
+settled now that Mrs. Priscilla and Mr. Penrose are to make a match
+of it. I need not have been so distressed at breaking the poor man's
+heart. 'Tis something easier mended than Betty's china image.) "But
+I feel myself unfitted for such a work and responsibility, otherwise
+I would welcome the suggestion at once. As it is, I shall not put it
+away, but consider upon it, and consult my sister."
+
+I do hope the plan will succeed. I am sure Lady Jemima will be better
+and happier in a house of her own than she is here, and also that this
+house will be better without her. The desire for employment and for
+doing good, which here makes her only troublesome, will be well laid
+out on a family of her own.
+
+
+                                                _December 10._
+
+My dear child seems better again, and once more goes about the house,
+and looks after her fowls and other pets, and nurses her little
+brothers, though the latter not so much as she would like, because
+their weight makes her shoulder ache. Still I am very uneasy about her.
+She grows thin, and has a little cough, and two or three times she has
+had something like a fainting fit, save that her face turns brownish
+instead of pale. She is wonderful happy in her spirit, and all her old
+irritability seems entirely gone.
+
+The great painter is come, and is at work on Walter's and his mother's
+pictures. He is a wonderful courtly gentleman, with a quick eye, which
+nothing escapes. He hath already expressed a wish to paint Betty,
+saying that she has one of the most lovely and touching faces he ever
+saw: to which my Lord and Lady gave their consent, and are mightily
+pleased, as is Betty herself. But Mary does not like it at all, and
+says she hopes there may be nothing wrong, but it stands to reason that
+the gentleman cannot put so much life into his pictures without taking
+it out of the people he paints; and that Betty has none to spare, she
+being weakly already. I think Mrs. Judith is much of the same mind,
+though she will not own it.
+
+The matter is quite settled as to Lady Jemima's orphan-house. She
+is to be the head of the family, with a suitable establishment, and
+is to begin with six young girls, not of the very poorest, but from
+clergymen's families, and the like. This is by the Bishop's advice, who
+says that less is done for this class than for any other. One is to be
+the child of an artist, a great friend of Mr. Van Dyke's, and worse
+than an orphan, her mother having deserted her child, and the poor
+father, all but distracted, desires to go abroad, but has no one with
+whom to leave the poor young maid, who is only six years old. Mr. Van
+Dyke desires the privilege of paying her necessary expenses (the care
+and safety he gracefully says can never be paid for), and he hath given
+Lady Jemima a hundred pounds.
+
+It shows how really humbled dear Lady Jemima is, that she took the
+money without a demur. She is much more cheerful since she hath been
+engaged with this plan, and rejoices with trembling in the hope of
+present forgiveness and favor. She has long chats with Dame Yeo, and
+I think the old woman hath done her much good. Every one notices the
+difference in her, and even her face is changed. She does not see
+Walter often, and when she does, she meets him as a brother: but I can
+see it costs her a pang.
+
+Ah me! It seems very hard that the happiness of one should cost the
+misery of another: but I believe what she says is true, and that Walter
+would never have thought of her, even if I had never come to the Court
+to live. She is two years older than he, for one thing, and a woman
+always seems older than a man at the same age; and then all their
+notions are so different. The only wonder to me is, how she should ever
+have fancied him.
+
+
+                                                _December 20._
+
+Betty's picture is nearly done, and is wondrously beautiful. Some of
+the family think it flattered, but I do not. It is only that Mr. Van
+Dyke has seized upon her most lovely expression that which her face
+wears when she is saying her prayers, or nursing her little brothers,
+or looking upon something which pleases her—a sunset, or the like. Mr.
+Van Dyke himself thinks it the best picture he hath painted in these
+parts.
+
+When it was finished, Betty looked, at it long and wistfully.
+
+"Is it really like me?" she asked.
+
+"Indeed it is," said I.
+
+"I am glad of it," she said, and took another long look at the picture.
+"My little brothers will see it and know what I was like, and I think
+papa will love to look at it."
+
+She has several times lately said things of this kind, which led me
+to think that she herself believes she will not live long. I cannot
+help feeling the same myself. Nobody ever sees a fault in her now—not
+a pettish word or look ever escapes her, and instead of thinking all
+the time of herself, as she used to do when I first came here, all her
+care is for other people: and she never loses a chance of pleasing and
+helping those around her. She is much interested in her aunt's scheme
+of the orphan-house, and has tried to work for it by hemming sheets and
+napkins, and the like, but she can sew and knit only for a few minutes
+at a time, because of the pain in her shoulder. I fear she will soon
+leave us. And yet why should I say fear? 'Twould be a blessed change
+for her, and I am sure she is ripe for it.
+
+I have been to Exeter with my Lady Jemima, to see her house there, and
+help her choose matters for her housekeeping. The place is called, in
+the neighborhood, "Lady House," and was once a small convent of gray
+nuns. It is in good repair and mostly well furnished, and there is a
+gallery with cells on each side, which she will fit up as bed-rooms for
+her older girls. She will have a nursery for the young ones, and is
+looking about for a suitable nurse for them. I think she will take the
+oldest girl in Lady Rosamond's school, who is good, and, steady, and
+understands spinning and knitting, as well as all sorts of needlework,
+coarse and fine.
+
+We stayed at the palace, and I think Mrs. Hall, the Bishop's lady,
+has quite overcome in her mind her old prejudice against married
+clergymen. She was remarking to me on the beautiful order and peace of
+the household—the servants so well behaved and attentive, and so happy
+each in his or her own place—the maids trained so as they may make
+good wives and mothers, and carefully instructed in religion by Mrs.
+Hall herself; the children so well bred and restrained, yet withal so
+cheerful, and on such happy terms of respect and intimacy with both
+father and mother.
+
+I ventured to say to her:
+
+"Do you think the Bishop would be a happier or a better man if he were
+condemned to a lonely, solitary life, with no home, and no wife or
+children to cheer him after his labors? And is he not better prepared
+to sympathise with both the joys and sorrows of his flock, from having
+experienced some of the same?"
+
+"Maybe so!" said she, and then presently she sighed—a very deep,
+sorrowful sigh, methought I knew well enough what she was thinking of.
+
+She has three orphan maids from Exeter, and one for whom Walter
+specially made interest from Plymouth, the child of an old sea captain,
+lately dead of a fever, besides the little child from London, who is
+now at the Court, and sleeps in Lady Jemima's room. She is a very
+pretty, gentle little creature, full of play, and of wonder at all she
+sees, having never before been out of London. Betty has introduced her
+to the fowls and the cat and kittens, and hath also made over to her,
+her great linen baby, which I made when I first came here. Lady Jemima
+thinks there never was such another child made.
+
+Christmas is close at hand, when we are to have great revels, as is the
+custom here. Mr. Van Dyke tells us a deal about the manner of keeping
+the holiday in the Low Countries, and of St. Nicholas (whom they call
+Santa Claus,) coming with gifts to put in the children's socks and
+shoes when they are asleep. Betty and the little Catharine are much
+interested, and wish the saint would come hither.
+
+Last Christmas I was at home, and dear father preached in the church,
+and afterward superintended the giving away of the Christmas dole of
+bread and blankets, and a fine plum bun to each child in the school.
+I little thought then how matters would be changed with me before
+Christmas came round again.
+
+My Lady now goes down-stairs, and hath even been out into the garden.
+She seems better in health, and more light-hearted that I have ever
+known her, and has lost much of the melancholy expression which used
+to mark her face. My Lord is even more devoted to her than ever. He is
+no more captious and disposed to quarrel with Walter, as he used to
+be, but makes him very welcome, and I think consults him a good deal
+upon business matters. He is a good deal perplexed and annoyed because
+the neighboring magistrates and gentry urge him to prosecute some of
+his tenants who are Puritans, and seldom or never attend the parish
+church—a thing he is no ways disposed to do.
+
+David Lee, the farmer, of whom I spoke once before as having some of
+his neighbors meet for prayers in his house, has given up the farm on
+which he and his have lived for I don't know how long, and is going
+to the new plantations in America, along with John Starbuck, from the
+Mill Heads, whose brother is there already. David is brother to old
+Uncle Jan Lee down at the Cove, and nearly as old a man, though not so
+infirm. But he has two stout sons, and three daughters, one of whom
+is betrothed to Ephraim Starbuck, and he says he values his religious
+liberty more than his home. My Lord is much grieved, and has tried to
+prevail on him to remain, promising him protection and countenance, but
+failing to move him, he has (so Walter says), dealt most liberally with
+him, and given him some valuable presents in the way of stock and tools.
+
+My Lord thinks the old man is throwing away his own life and those of
+his family, but Walter is more hopeful. He says the land over there is
+good, and the harbors excellent, and he believes the new colony may
+in time become a place of importance. He tells me the colonists have
+begun by establishing schools, and have even founded a college, which
+seems odd enough. What will they do with a collage out there, among the
+savages?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+_EBENEZER._
+
+                                                _January 3._
+
+HOW ill have I treated this poor faithful journal of mine! And I fear
+'tis like to fare even worse, in the future. I can hardly realize it,
+but such is the fact. I am going to be married the day after to-morrow.
+Whereas I had not expected such an event before June, at the nearest,
+and my poor dear child, Lady Betty, is the good fairy who has brought
+all this about. But I will go back and tell my story in an orderly
+manner.
+
+There was great bustle and interest in making ready for the
+holidays—more even than usual, for my Lord meant to celebrate the birth
+of his sons, by giving a good piece of beef, and a fine pudding to each
+one of the cottagers. He was to have had a feast for them at the Court,
+but on account of my Lady's health, and for some other reasons, that is
+put off till next summer. Then the school children were to be feasted
+at my Lady's expense, and a Christmas gift made to each, and all the
+maid servants were to have new gowns; all of which involved a good deal
+of work for some of us.
+
+Most of the shopping fell upon Lady Jemima, and myself, and we had a
+fine time going to Biddeford, and selecting gowns, ribbons, and the
+like. And I was surprised to see how much interest dear Lady Jemima
+took in the purchase. I could not have thought it was in her, to care
+so much for such a matter. She is a great deal more cheerful than I
+have ever seen her, and really grows pretty and plump, now that she
+has left off her fasting and sitting up of nights. Every one sees the
+change. I am sure she is very good to love me as she does. I don't
+believe I could do it, in her place.
+
+Betty was very grave and thoughtful for two or three days before
+Christmas, and I wondered what was in her head. On Christmas-Eve, as
+she and I were sitting in my Lady's room—my Lady nursing one of the
+babes, and Betty holding the other, I was glad to sit still, for I was
+thoroughly tired, and the quiet was very grateful to me. We had been
+silent for some minutes, when Betty spoke:
+
+"Mamma, why don't Margaret and Walter get married? I thought that was
+the next thing, when people were betrothed."
+
+"And so it is, my dear one!" answered her mother. "But then you see
+Margaret has a little nursling whom she does not like to leave. What do
+you think you would do without her?"
+
+"But she would not go so very far-away. She would only be at
+Corby-End," said Betty. Then, after a little silence, "Mamma, I should
+like to see Margaret married."
+
+"Why, so you shall, and be bridesmaid too, if you like," answered her
+mother. "Why not?"
+
+"Then, mamma, I should like them to be married pretty soon," replied
+Betty, "because I don't believe I shall be here a great while longer."
+
+This was the first time she had spoken so plainly, though she had
+hinted as much a good many times lately. My Lady started and looked
+anxiously at her.
+
+"Why do you say that, my darling?" she asked. "Don't you feel as well?"
+
+"I don't know, mamma," said Betty. "I feel languid and weary, and there
+is a feeling 'here,'" (pressing her hand to her heart,) "which I never
+had before you were ill, and which tells me that I shall not live long."
+
+"Dear child, that is only a fancy," said her mother, kissing her. "You
+must drive away such gloomy thoughts."
+
+"They are not gloomy," said this strange child; "and they are not
+fancies, either. Something calls me away all the time, and at night,
+when I lie awake, I hear such strange, beautiful music in the air and
+among the trees. But I wont talk about it, if it makes you unhappy,
+dear mamma," she added, seeing the tears in her mother's eyes. "Only,
+if you please, I should so much like to have Walter and Margaret
+married very soon. Please, wont you have it so?"
+
+"We will see," answered her mother.
+
+Betty was silent, but I could see she was turning the matter over in
+her mind, as her fashion is. And when she went to bed, she spoke of it
+again.
+
+"Margaret, if you want to make me very happy, you will be married very
+soon. I am quite sure that I have only a little time to live now, and I
+do so want to see you married. Please do let me speak to papa about it."
+
+What could I say? I saw how much in earnest she was, and I believed
+with herself that she had not long to live, and that she might go from
+us in any of the fainting fits she had lately. She saw, I suppose, that
+I was moved, and urged me again, even with tears, to let her speak to
+my Lord.
+
+"Don't cry!" said I, alarmed. "You shall do as you please, but you must
+not cry, or you will bring on one of your bad times again."
+
+But the bad time came, in spite of me. She fainted, and it was more
+than ten minutes before we could bring her round. I began to think she
+had gone for good, but she breathed again at last, her breath coming
+in most painful gasps and sobs. She is weaker after every one of these
+fits, and longer in recovering herself.
+
+When she mentioned the subject again, I told her she should do as she
+liked, and at last she went to sleep, quite content and happy.
+
+I did not leave her save to go to my room and put on my wrapper. As I
+went out into the gallery, I met Mr. Van Dyke, with his hands full of
+toys and sweetmeats.
+
+"See here, Mistress Merton," said he. "Cannot we put these into the
+shoes of my little lady and Catharine, and so give them a pleasant
+surprise, and let them think the good Saint Nicholas has been to visit
+them?"
+
+I was well-pleased with the fancy, and we went to my Lady Jemima's
+room, where the little Catharine sleeps. Lady Jemima entered into the
+sport and we filled the little socks and shoes with sugar-plums and
+toys. Then I went back and lay down by Betty, whom I did not mean to
+leave that night.
+
+Early in the morning, long before dawn, we were roused by the
+schoolboys, and the young men and maids from the village, coming to
+sing carols under the window. Mrs. Judith and her maids were up early,
+as it was, and they were called into the hall and regaled with cakes
+and spiced ale.
+
+Soon the whole household was astir, and Betty would get up and be
+dressed with the rest, to meet the family at breakfast. I did not
+oppose her, for she seemed strong and bright for her, and besides I did
+not believe that anything would make much difference. There is that in
+her face nowadays that I have seen too often to mistake its meaning.
+She was very merry this morning, and much delighted at finding the St.
+Nicholas gifts in her shoes.
+
+"I know how Saint Nicholas looks, Margaret!" said she. "He hath
+fine dark eyes, and curling hair, and a peaked beard, and he paints
+beautiful pictures."
+
+So I saw that she had guessed the riddle at once. Little Catharine,
+however, was not so quick in her apprehension, but I believe thinks, to
+this hour, that St. Nicholas paid her a visit, and only regrets that
+she was not awake to see him.
+
+Betty had made a couple of fine handkerchiefs for Christmas gifts to
+her father and mother, doing the open hems very nicely, with a little
+of my help. And after prayers, she had the pleasure of giving them, and
+seeing them admired to her heart's content.
+
+"And please you, my Lord, I have to beg for a Christmas box!" she said,
+with a little formal courtesy. "You know you promised me one."
+
+"Why, so I did, Bess, and what shall it be?" said my Lord, well-pleased.
+
+"Let me whisper in your ear, papa," said she.
+
+He bent his stately head down to her—he is very indulgent to her,
+nowadays—and then, as she whispered eagerly to him, he stared, laughed
+heartily, and bade her ask Walter, since he was the person most
+concerned.
+
+"I think he will be willing, don't you, papa?" said Betty: "He is
+always so kind and obliging."
+
+My Lord roared with laughter again, and said he did not doubt he would
+be willing, since it was to oblige his cousin. And so I hardly know
+how, 'twas all settled in an hour that we were to be married on Twelfth
+Day, and so go home to Corby-End.
+
+It grieves me that I must be married away from mother, but there is no
+help for it, and Walter promises to take me home for a visit so soon as
+the spring opens.
+
+The Christmas revels went off very nicely. We all went to church, my
+Lord and Lady, and all—and my Lord stayed to the sacrament—a thing I
+never knew him do before. The church was beautifully adorned with ivy
+and holly, and such late flowers as the mild season often spares till
+Christmas. Everybody was dressed in their best, and all were exchanging
+good wishes and, Christmas words.
+
+I could, not help shedding some tears as I remembered last Christmas,
+when I was at home, and dear father was alive and well: but for all
+that I felt wonderfully tranquil and happy. Old Uncle Jan Lee was at
+church, and so I was glad to see were his brother and all his family.
+My Lord would take no denial, but would have them all up at the Court
+for their Christmas dinner—Will Atkins and his wife, and all—so we had
+a great gathering, and a very merry one, but all sober and decorous
+enough.
+
+Betty lay down and had a nap after dinner, and so was ready to see
+the revels in the evening, when we had the Christmas mummers—Lord
+Christmas, Dame Mince Pie and all the rest, with a fine copy of verses
+from the schoolmaster, in which he compared our poor babes to Castor
+and Pollux, and I know not what other heathen gods. I fear he was
+rather scandalized by our levity, for no one could help laughing, but
+my Lord thanked him and made him a handsome present, so he was consoled.
+
+Mr. Penrose was not with us, he keeping his Christmas at Sir Thomas
+Fulton's. And so ended our Christmas day.
+
+Since then I have lived in a kind of dream, recalled to this lower
+world, however, about once an hour, by Mrs. Brewster, who wants me
+to try on something, or to give my judgment on some solemn matter of
+trimming or pattern. But I am sure I shall never know what to do with
+so many fine clothes as they are preparing for me. It is very silly in
+me, I dare say, but I cannot help wishing I were not so poor. If my
+poor dear father's ship had come home, now!
+
+
+                                                _January 5._
+
+I have to-day had the greatest—yes, the very greatest surprise of my
+life, greater even than that of finding myself on the eve of marriage
+to a great gentleman like Walter. I was hearing Betty's Latin lesson,
+which she will still keep up though she has dropped most of her other
+lessons these short days, when Mrs. Judith herself came up, and
+informed me that a gentleman was inquiring for me and was awaiting me
+in the little parlor.
+
+"A gentleman to see me—you must surely be mistaken, Mrs. Judith!" said
+I.
+
+"Indeed I am not!" she asserted, with a merry twinkle in her eye.
+"'Tis a gallant young gentleman as I wish to see, and he asks for Mrs.
+Margaret Merton. So go you down and see him."
+
+I arranged my dress and went down-stairs, wondering who it could
+possibly be, and thinking over all the gentlemen I had ever known,
+which were not many. Somehow it never came into my head to think of
+Dick, and yet when I opened the door of the little parlor, there he
+was, looking as composed and grave in his sober riding suit, as if he
+had but just come over from Chester to spend Sunday at home.
+
+I don't know what I said or did at first, save that I cried, laughed,
+and talked all at once, till suddenly a thought came over me, which
+made me cry out: "Oh, Dick! You have brought me no ill news, have you?"
+
+"No, no! Very far from that," he answered me, cheerfully. "Why, Meg!
+How you have grown, and how handsome you are! The gentleman who met
+me in the hall, and to whom I made myself known, tells me that I am
+just in time, for that you are to be married to-morrow. How is that? I
+thought the great event was to be put off till spring."
+
+I explained that the time had been shortened to gratify my little lady,
+who was in delicate health, and who was bent on seeing the wedding.
+
+"Aye, doubtless it was a great sacrifice!" said he, in his old way.
+
+"But Dick," said I, "what wind has blown you here? I am sure something
+must have happened more than common."
+
+"A good wind, though a most unexpected one," he answered. "The last one
+I ever thought of, I am sure. Meg, my father's ship has come home, safe
+and sound, and with a wonderful rich freight. My father's poor venture
+of three hundred odd pounds is magnified tenfold, and more. Mr. Gunning
+tells me that our fair share of the cargo comes to five thousand
+pounds, and he is quite willing to advance us the money upon it."
+
+I could only sit and stare stupidly at him for a moment. Then I burst
+out crying, and sobbed: "Oh, if my poor father had but lived to see it!"
+
+"He will not miss it where he is," answered Richard, gravely. "But is
+it not wonderful?"
+
+"Wonderful, indeed," said I. "'Tis like a chapter of romance. I can
+hardly believe it."
+
+"Nor could I, till I saw the ship herself, and went on board of her,
+for you must know I have been in Bristol, and a fair and great city it
+is. I have had a wearisome journey."
+
+And here came in one of the men with a great tray of refreshments, sent
+by Mrs. Judith. And while Richard was eating, came in first my Lady,
+who made my brother welcome with her usual grace and courtesy, and then
+Walter and my Lord, and the lawyer from Biddeford, who is here now.
+
+And there was a deal of talk about business before I could get Dick
+to myself again. But I did finally, and carried him off for a walk
+by ourselves in the chase, and he told me all about home matters.
+How my mother took the news, and how she loves the cottage too well
+to leave it, but will add somewhat thereto, as she can do with great
+convenience. How all our old neighbors rejoiced in our good fortune,
+specially Dame Crump, who is still alive, and who has always prophesied
+that the ship would come home sometime. How Mr. Carey makes himself
+loved by all, both rich and poor, save that he and Sir Peter Beaumont
+do not well agree. Finally, and best of all, how Dick himself is now to
+carry out the darling wish of his heart, and go to Cambridge, to begin
+his studies as soon as possible.
+
+And so ends the day before my wedding day, with all the content
+possible. And as I look back at the last year, and see how wonderfully
+I have been preserved and helped, what friends I have found on every
+side, and how the plans of mine enemies have been frustrated and
+brought to naught, my heart overflows with thankfulness and joy, and I
+feel like consecrating myself anew and more entirely than ever to Him
+who is the Father of the Fatherless and the God of the widow.
+
+                                ————————
+
+Here ends all of my journal which I have seen fit to transcribe for my
+daughters to read when I am gone, as I feel that I soon shall be, to
+join my honored parents and my dear Lady.
+
+My married life hath not been wholly without clouds, as what life is?
+In the civil wars which began soon after, my husband took part with
+Parliament, and afterward served under the Protector, while my Lord was
+on the other side: yet did that circumstance never wholly divide the
+families, and my husband was able to be of great service to my Lord in
+protecting his property from sequestration.
+
+Poor Lady Betty survived till Easter, gradually growing weaker, but
+suffering little, and able to keep up till the last. On Easter Sunday
+she received the Sacrament, at her own earnest request, Mr. Penrose
+having given her preparatory instruction. It being a fine warm day, she
+rode to the parish church, sat out the whole service, and seemed none
+the worse. But the next morning, when Mary went to call her, she was
+dead, having, as it seemed, passed away without ever waking up.
+
+We all grieved for her, and I think none more than my Lord, to whom she
+had become very dear of late, but we could not but feel that it was
+well with the child.
+
+My Lady survived her daughter some four years. After a decent time,
+my Lord married again to a very good woman, a widow lady with two
+daughters. She was a very good wife to my Lord, and a kind mother to
+his sons, but she was never to be compared to my own dear Lady.
+
+Lady Jemima lives in her own house, with her family of orphan maids
+about her, and is much loved and respected. Little Catharine—now a fine
+tall young lady, is still with her, but she has changed the rest of the
+family many times over, and always for their advantage. She is indeed a
+most excellent lady.
+
+Felicia is still alive; a sour, discontented woman, rich, but feeling
+poor, and always imagining that somebody is leaguing to rob her or
+impose upon her. Her first fall in life I do think was when her
+husband positively refused to let her put in any claim to my father's
+estate, saying that he was rich enough already, and that she ought to
+be ashamed to ask for a penny, seeing she had been brought up at my
+father's expense. Felicia scolded and sulked, but he was firm, and for
+once she met with her match.
+
+Mr. Fowler is dead now, and poor Felicia lives alone, having quarrelled
+with all her husband's relations, and not being able to find a waiting
+gentlewoman who will stay with her more than a month at a time.
+
+Richard went abroad just at the beginning of the trouble, as tutor to a
+young nobleman, and did not return till the restoration, when he took
+orders, and is now a useful, unambitious parish-priest in Chester. I
+don't think he will ever be a bishop, as I used to dream, and I don't
+believe he wishes it. But there is some hope that he wilt have my
+father's living at Saintswell, and dwell in the dear old house where we
+were all born.
+
+
+
+                             THE END.
+
+
+
+                     UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
+
+                        ——————————————————
+
+  WON AT LAST; or, Mrs. Briscoe's Nephews ..    .. By AGNES GIBERNE.
+  WINNING AN EMPIRE. The Story of Clive   ..    ..    G. STEBBING.
+  UNDAUNTED. A Tale of the Solomon Islands..    ..    W. C. METCALFE.
+  OUT IN GOD'S WORLD; or, Electa's Story  ..    ..    J. M. CONKLIN.
+  THE STORY OF MARTIN LUTHER              ..    ..    E. WARREN.
+  ROBIN TREMAYNE. A Reformation Story     ..    ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  HER HUSBAND'S HOME. A Tale              ..    ..    E. EVERETT-GREEN.
+  A REAL HERO; or, The Conquest of Mexico ..    ..    G. STEBBING.
+  ALL'S WELL; or, Alice's Victory         ..    ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  WAITING FOR THE BEST; or, Bek's Story   ..    ..    J. M. CONKLIN.
+  THE KING'S DAUGHTERS. A Martyr Story    ..    ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  A KNIGHT OF TO-DAY                      ..    ..    L T. MEADE.
+  THE HIDDEN TREASURE                     ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  SISTER ROSE; or, The Eve of St. Bartholomew   ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  JACK. The Story of an English Boy       ..    ..    Y. OSBORN.
+  LITTLE QUEENIE. A Story of Child Life   ..    ..    EMMA MARSHALL.
+  THE CHILDREN'S KINGDOM                  ..    ..    L T. MEADE.
+  LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE. A Tale of the Crusades   ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  THE KING'S LIGHT-BEARER                 ..    ..    M. S. COMRIE.
+  CLARE AVERY. A Story of the Spanish Armada    ..    EMILY S. HOLT.
+  OUR HOME IN THE FAR WEST                ..    ..    M. B. SLEIGHT.
+  LADY ROSAMOND; or, Dawnings of Light    ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  THE MARTYR OF FLORENCE                  ..    ..    ANON.
+  GOLDEN LINES; or, Elline's Experiences  ..    ..    LADY HOPE.
+  OLDHAM; or, Beside all Waters           ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  TWO SAILOR LADS. Adventures on Sea and Land   ..    GORDON-STABLES.
+  BEATING THE RECORD. The Story of Geo. Stephenson    G. STEBBING.
+  DOROTHY'S STORY. A Tale of Great St. Benedicts..    L. T. MEADE.
+  ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY               ..    ..    GORDON-STABLES.
+  THE CHILDREN OF DEAN'S COURT            ..    ..    EMMA MARSHALL.
+  LILLIAN'S HOPE        ..    ..    ..    ..    ..    C. SHAW.
+  FACING FEARFUL ODDS; or, The Siege of Gibraltar     GORDON-STABLES.
+  EVERYDAY BATTLES      ..    ..    ..    ..    ..    FIDELITÉ.
+  WELL WON. A School Story    ..    ..    ..    ..    J. T. THURSTON.
+  LIFE-TANGLES          ..    ..    ..    ..    ..    AGNES GIBERNE.
+  THE STRANGE HOUSE; or, A Moment's Mistake     ..    CATHARINE SHAW.
+  LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS            ..    ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE            ..    ..    ..    GORDON-STABLES.
+
+
+                        ——————————————————
+
+      LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76918 ***
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+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+    <title>
+      Lady Betty's Governess; or, The Corbet Chronicles │ Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
+   <link rel="icon" href="images/image001.jpg" type="image/cover">
+    <style>
+
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76918 ***</div>
+
+
+<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001">
+</figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>Mr. Corbet exerted himself to entertain Betty,</b><br>
+<b>telling her stories.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+<em>[The Stanton-Corbet Chronicles.]</em><br>
+<br>
+<em>[Year 1637]</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<h1><em>Lady Betty's</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<em>Governess;</em><br></h1>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+OR,<br>
+</p>
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+THE CORBET CHRONICLES.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+<em>LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY</em><br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+AUTHOR OF<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+"LADY ROSAMOND," "THE CHEVALIER'S DAUGHTER," "WINIFRED,"<br>
+"FOSTER SISTERS," ETC.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+NEW EDITION.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+<em>LONDON:</em><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E. C.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+CONTENTS.<br>
+</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_1">CHAPTER I.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+BROTHER AND SISTER<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_2">CHAPTER II.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+THE LAST SUNDAY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_3">CHAPTER III.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+MY NEW CHARGE<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+A WELCOME VISITOR<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_5">CHAPTER V.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+EASTER TIDE<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+MAKING PROGRESS<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+THE BISHOP'S VISIT<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+MORE THAN A FRIEND<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+TRAVELLING MERCHANTS<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_10">CHAPTER X.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+A SON AND HEIR<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+NEWS FROM HOME<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<a href="#Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII.</a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+EBENEZER<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image005" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image005.jpg" alt="image005"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image006" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image006.jpg" alt="image006"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+THE PREAMBLE.<br>
+<br>
+——————<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>WHEN I was a young maid and just about to be married to my excellent
+husband, with whom I have lived so long and so happily, my dear and
+honored mother-in-law gave me as a wedding present, a chronicle (if I
+may so call it) which she herself had received in like manner, from her
+grandame, who brought her up. She said it had for some generations been
+the custom in her family to keep such annals, and in this way had many
+facts and circumstances been preserved which would otherwise have been
+lost.</p>
+
+<p>I have always preserved this chronicle with great care, and shall
+make a copy of it (if time and opportunity present) for the use of my
+daughters, feeling that my dear and honored cousin, Lord Stanton, hath
+the best right to the original manuscript.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking upon doing the same put it into my mind to make a similar
+chronicle for the use of mine own daughters. I feel that it will
+interest them (especially when I am dead and gone, as I soon shall be)
+to know what their mother was at their age. I am able to make this
+account the more full and particular, as during the year or two before
+I was married, and specially while I was living in the family of my
+dear and honored lady at Stanton Court, it was my habit to keep a
+journal, in which I wrote down not only what most concerned me, but a
+vast deal besides.</p>
+
+<p>In these pages I have transcribed a part of that journal, sometimes
+supplementing the text with my present recollections of events in those
+days.</p>
+
+<p>It hath been my lot to see many and sad changes. The Archbishop who
+was so great with king and court when these pages were written, I
+saw mobbed, insulted, and finally thrust into prison, from which he
+was delivered only by death. In him was fulfilled those words of the
+prophet, "When thou shalt cease to oppress, then shall they oppress
+thee; and when thou shalt cease to deal treacherously, then shall they
+deal treacherously with thee!" I could never get over the way Mr.
+Prynne treated the old man. 'Twas not like a Christian nor a gentleman,
+however great had been his wrongs, and no one can deny that they were
+bitter enough.</p>
+
+<p>Then came that terrible event, the death of the king. My husband never
+approved of Cromwell's course in that matter, though he said, and as
+I believe truly, that there was a time when Cromwell would have saved
+him, had the king only been true to himself. But there alas! was his
+great failing—sorrowfully acknowledged by friends as well as foes. With
+all his virtues, the king knew neither truth nor gratitude. His want of
+the first he called kingcraft like his father before him: and as for
+the last, I do believe he felt himself raised too far above ordinary
+mortals to owe them anything. If they served him, even to the laying
+down of their lives, it was well—they did no more than their duty. If
+they did not, then were they rebels and traitors. But he hath gone to
+his account, and I will not judge him. My lord adhered to him always
+and afterward went abroad to the court of the young king, Walter taking
+the charge of his estates and sending him money.</p>
+
+<p>Since the Restoration, my husband has lived in retirement, though he
+has had more than one offer of office and preferment. But he loves this
+quiet country life, and so do I.</p>
+
+<p>My lord is back at the hall with the second lady and her children and
+his own boys, and we are all good friends. She is an excellent woman,
+but no more like my own dear lady than a cabbage is like a lily. Yet we
+are good friends always, and she is very kind to me and my children.</p>
+
+<p>I feel that my time is short, and that I must soon leave my dear
+husband and children. I pray my precious girls to receive this volume
+as a legacy from their mother, and to remember her last words—that the
+path of duty, though its way be hard and thorny, is always the path of
+safety—the path which leads to honor here and happiness hereafter. "To
+do his duty in that state of life to which it hath pleased God to call
+him," is the sum and substance of a Christian's work. A poor plowman
+or milk-maid can do as much with God's help, and the greatest king on
+earth can do no more.</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+MARGARET CORBET<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image007" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image007.jpg" alt="image007"></figure>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+<b>LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image008" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image008.jpg" alt="image008"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_1">CHAPTER I.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>BROTHER AND SISTER.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>March 1, 1637.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>SO it is really all settled, and I am to leave this little parsonage,
+where I have spent all my days hitherto, and go to Stanton Court to
+live among lords and ladies and to be companion or governess to a poor
+little hunchbacked girl. I wonder how I shall like it? However, as
+Felicia says, that is the least part of the matter. Felicia need not
+have put it so bluntly, I think. That is always her way, but it does
+not help to make matters easier. As old Esther says, if she wanted to
+hammer a nail into a board, she would begin head foremost. She thinks,
+forsooth, it is all because she is so very sincere, but I don't see
+that she is any more so than other folks. I am sure, when she tells
+mother after she and I have had a quarrel, she manages to turn things
+to her own advantage as well as anybody I ever saw. Mother understands
+her pretty well, that is one comfort.</p>
+
+<p>It really does not matter much, however, whether I like it or not.
+We cannot all stay at home, that is clear, especially now that my
+dear father is gone, and we must leave the dear old parsonage for the
+cottage at the other end of the village, which will hardly hold us all.
+I don't mind leaving home so much, now that "home" no longer means this
+queer old pile of stone, all angles and corners and outside stairs, and
+all overgrown with ivy and traveller's joy, and what not. I don't think
+I can ever take root in any place again, even though it were far finer
+than this; and the cottage is by no means so pleasant, though very good
+for a cottage.</p>
+
+<p>But some of us must earn our own bread, that is plain. Poor Dick is
+doing so already, with all the cheerfulness in the world, as clerk to
+old Master Smith, the great stationer in Chester. He never complains,
+though all his hopes and projects are disappointed, and, why should I?
+Felicia is older and stronger than I am, 'tis true. But then, as mother
+says to me: "Who would ever live with her that could help it? She has
+such an unhappy temper!" So they all say. When "I" get vexed and in a
+fury, I have a "bad" temper. That is all the difference. As long as
+I can remember, every one in the house has given way to Felicia, on
+account of her "unhappy temper," but I don't see that it makes her any
+happier.</p>
+
+<p>"Felicia!" Never was any one more completely misnamed. That is the
+worst of these significant names which people are so fond of giving
+nowadays. A child is named Grace, Mercy, or Peace, and Grace grows up
+more awkward than a cow, Mercy takes delight in tormenting, and Peace
+keeps the whole house in an uproar from morning till night.</p>
+
+<p>I would not for the world say anything to reflect upon my honored
+father, especially now that he is gone from us, but it does seem a pity
+that he should have risked all his savings for so many years, and all
+mother's little fortune, in such an adventure as that ship to the Spice
+Islands. 'Tis true, no doubt, that some great fortunes have been made
+in that way, like that of Mr. Gunning in Bristol. But I believe it is
+also true that for one ship that comes home laden with pepper, mace,
+and nutmegs, at least four go to the bottom or are taken by pirates.</p>
+
+<p>Master Smith says, however, that no such wild scheme is got up, but
+the foremost to rush into it, and risk their little alls, are masters
+and fellows in colleges, country clergymen, and widows with a little
+property—just the people who have the least chance of understanding the
+matter. I will say that dear mother was as much against it as she could
+ever be against any scheme of my father's. But he was so sanguine, and
+he ever thought little of the opinion of women on any subject.</p>
+
+<p>But there is no use in going over all that now. What is done is done.
+What is "to do," is to make the best struggle we can to live decently
+and honestly, keep out of debt, and—I don't know what else, I am sure.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>March 3.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Dick is come home, by favor of Master Smith, to spend my last Sunday
+with us. I must say he is very kind to Dick. Indeed, every one has been
+very kind to us so far, even the new rector. 'Twas he got me my place
+at Stanton Court, where I am to go the day after to-morrow. To-day we
+have a new instance of his goodness. He allows mother to take what
+furniture she chooses from the parsonage, as he means to replenish it
+entirely. That will be a great help toward fitting up the cottage.
+Indeed, I hardly know what we should have done without it, for mother
+hath but little of her own, and most of the furniture here belongs
+to the house, though my father had it all refitted and repaired more
+than once. I wish I could stay here to help them move, but that is
+impossible. I am to go southward with the new rector and his servants,
+and I may not have such a good opportunity again in a long time.</p>
+
+<p>I have showed Dick what I have written. I do so sometimes, though no
+one else knows that I keep a journal. Dick has known of it from the
+first. It was he that put me upon keeping it and gave me this large
+fair blank book. Before that I used to write upon such scraps as I
+could find.</p>
+
+<p>When he came to that—"I don't know what else."—Dick demurred. "You have
+left out the gist of the whole matter Peggy," said he. "Your summing up
+is like the playbill Master Smith told me of—'The play of Hamlet with
+the part of Hamlet omitted.'"</p>
+
+<p>"What have I left out?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, Peggy, what do you suppose we were made for?" said he. "Why
+were we put into this world, and assigned certain parts and duties
+therein? Who has put us here, and for what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Our Heavenly Father has put us here, of course," I replied. "But Dick,
+if you ask me why, I am not sure that I have an answer ready."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember when our Lord shall come in His glory and all the holy
+angels with Him, what will be the invitation to those on His right
+hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you
+from the foundation of the world,'" I repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, sweetheart, since such a kingdom is prepared for us—a kingdom
+of Everlasting Life—does it not seem likely that we are placed here as
+a school of preparation for that glorious heritage? And looking at it
+in that light, may it not give us a key whereby to understand at least
+some of the tasks and exercises which are set us in that same school?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it may," said I.</p>
+
+<p>Dick said no more. It is not his way to say a great deal, and perhaps
+that may be one reason why his words dwell in my mind and I cannot
+get rid of them if I would. I wish I could think and feel as he does
+on these subjects. It is the only point on which we do not fully
+sympathize. Of course I believe in the Christian religion, and say my
+prayers night and morning. I "fear" God, and I wish I could honestly
+say that I "love" Him, but I cannot think of Him as Dick does, as a
+loving Father, ever watching over us for good, ordering all things for
+the best, and always ready to hear our requests and sympathize with our
+troubles. It does seem to me as though He were very far off—too far to
+see or care for all the little joys and sorrows which make up the lives
+of every-day people.</p>
+
+<p>To-day we are beginning to pull up and pull down, and the house puts on
+an aspect of mourning. I had been working as hard as I could all the
+morning at mending the old tapestry hanging (and dusty, disagreeable
+work it is), when mother came in, and I called her to see the new head
+I had added to Goliah.</p>
+
+<p>"You have made him as good as new," says my mother.</p>
+
+<p>Dick, who had been helping us, came and looked over my shoulder to
+admire the truculent aspect of my giant.</p>
+
+<p>"Your work gives one a new notion of the courage of David," said he.
+"You have made Goliah a regular Cornish giant, like Cormoran and
+Blunderbore in Jack's story-book."</p>
+
+<p>"Unluckily David himself is not very much handsomer," I rejoined. "I
+must say I do not much like this fashion of putting pictures from Holy
+Scripture upon tapestry and Dutch tiles, and the like. One gets odd
+notions from them. I shall all my life have no other idea of Saint
+Peter than that I gained, before I can clearly remember, from the
+painted window in the church."</p>
+
+<p>"Peggy is growing quite a Puritan lately," said Felicia, who was
+working upon another part of the hangings. "She objects to the painted
+windows in the church."</p>
+
+<p>"Not to all of them," said I. "Only to the chancel window, and I do
+think that is profane. I cannot bear to look at it, since I knew for
+whom that old man in the clouds was intended. Surely if the second
+commandment means anything—"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you suppose the good man who gave that window to the church
+ever so many hundred years ago, knew as much about the meaning of the
+commandments as you do?" interrupted Felicia.</p>
+
+<p>"Probably not," said Dick, as I did not answer. "It is very likely the
+poor man had never seen, in all his life, a perfect copy of the Holy
+Scripture."</p>
+
+<p>"And, moreover, I do not think that anything painted upon a window
+can be so beautiful as the sky and the clouds seen through it," said
+I. "I admit that the colors in the old window are very wonderful and
+beautiful, but I think the sky more beautiful still, and besides I like
+to see out."</p>
+
+<p>"Every one does not care to be staring abroad in service time,"
+retorted Felicia. "But you are a regular Puritan. I advise you to keep
+your notions to yourself at Stanton Court, or you will soon get into
+trouble. The lady will not care to have her daughter's head filled with
+such fancies."</p>
+
+<p>"I trust my daughter will have sufficient modesty to prevent her
+intruding her opinions on anybody, whether at home or abroad," said my
+mother, not without emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say she will soon learn it," said Felicia, who is the only
+one in the family that ever answers mother back. "Poor relations and
+waiting gentlewomen get plenty of snubbing."</p>
+
+<p>Whenever any one checks Felicia in the least, she always begins to talk
+about poor relations. I do honestly think that she presumes upon her
+position as a dependent, knowing that mother will never utterly lose
+patience with her, because she is my dear father's youngest sister.
+She has been in one of her worst moods all day, and nothing pleases
+her. She found fault with the dinner, and snubbed me and the children,
+till mother at last roused herself and gave her such a setting down as
+reduced her to silence and sulks for the rest of the meal.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, I was going to sit down to my work again, but mother
+stopped me.</p>
+
+<p>"No, my dear. This is your last Saturday at home, perhaps for a long
+time, and you shall not spend it all over the needle. Do you and Dick
+go out together and have a fine long walk. 'Tis a pleasant afternoon,
+and you can visit all your old haunts before dark."</p>
+
+<p>"But then you and Felicia, will have all the work to do," I objected,
+though my heart leaped at the thought of one more long solitary walk
+with Dick—a thing I had hardly dared to hope for.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, never mind 'me,'" said Felicia, in a voice which trembled with
+rage. "'I' am nobody—only fit for a drudge and slave. Nobody cares for
+me, or thinks of me, now that my poor dear brother is gone." And with
+that she began to cry.</p>
+
+<p>Mother checked me as I began to speak, and sent me for my hood and
+cloak. When I came back, she met me at the door.</p>
+
+<p>"It is best not to answer Felicia when she is in one of these moods,"
+said she. "Poor thing, she suffers more than any one else from her
+unhappy temper."</p>
+
+<p>I am not so sure of that. I do think she finds a certain enjoyment in
+being miserable and making others so. It is rather too bad in her,
+thus to try to spoil Dick's holiday, but she was always jealous of his
+fondness for me. However, I said nothing, of course, and Dick and I
+were soon out in the lane. We meant to go and see the old people at the
+almshouses, and then across the deer-park to the spring, and so home by
+the church.</p>
+
+<p>We found Goody Crump sitting up reading her Bible, as usual, with
+everything tidy and pleasant about her, but she complained sadly of the
+weather.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Goody, I thought it seasonable weather for March!" said I. "You
+know they say a peck of dust in March is worth a king's ransom."</p>
+
+<p>"And so it is to the farmers, especially since the winter hath been so
+wet," replied the old woman, "but these east winds rack my poor old
+bones sadly. However," she added, with her pleasant smile, "I reckon,
+children, 'tis the old bones which are in fault more than the weather.
+I dare say the east wind doesn't trouble you."</p>
+
+<p>"How old are you, Goody?" I ventured to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"I was ninety-eight my last birthday, my dear. I was a good big girl
+when the great Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, and I well remember
+when I was a little thing, like your Jacky, seeing the fires lighted
+which were to burn two poor men at the stake, for reading their English
+Bibles. Ah! Children, you don't know what it is to live in troublous
+times. But those were grand days, too—grand days!" she repeated, and
+her old face did so light up as she spoke. "'Twas a new world, as it
+might be, what with the discoveries by sea and land, and fighting the
+Spaniards, and the spread of the True Gospel all over the land. Why,
+children, I remember when a copy of Holy Scripture was like treasure
+hid in a field. They that had it, kept it with jealous care, and
+resorted to it with fear and trembling, yet with heartfelt joy, knowing
+that it as good as sealed their death-warrant if found in their hands.
+Then came the days of Queen Elizabeth, when we dwelt under our own
+vines and fig-trees, as it were, and none to make us afraid. Then the
+ships went away beyond seas.</p>
+
+<p>"My master he sailed with Captain Drake, as was the first Englishman
+who went round the world—sailed away, and left me a six months wife,
+to tend his widowed mother, that was ever the best of mothers to me.
+Eh dear! 'Twas weary waiting and never knowing whether he were dead or
+alive. My oldest child was two years old and more before it ever saw
+its father's face. But back he came at last, and brought what kept us
+comfortable for many a long year. But all is gone now—the gold, and the
+brave sailor lad, and all my fair children—and I shall soon follow.
+These be good and quiet times, children, but not like those days."</p>
+
+<p>"None so quiet, either; what with Star Chamber prosecutions, and fines,
+and the ship-money, and the troubles in Ireland," said Dick, who hears
+all the news, being as it were at head-quarters in Master Smith's shop.
+"There is trouble enough, both at home and abroad, and many even fear a
+civil war."</p>
+
+<p>"I trust I shall not live to see it," said Goody Crump. "Few and
+evil—no, but I'll not say that, either!" said she, catching herself up.
+"'Tis true, I have seen many and sad changes, but I've had my share
+of happiness, too. And 'tis no small thing to have such a snug harbor
+in which to end my days at last, with the church near by, and kind
+friends to close my eyes and see me decently laid under ground. No! No!
+I've naught to complain of. Little I thought once to end my days in an
+almshouse, and now I am thankful for the almshouse itself."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it does not make you unhappy to be dependent, as some folks say?"
+said I, thinking of Felicia.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman smiled again.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless your dear heart, no! We are all dependent, child. One almost as
+much as another, for that matter."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean upon God," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, and upon one another. If not for bread yet for pleasant looks,
+and kind words, and little acts of service, such as go to make our
+lives happy. I have done for others in my time, and now others do for
+me. I did not grudge my service, and no more do they grudge theirs.
+And all comes from God, first and last, and may be given again to Him
+if we will. When I lived with my mistress down in Devonshire, and up
+to London, I had many times to put up with whims and fancies, and hard
+words. Not from her, though—she was ever a sweet-tempered lady—but from
+others of the family. But I said to myself, ''Tis all in the day's
+work,' and strove to take all cheerfully."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, that is it!" said Dick. "''Tis all in the day's work,' and what
+matter, so we but serve our Master faithfully, and are rewarded of Him
+at the last."</p>
+
+<p>"How cheerful Dame Crump is," said I, when we had finished our walk,
+and were lingering in the church, looking at our father's pulpit, and
+his tablet on the chancel wall. "I wish I were like her."</p>
+
+<p>"You do not wish you were ninety-eight years old, do you?" asked my
+brother.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I don't know—yes! If I were as ready to go as she, I think I
+would like to be as old. I always do envy good old people, they are so
+near home."</p>
+
+<p>"We none of us know how near home we may be," said Richard.</p>
+
+<p>I assented, thinking of my poor father. Never had he seemed stronger or
+more sanguine than on the very day he had that fatal seizure.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Peggy, my love, why not take the old woman's motto for your own?"
+continued Richard. "Is it not a good one? ''Tis all in the day's work!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Can 'you' take it, Dick?" I asked, in wonder. "Standing here before my
+father's pulpit, in which you so ardently hoped to preach, can you be
+content to say—'It is all in the day's work'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I can, Peggy!" replied Richard, firmly, though I saw his eyelash
+twinkle. "Standing here—even here—I can say, 'God's will be done!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I can't!" said I, passionately enough. "It does seem very hard
+to me, and I can't help it!"</p>
+
+<p>"That is because you do not consider well the nature of the service,
+Peggy. Have I not vowed to fight manfully under Christ's banner against
+sin, the world, and the devil, and continue His faithful soldier and
+servant unto my life's end? A soldier does not choose the nature of his
+service. 'Tis the very essence of a good soldier that he hath no will
+of his own, but goes cheerfully wherever he is sent by his commander,
+whether to lead a forlorn hope, or to stand sentinel at a distance from
+the field, or to work at an entrenchment, whether to die in a place
+where all men shall see and honor him, or in some obscure service,
+where no man shall so much as hear of him. It is all the same to him,
+so he does his work well.</p>
+
+<p>"But Christ's soldier hath this advantage, that he never can perish
+forgotten and unknown. He fights, conquers, and dies, if need be, under
+the eye of the Captain of his salvation, and when that Captain shall
+appear, he will receive a crown which fadeth not away. And so I say I
+can serve Him as well in Master Smith's shop, as here in my father's
+pulpit; and though I don't deny that it is a great cross to give up the
+thought of taking orders, yet I mean to try to bear it cheerfully, and
+say, through all, 'God's will be done!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Amen!" said a deep and sweet voice behind us, which sounded so like
+my father's that both Dick and I started and turned round in a hurry.
+There stood a grave and comely gentleman, a dignified clergyman, by his
+dress. He had a most reverend and noble air, but his face was full of
+kindliness, not without a shrewd suspicion of humor and even of sarcasm.</p>
+
+<p>"I crave your pardon, my young ones, for listening to your
+conversation," said he, with a courteous air, "but I caught a few
+words, and was really too much interested to interrupt you. I
+conclude," he added, glancing at my mourning dress, "that you are the
+children of the late excellent rector of this parish. I knew him at
+college, and can see some resemblance in your faces. But may I ask you,
+my young friend," he said, turning to Richard, "why you give up the
+thought of taking orders?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, sir," answered Dick, "it is no secret. My father died poor,
+and I have no means of gaining the necessary education."</p>
+
+<p>"But there are places—however, we will not talk longer here, since
+the air is something damp," said the strange gentleman, interrupting
+himself. "My friend Mr. Carey hath made me free of his study, where
+there is a fire, and we can talk there with more comfort and propriety."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he opened the door of the little vaulted room next the
+vestry, which my father had caused to be fitted up as a study. He had
+spent a great deal of money upon it, for dear father knew not how to
+save when he had the gold to spend.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger invited us to sit, and placed a chair for me, as if I had
+been some great lady.</p>
+
+<p>"I was about to say," he went on, "that there are positions at both the
+universities at which a scholar can get on with little or no expense.
+I have some little interest, and I doubt not I could use it for your
+advantage, if on trial it should appear that you have a true call to
+preach the gospel."</p>
+
+<p>I saw Dick's cheek flush, and something seemed to swell in his throat.
+As for me, I did not know whether I were dreaming or awake, so bright a
+ray of hope seemed to beam from this door which the strange gentleman
+had opened. It was but for a moment, and then Dick answered, quietly:</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you, honored sir, from the bottom of my heart, for your kind
+offer, but I must not accept it, at least not now. My mother is poor,
+and hath younger children to educate. She needs all the help which both
+my sister and I can give her, and for that reason we must both go into
+the world to earn our own living. If the call I feel is indeed from
+above, I doubt not that He who gives it will find a way to accomplish
+His own ends; and I should be disposed gravely to doubt its reality,
+should it lead me away from my duty toward my mother."</p>
+
+<p>So here was my door closed again, and that by the very person for whom
+it had been opened. The tears came into my eyes, and I had much ado to
+keep myself from sobbing. The stranger rose and walked to the window
+in silence, and I feared that Dick had given him great offence. But he
+presently came back again, and his face was calm and benign as ever.</p>
+
+<p>"What you say hath much reason in it," said he, addressing himself to
+Richard, "but would not your mother be willing to make the sacrifice?"</p>
+
+<p>"She would, without doubt; and therefore it must not be so much as
+mentioned to her," answered Dick, decidedly. "No, Margaret," for he
+read the entreaty in my face: "not so much as mentioned. My dear mother
+is growing old, and it is no longer fit that she should sacrifice to
+her children. Wherefore, pardon me, honored sir, if I decline, with
+many thanks, your generous offer."</p>
+
+<p>"No pardon is needed when no offence hath been committed or taken,"
+said the stranger. "But, my son, I am loth that such an one as you seem
+to be should be lost to the Church, which now, as much as at any time
+in her history, needs zealous and faithful ministers. Therefore I would
+entreat you not to dismiss the thought of taking orders, but, as it
+were, to put it away in your mind for some future time. Believe me, you
+may still be preparing for the sacred office. In your master's shop,
+in the street, and at the fireside, you may be gaining a knowledge of
+'men.' 'Tis a kind of knowledge which is worth more to a pastor than
+any which can be learned out of books, and one in which we college
+fellows are apt to be deficient. Do you have any time to yourself to
+read or study?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes sir," replied Dick. "My master is very kind in that respect, as in
+every other. I have the most of my evenings."</p>
+
+<p>"I will, if you please, set down a list of books for your reading. Many
+of them, no doubt, will be found in your master's shop, and for the
+others, I dare say you may find them here," he said, looking round on
+my dear father's books, which have not yet been removed. "On my word,
+my friend has a fine collection."</p>
+
+<p>"These are my father's books," said Richard. He seemed as if he would
+have added more, but paused and gazed steadfastly at the fire.</p>
+
+<p>The stranger glanced at him for a moment, and then, taking a sheet of
+paper from the table, he began to write, now and then glancing up at
+Dick or me.</p>
+
+<p>For myself, I sat as mum as a mouse, wondering more and more what was
+to be the end of it all. The stranger was no common man, I felt sure,
+but I would not even give a guess as to who he might be.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he folded the paper and gave it to Dick.</p>
+
+<p>"There," said he, "I have written down a list of books, according to
+the best of my judgment, which you can study at your leisure. Meantime,
+let me impress upon you the importance of a close daily walk with
+God, which is the best preparation of all. Drink daily and deeply of
+the fountain of all grace, by resorting to God in humble prayer. Be
+diligent in your daily calling, and you may be sure that a blessing
+will rest upon you!"</p>
+
+<p>"And you, my fair maiden," said he, turning to me with a kindly smile.
+"So you are to make your first flight from the nest, and go out into
+the world to seek your fortune!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so, sir," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a hard necessity," said he, gravely. "The best place for a girl
+is by her mother's side till she hath a household of her own. But where
+are you going? Tell me all about it."</p>
+
+<p>His manner was so kind, and made me think so of my dear father that I
+choked for a moment. But recovering myself, I told him that I was going
+to wait upon, and be in some sort, I supposed, a governess to my Lady
+Elizabeth Stanton of Stanton Court in Devonshire.</p>
+
+<p>He looked very grave.</p>
+
+<p>"A hard place—a hard place!" he muttered. "An honest service would have
+been better."</p>
+
+<p>Then catching my eye: "My child, you are going to a place where both
+your temper and your principles are likely to be put to the test. I
+would not discourage you, but 'forewarned is forearmed,' they say,
+though I have not always found it so. Are you, like your brother,
+furnished with the armor of a soldier of Christ?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid not," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"But why not, sweetheart? Do you not need it as much?"</p>
+
+<p>"I need it even more, if that were possible," said I, "for my temper
+is not naturally as good as Richard's. But I know not how it is, these
+things are not as real to me as to him. I have not the faith which he
+has."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well. You are but young. But, my child, you are now going
+among strangers, into the midst of trials, vexations, and temptations
+of which you know nothing. Let me beg of you to pray your Heavenly
+Father to give you that perfect trust in Him, and that consecration
+to His service, which alone can preserve you in the perils of the
+way. Remember that you are Christ's vowed servant and soldier, as
+well as your brother; and must fight manfully under his banner. 'Tis
+the Christian paradox that peace is found only in warfare!" he added,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot make Peggy understand that," said Richard. And I saw by his
+using my pet name, how much he felt at ease with the strange clergyman,
+for he seldom called me anything but Margaret before strangers. "Her
+only notion of peace consists in having nothing to disturb her."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, but that is peace never to be found in this world. I am glad
+your sister is going into Devonshire. I am sometimes at Stanton Court
+myself, and may be able to befriend her. My dear child," said he,
+turning to me, "will you make me one promise?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes sir," I replied, feeling that I might safely do so.</p>
+
+<p>"Then promise me solemnly that you will never let a day pass without
+reading some portion of Holy Scripture, be it never so short, and
+praying for God's blessing on yourself and all that you do. Bring all
+to this test, and permit yourself no employment that will not endure
+it. Will you promise me this?"</p>
+
+<p>I did so.</p>
+
+<p>"That is well!" said he. "I will send you a little book which will
+perhaps help you to understand better what you read. Remember now that
+you have promised."</p>
+
+<p>"And she will keep her word, I am sure," said Richard. "But may we
+venture to ask who it is that hath been so kind?"</p>
+
+<p>The stranger smiled. "My name is Joseph Hall, and I live in Exeter,"
+said he, simply, yet with the air of being mightily diverted at
+something.</p>
+
+<p>I saw Dick rise up hastily with a deep blush, and while I was trying to
+think what could be the matter, the door opened.</p>
+
+<p>"I crave your pardon, my Lord, for leaving you so long alone," said Mr.
+Carey, and then he stopped, as if he were amazed at seeing us in such
+company.</p>
+
+<p>For myself, I felt as if all the blood in my body rushed to my face,
+when it flashed across me that the stranger was no other than Bishop
+Hall of Exeter, one of the most learned men in England. I might have
+guessed before, for I had heard that Mr. Carey the new rector was
+nephew to the Bishop of Exeter.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not been alone, as you see, nephew," said the Bishop. "I
+encountered those young people in the church, and having played the
+eavesdropper to a part of their discourse, I could do no less than ask
+them in here to finish it. Go now, my children! I shall perhaps see you
+again; and you, Margaret, since that is your name, remember what you
+have promised."</p>
+
+<p>I was not likely to forget it. It is not every day that one talks
+freely with so great a man. When we got outside, we were startled to
+see how low the sun was, and hastened home with little talk by the way.
+At another time, I should have met a reproof for being out of bounds so
+late. But dear mother is one who knows when to relax the reins and when
+to draw them tightly. She had even kept our supper hot by the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you heard who is to preach for us to-morrow?" asked Felicia. "No
+less a person than the Bishop of Exeter, Mr. Carey's uncle."</p>
+
+<p>"We have seen him," I replied, not without a mischievous enjoyment of
+the amazement in her face and mother's. "It was he who kept us talking
+so long in the vault room."</p>
+
+<p>Felicia looked from one to the other as if she suspected a plan to
+mystify her. Dick hastened to relate a part of what had passed at
+the church. Dear mother was much pleased, especially when Dick said
+that the Bishop had advised him not to give up the thought of being a
+minister, but to continue his studies as he had opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>Felicia smiled scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not see anything either very great or very good in that," said
+she. "I dare say the Bishop, if he were so minded, might easily procure
+Dick some place, where he might earn thrice as much as he is ever like
+to do with Master Smith, and without the work. Court favor can do a
+great deal more than that."</p>
+
+<p>"If all tales be true, my Lord does not enjoy much of court favor,"
+said Richard. "I have heard that he is no favorite with the archbishop
+who rules all about the king nowadays."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot help feeling, however, as though the children had made a
+valuable friend," said my mother.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you really suppose he will ever think of them again, or that
+he will even know Peggy, if by chance he meets her at Stanton Court?"
+asked Felicia, with her exasperating superior smile, as if she pitied
+my mother's weakness. "That is not the way with great people, I fancy."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose there may be a difference in great people as well as in
+little ones," observed my mother.</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy they are much alike in that respect," said Felicia.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you judge others by yourself, Felicia?" I could not help asking.
+"Suppose you were suddenly to make a great match, or to inherit a great
+fortune, would you forget all about us, and never come near us?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I did, I should have a good excuse," returned Felicia, sharply. "To
+you at least, Peggy, I should owe no debt of kindness."</p>
+
+<p>I might have said more, but I saw Dick look at me, so I bit my lip and
+was silent. I dare say she would, though.</p>
+
+<p>When I went to my room, I remembered my promise, and took my Bible to
+read. The first words my eye fell upon were these: "'Take my yoke upon
+you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall
+find rest to your souls.'"</p>
+
+<p>I wonder if it is a want of meekness and lowliness which makes me so
+easily disturbed? I should not wonder.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image009" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image009.jpg" alt="image009"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image010" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image010.jpg" alt="image010"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_2">CHAPTER II.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>THE LAST SUNDAY.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>March 6.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>HERE I am at home, if the cottage can be called home. I have not
+written a word for a week, and how many things have happened! In
+the first place, Felicia has left us for good. My words to her were
+like a prophecy, for if she hath not the great fortune already, she
+is like to have it. An aunt of my father's passing through Chester,
+came to see us, and she hath carried Felicia off with her to London,
+where she is to make her home henceforth, and be as a daughter to Mrs.
+Willson—such is the lady's name. She is a widow, childless, and very
+rich. So if Felicia can but please her aunt, her fortune is secure. I
+have my doubts whether Felicia can keep her temper in check, even when
+her interest is concerned, but a change may do much for her. At any
+rate she is gone, and it is wonderful what a vacancy she leaves behind
+her, and how freely we all seem to breathe without her. I can't help
+thinking that dear mother has grown younger. And for my own part, I
+feel much more comfortable about leaving home, now that mother hath
+only Jacky and the twins to keep in order and provide for.</p>
+
+<p>I must say Mrs. Willson has been very liberal to us. When she heard
+that I was going to Stanton Court, nothing would serve but she must
+look over my clothes, and having done so, she insisted on taking
+me with her to Chester, and furnishing me with two new gowns and
+petticoats complete, with shoes, gloves, kerchiefs, and hoods, and all
+things answerable, the finest I ever had, though all black, of course.
+I would have remonstrated at the expense, but she shortly, though
+kindly, too, bid me hold my tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"May I not do what I will with mine own?" said she. "And if I choose to
+bestow a little of my superfluity on my brother's grandchildren, why
+should you grudge me the pleasure? Learn to be obliged with grace and
+humility, chick, and so oblige others in your turn."</p>
+
+<p>I held my tongue, but I was pleased too with the words, and the thought
+passed across my mind: "If this good woman should adopt me, I could
+make her much happier than Felicia is like to do."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Willson did not confine her bounty to me. She bought mother a gown
+and cloak, which she needs, and new frocks, beside toys and sweets
+for the little ones. We then went to Master Smith's shop, where she
+purchased for me what I value more than all the fine clothes, namely, a
+handsome Bible. I have never possessed one of my own before, and this
+is truly splendid, being bound in red with silver clasps. Aunt Willson
+had a deal of talk with good Master Smith and his wife, and before we
+left, she took Dick and me aside.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to see you young ones together," said she. "I desire to explain
+somewhat to you, for though young folks should not sit in judgment on
+their elders, I can see that you both have sharp wits, and I have a
+mind you should understand me. I dare say you, Richard, are wondering
+why I should choose Felicia for my companion, instead of one of the
+little girls, or Peggy here."</p>
+
+<p>"I confess I did think of it," said Richard, as Aunt Willson seemed to
+pause for a reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I'll tell you," said she. "I can see as far into a
+mill-stone as another, and I can see that Felicia—plague take the name,
+it sounds like a stage play—is one by herself among you and is no
+help to any one. She hath just the disposition of her father, my poor
+brother, who was wont all his life-long to take the poker by the hot
+end."</p>
+
+<p>I could not help laughing. It was such an apt illustration.</p>
+
+<p>"I see plainly that she is no help to your poor mother, and also that
+she could never go out and earn her living like you and Peggy here,"
+continued Aunt Willson. "The fact is, children, she is just one of
+those who seem born to exercise the forbearance and patience of their
+friends. The best we can do is to make a means of grace of them."</p>
+
+<p>"That don't seem to be a very flattering use to which to put our
+fellow-creatures!" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis all we are any of us fit for, at times, chick."</p>
+
+<p>"But do you really think," I asked, "that we have any right to think
+so—to think that people are made bad only for means of grace to us?"</p>
+
+<p>"By no means, child!" replied my aunt. "That were spiritual pride, and
+presumption worse than that of the Pharisees. But we must be either
+better or worse for the faults of the people we live with. If we learn
+from them patience, forbearance, and watchfulness not to give any just
+offence, we are the better; and whatsoever makes us better, is a means
+of grace, is it not, sweetheart?"</p>
+
+<p>I confessed that she was right; thinking at the same time that Felicia
+had been anything but a means of grace to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, as I was saying," continued my Aunt Willson, "as I have no
+children to be plagued by her, and as I have a pretty even temper of
+my own, besides a good strong will, and plenty of money—why I will
+even take the poor thing in hand, and do the best I can with her. But
+mind, children, not a word of this to Felicia herself. Let her think,
+if she will, that she is doing me a great favor. I am glad I came this
+way, though it was a toilsome journey. I shall think of you all with
+pleasure; and though we may never meet again, you will hear from me.
+You are going into a hard place, Peggy, but keep up a good heart, put
+your trust above, be faithful to God and your mother, avoid all mean
+and little practises of tattling, eavesdropping, and the like, mind
+your own business, be kind to all, but beware of intimacies,—and when
+troubles and vexations come, as doubtless they will, keep a brave
+heart, put a good face on it, and be not discouraged. ''Tis all in the
+day's work!'"</p>
+
+<p>"That is Richard's motto!" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you make it yours; though mind, chick, all depends on the
+master for whom the work is done. But we must soon be jogging. Dick,
+this is for thine own pocket," and she slipped into his hand a purse I
+had seen her buy, and in which she had put some gold and silver pieces
+out of her own. "Now do you two gossip a bit while I say farewell to
+our good host and hostess!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is she not a good old woman?" I said to Dick, after we had looked into
+the purse, and I had told him of aunt's kindness to us all.</p>
+
+<p>"She is indeed, and I thank her with all my heart, specially for all
+she has done for you and mother. 'Tis curious, is it not, that we
+should have made two such powerful friends in one week—the very week to
+which we have looked forward with such dread?"</p>
+
+<p>"Felicia does not think that the Bishop will ever remember us again,"
+said I, "but, as I tell her, she judges every one by herself."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Felicia—always Felicia!" said Dick, with some impatience, for him.
+"It was one of my comforts about your going away, Peggy, that you would
+be out of the influence of Felicia."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think she influences me!" said I, rather testily.</p>
+
+<p>"Why then do you always refer everything to her? Why are you always
+thinking about what she will say, and fretting over what she does
+say? I tell you, Peggy, we are perhaps as much influenced by those we
+dislike and even hate, as by those we love."</p>
+
+<p>Hate is a hard word. I wonder if I do hate Felicia? I am afraid I do,
+sometimes.</p>
+
+<p>"At any rate, I am glad she is going away, for dear mother's sake,"
+said I; "though I do not think Aunt Willson quite knows what she is
+undertaking. But she may do better in a new place, at least for a time."</p>
+
+<p>And then we fell into discourse concerning my journey, and our future
+plans. Dick told me he had already begun to act upon the Bishop's
+advice, and that Master Smith was willing, and commended his plan; and
+he showed me the big book on which he was engaged. It was all in Latin,
+so I was not much the wiser, for though I know a little Latin, which I
+learned to please dear father, yet I cannot read without a Lexicon, as
+Dick can.</p>
+
+<p>Before we had half finished our talk, Aunt Willson was ready to start,
+and we set off homeward, followed by my aunt's serving man, carrying
+our bundles, and well-loaded he was, indeed, poor man.</p>
+
+<p>Felicia did not look overwell pleased at my aunt's bounty to my mother
+and the children. She is already disposed to appropriate Aunt Willson
+as her own property, and shut out the rest of us. If she only knew—but
+of course 'tis best she should not. Mother said something about wishing
+that I also were going with Aunt Willson instead of among strangers—not
+of course expecting any such thing—when Felicia, took her up quite
+sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"That is out of the question, sister! I am surprised that you should
+think of such a thing. It is not reasonable to expect my aunt to burden
+herself with the whole family. I am sure you might be satisfied with
+what she has done already."</p>
+
+<p>"Heighty-tighty!" said my aunt. "In London we don't suffer young folks
+to check and reprove their elders in that kind of fashion, especially
+those who have been kind to them!"</p>
+
+<p>Felicia looked a good deal taken aback, and muttered something about
+not liking to see goodness imposed upon.</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon, my aunt said something sharply. "Take care you don't impose
+upon it, then! As for me, I am able to answer for myself, and I don't
+fancy having words either taken out of my mouth or put into it!"</p>
+
+<p>It was Felicia's cue to seem all amiability before my aunt, so she
+made no reply. But as we went to supper, she took an opportunity to
+say to me, "You have used your time well, Peggy, and played your cards
+cleverly. You have set my aunt against me already, I see."</p>
+
+<p>I would not answer her, for I was determined not to quarrel on the last
+day, and I suppose she thought it would not be very good policy for
+herself, for she put on a very dignified and resentful air, and went
+to bed without speaking to me again. I was not sorry, for I was afraid
+of one of her outbursts, which somehow put me beside myself. The next
+day they went away, and before they left, Felicia told me, with great
+solemnity, that she forgave me for all my ill offices to her, and she
+hoped I should do well in my new station. She thought I might, if I
+would only curb my temper, and learn to forbear mischief-making and
+tale-bearing. All this she said before Aunt Willson. I was very angry,
+but I was determined to keep the peace, so I only laughed and thanked
+her for her good advice.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Willson kissed me most kindly, and put a little purse into my
+hand, whispering, as she did so:</p>
+
+<p>"This is for thine own pocket, chick. Never mind Felicia. I understand
+all about it. Keep a good heart, and remember that, as long as I live,
+you have a friend at need. I will never see your good mother want, I
+promise you that."</p>
+
+<p>So they rode away, and it has seemed, ever since, as though some heavy
+oppressive vapor had cleared away out of the air. Nobody laments but
+Jacky, who was her special pet, and whom she upheld against everybody,
+mother herself included. I wish we could have hit it off together a
+little better. It seemed as if we ought to have been friends, growing
+up together as we did, and being so nearly related. But I don't know
+how it was, somehow every painful passage in my life almost has been
+connected with her. I might have been to blame too—indeed I know I
+have often been so, but I cannot help being glad that our paths have
+separated, at least for a time. Then I am quite sure mother will be
+happier without her. Not that Felicia could not be a great help when
+she chose, and a pleasant companion as well. But the least thing put
+her out of humor, and then she made the house simply intolerable. She
+has been much worse since the death of my father, who alone could
+control her in her bad moods.</p>
+
+<p>The next great event is that the Bishop hath bought my father's library
+for a good round sum—Master Smith valuing the books. They are to remain
+in their places in the vaulted room, and form a sort of permanent
+library for the use of future rectors, and my Lord has stipulated with
+Mr. Carey that Dick shall have the use of such books as he needs—only
+the great vellum covered Saint Augustine and one or two others my
+Lord has purchased for himself. The price of the books, and my aunt
+Willson's bounty, makes my mother very comfortable.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Carey made up his mind to remain a week longer, which I did not
+regret, as it gave me just so much more time at home, and enabled me
+to help mother move and settle herself in the cottage. 'Tis a pleasant
+little nest enough, with a fair look out over the fields, and a nice
+garden, well-stocked with herbs and common flowers, and some fruit as
+well. In this we reap the advantage of my father's careful habits,
+who would never let the least thing belonging to him go out of order.
+'Twas not his way to anticipate, else I might think that he had stocked
+the garden and kept the little orchard in good bearing order, looking
+forward to the time when it might become a kind of humble jointure
+house for his widow. Be that as it may, now that the place is all put
+to rights, with the hangings up, the old furniture put in place, and
+dear mother's piled up workbasket in the window, I must say it looks
+very much like home. The children are pleased, of course, with any
+change, but dear mother looks very sad at times. Oh, if I could but
+stay! I said once that I should not so much mind leaving home, now that
+"home" no longer meant the rectory, but I find, as the time draws nigh,
+that home means the place where the dear ones are.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>March 13.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>'Tis settled now that we go on Monday. My clothes and other possessions
+are all packed, and I have naught to do but to enjoy my last Sunday as
+well as I can.</p>
+
+<p>I have already bid good-by to the old folks at the almshouse. Goody
+Cramp was very solemn as she kissed and blessed me, and prayed that
+I might be kept from every snare. She would needs give me a keepsake
+also—a little gilded glass bottle which her son brought home from
+foreign parts on his last voyage. It is no bigger than my little
+finger, and is all but empty, but it still exhales a sweet odor of
+roses. Dame Higgins would give me a token too, in the shape of a little
+tarnished silver medal, having, as near as I can make out, the figure
+of the Virgin or some female saint, and a Latin legend, of which I can
+make out nothing but "Ave." Dame Higgins is a Roman Catholic.</p>
+
+<p>"Take it and wear it—take it and wear it!" said she. "It has the pope's
+blessing. An' it does you no good, it can do no harm."</p>
+
+<p>That I fully believe, and I would not hurt the poor old creature by
+refusing her gift. When I showed it to old Esther, however, she was
+not well-pleased, called it a Popish trinket, and bade me beware of
+the sin of idolatry. I could not but laugh, at which she was yet
+more displeased. But I coaxed her round at last to say that after
+all it might do me no great harm. She herself has given me a charm—a
+stone with a hole in it, sovereign against witches—so I am like to
+have charms enow. The Bishop hath also given me a token—namely the
+book he promised me. It is called "Contemplations on the Old and New
+Testaments," and is a considerable volume. I hope to get much good
+from it, for 'tis writ in a plain and simple style, much like his
+sermons—not what one would expect from such a deeply learned man. I
+am glad to have it, and glad too that my Lord remembered me, though
+Felicia said he would never think of me again.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>March 14.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>The last Sunday! The very last, for Heaven only knows how long! My
+heart would break if I dared think about it. Mother and all of us went
+to church. Mr. Carey preached a very learned and fine sermon, but
+not so much to my mind as that of Bishop Hall. Last Sunday my Lord's
+text was, "Enoch walked with God," and there was not a sentence that
+any poor person could not understand. Mr. Carey's had a great many
+quotations from the Father's and from learned authors, yet the end was
+simple and plain enough, and I was much pleased at his kindly ways
+after church, and his courtesy to my mother. 'Tis a great comfort to
+think that so good a man is come in dear father's room.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I must needs put away my book and pen. When I take them again, I
+shall be far enough from here.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image011" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image011.jpg" alt="image011"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_3">CHAPTER III.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>MY NEW CHARGE.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+* * * * * * SHIRE,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+<br>
+<em>March 19.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I HAVE been here three days, and have not been able before to write in
+my journal. I will say naught of the leave-taking at home. It was bad
+enough, and I don't want to live it over again. Oh, how weary I was
+when I arrived here, though I enjoyed the journey, too. I rode part of
+the way on horseback by myself, and sometimes on a pillion behind Mr.
+Carey's servant, as far as Exeter, and from thence I came in the wagon.</p>
+
+<p>They were all very kind to me, and at Exeter, where I stayed two days,
+Mrs. Carey made me most kindly welcome; so that it was like a new grief
+to part with her. She asked me many questions about the parish, and
+specially about the poor people. She would know something of the gentry
+and farmers as well, but here Mr. Carey checked her.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tempt the child to gossip, my love," said he.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Carey blushed and laughed, but took all in good part. For my part
+I was not sorry, for I know my tongue sometimes runs too fast, and I
+hardly ever talk about "people" without saying something I am sorry for
+afterwards.</p>
+
+<p>I saw the Cathedral, which is very grand and beautiful. I hoped we
+might meet the Bishop, but he is away on his visitations.</p>
+
+<p>From Exeter I came in my Lord's wagon to Stanton Court. It was late
+when we arrived, and I could see little of the house, save that it was
+a grand one, with many lighted windows, and with large trees about it.
+We went up a long avenue, and round to a side door which opened into
+a square paved hall. Here I waited a good while, till I was ready to
+faint from weariness and hunger.</p>
+
+<p>At last, an elderly woman appeared, and seeing me standing there alone,
+she asked me very kindly what I wanted, and whom I wanted to see. I
+made myself known to her, and gave her the note for my Lady which I had
+brought from Mr. Carey.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes. You are the young lady from Chester, who is to live with my
+Lady Betty. But you should not be here among the servants. Come with
+me, and I will show you your room, and provide you some supper, for I
+am sure you must be tired and hungry."</p>
+
+<p>I followed her through a door, across the great hall, up-stairs, and
+through passages, till I was thoroughly turned round and did not
+know where I was at all. At last we entered a turret room, where was
+a bright fire, which was all I could see at first, my eyes were so
+dazzled.</p>
+
+<p>"I caused a fire to be kindled, lest the room might be damp, as it has
+not been used lately," said my companion. "You will find everything
+comfortable. 'Tis my Lady's pleasure that all under her roof should be
+so, each according to their degree. I will cause your mails to be sent
+up, as well as some refreshment, and you will do well to change your
+travelling dress, and be ready in case my Lady should wish to see you
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Is my Lady Betty's room near to this?" I ventured to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I was not speaking of her, poor dear child, but of her
+mother, my Lady Stanton."</p>
+
+<p>She lingered a moment, arranging the furniture, and then coming near
+me, she said, in a low tone:</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, I do hope you will be kind and patient with poor Lady Betty.
+She is one by herself, and she hath so few pleasures, poor thing. You
+will, wont you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I will," said I. "I love children dearly."</p>
+
+<p>"That is well. But she is not like a healthy child, you see, and I
+sometimes think that her mind is as badly twisted as her body. Her late
+governess was very sharp with her, and I know she did her harm: and so
+my Lady thought, for she sent her away very soon. But I will say no
+more. I am the housekeeper, my dear. I am a far-away cousin of my Lord,
+but I never presume on my relationship, though they are all very kind
+to me. Do you ask for Mrs. Judith, if you wish to find me. Mr. Carey,
+with whom you travelled, is a nephew of mine. Now I must send your
+supper, and let my Lady know that you are come. She has asked for you
+to-day."</p>
+
+<p>She went out, and presently came up a man with my mails, followed by a
+maid with a tray containing hot soup and other good things.</p>
+
+<p>"Here is your supper, mistress," said she, pertly enough. "'Tis easy to
+see you have already got into Mrs. Judith's good graces."</p>
+
+<p>"Set it on the table," said I, thinking her freedom very impertinent.</p>
+
+<p>She gave her head a toss, but said no more, and presently I heard
+her laughing with the man outside the door. "Pretty well for a poor
+parson's daughter," I heard them say. I opened my mails, and dressed
+myself neatly in one of my new gowns, and then sat down to enjoy the
+good supper provided for me. I had hardly finished, when Mistress
+Judith opened my door.</p>
+
+<p>"You are to go to my Lady in her dressing-room at once," said she.
+"Dear me, how nice you look! But come, follow me, and mind the steps
+at the door of my Lady's room, and don't be over bashful when my Lady
+speaks to you."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Judith was so evidently flurried, that I felt flurried myself,
+but I tried to compose myself. It came over me, that here was one of
+the occasions on which I needed the help of that great Master whom I
+was to serve, and I murmured the prayer for grace I was accustomed to
+use every morning; and I don't know how it was, it seemed to quiet me
+directly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mind the steps," said Mrs. Judith, as she opened the door; and it
+was well she did warn me, or I should have greeted my new mistress by
+falling on my nose before her.</p>
+
+<p>As it was, I made my courtesy, and followed my conductor into the
+room where sat my Lady Stanton. She almost dazzled my eyes, she was
+so beautiful and so richly dressed. She sat by her toilet-table, and
+seemed to be about undressing for the night, for her maid was getting
+out the things, and honored me with a stare behind her mistress' back.</p>
+
+<p>"Come near to me, Mistress Merton," said my Lady, speaking with a
+clear, sweet voice, which struck me at once as having a ring of sadness
+in it. "You need not wait now, Brewster," she added, speaking to the
+dressing-maid. "I will call when I need you."</p>
+
+<p>My Lady asked me kindly about my journey, and my mother, as if she
+meant to set me at my ease. Then she said:</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you have very little notion of what you are to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very little, my Lady," I answered, which was the truth.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady smiled. "You will find out by degrees. You are to spend most of
+your time with my little daughter—to amuse her and keep her contented,
+and to teach her what you can, and what she is able to learn without
+too much trouble. You will take your meals with Mrs. Judith, or else
+with the family, when we have no company. You will have certain hours
+to yourself, and are at liberty to walk out, so you go not too far
+from home, and I shall be glad if you can persuade Lady Betty to go
+out also. You will come to prayers with the rest of the family every
+morning. Mrs. Judith will show you where you are to sit. That is all I
+have to say to you at present, but I will see you again. I dare say you
+are wearied with your ride, and it is late."</p>
+
+<p>She signed for me to go, and I followed Mrs. Judith back to my room,
+which was quite in another part of the house.</p>
+
+<p>When I was alone again, I thought over all I had heard, and I could not
+but feel that my position would probably be a hard one. It did not seem
+that I was to have any authority over the child, though I was expected
+to teach her. I was to have nothing to do with the servants, and yet I
+was not to be one of the family.</p>
+
+<p>I did not see my way at all, but I remembered what dear mother once
+said—that if we could see but one step before us, we were to take that
+step, and then the next would be made plain.</p>
+
+<p>So I consoled myself with thinking that at any rate I had nothing to do
+to-night but to make myself comfortable. I unpacked some of my chief
+treasures—my few books, my work-box, and especially my new Bible, and a
+pretty Prayer-book which Mr. Smith gave me. My room is a very neat and
+pretty one—a turret room, with a closet, and two deep, narrow windows.
+There is a small bed with green hangings, a chair, table, and chest of
+drawers, and what I prized most, a kind of desk, or cabinet, with a
+place on which to write, and a good many little drawers and shelves.</p>
+
+<p>I liked the aspect of my room, and after I had said my prayers, and
+read my Bible verses, I began to feel more at home, and to think that
+perhaps I might be happy here after all. I could not but shed a few
+tears when I thought how far-away were mother and all my friends, and
+then the thought came across me, that we were all in the presence of
+the same Heavenly Father, and that His eye sees all at one glance, as
+it were. I never so strongly felt his presence as at that moment; and
+I did pray earnestly that He would make me to love Him more, that He
+would guide me, and make my way plain before me.</p>
+
+<p>I did not sleep till late—there seemed to be so many strange noises,
+the wind did so roar in the chimney and among the great trees; and when
+it fell, there was another sound which I could not understand—a kind of
+long, low roar, which rose and fell, but never wholly ceased. At last,
+my weariness overcame me, but it seemed as if I had not slept more than
+half an hour, when I was wakened by the loud, passionate crying of a
+child.</p>
+
+<p>I saw the sun was shining, and springing up, I hastened to dress. I had
+hardly done so, the child crying all the time, when there came a knock
+at the door, and some one hastily opened it.</p>
+
+<p>"I crave your pardon, mistress, but will you please come to my young
+Lady directly?" said a decent, kind-faced woman, who looked like a
+servant. "She has heard that you are come, and is determined to see
+you. Do make haste, before my Lord is waked by her noise."</p>
+
+<p>"I will come at once," said I. And I laid down my Bible, having read
+only one verse—"'Call upon me in the day of trouble, so will I hear
+thee.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Is that Lady Betty crying?" I asked, as the screams struck more loudly
+on my ear, upon opening the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, she is in one of her takings, poor thing. Do pacify her if you
+can, for I can't, and that's the truth. You see her old nurse is lately
+dead, and she don't take to me yet."</p>
+
+<p>She opened, as she spoke, first a door covered with green baize, and
+then one of wood, and ushered me into a large, airy room. It was
+the finest I had over seen, except my Lady's, but I had no eyes for
+anything except the child who sat upright in the bed, her face red with
+passion, her poor little hands, as thin as bird's claws, clutching the
+bed hangings, as if she would pull them down, while she screamed at the
+top of her voice, like one distracted.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, Lady Betty! Here's a pretty young lady come to see you. Now
+be good, and speak prettily to her, wont you?"</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Betty only screamed out some inarticulate words.</p>
+
+<p>"There, see what you can do with her," said the maid, in a low voice.
+"I dare not go near her, that is the truth. She is like a wild-cat."</p>
+
+<p>I remembered how mother used to deal with me in my "tantrums," as
+Esther used to call them, and going up to the bed, I quietly sat myself
+down upon it, and looked at Lady Betty, without saying a word. At first
+she did not seem to notice me, but as I sat quite still and looked
+steadfastly at her, she presently ceased crying, and looked at me in a
+kind of wonder.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I am Margaret Merton," I answered. "I have come to see you, but I can
+tell you no more till you stop crying."</p>
+
+<p>"I want my mother," she said, pitifully.</p>
+
+<p>"My Lady is not awake yet, I dare say," I answered. "I am sure you
+would not like to wake her with crying. That is not a pleasant way of
+being roused."</p>
+
+<p>I saw I had gained her attention. "Did I wake you?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and I could not think at first where I was. I am not used to hear
+children cry."</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't you any children at your house?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have two twin sisters about as old as you, and a little
+brother, but they do not cry."</p>
+
+<p>She was interested directly, and began to ask me questions. I talked to
+her till she was quiet, and had forgotten her passion, and then I said,
+"I will tell you more when you are dressed."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want to be dressed," said she, putting up her lip. "Mary
+hurts me so. I want my own old Mary!"</p>
+
+<p>"But you can't have her, my Lady, because she is not here," argued the
+maid. "She is dead and gone, as you know very well." Then to me:</p>
+
+<p>"Do persuade her. My Lady will be displeased."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you let me dress you, Lady Betty?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you take hold of my arms hard and hurt me?" she asked, looking
+doubtfully at me.</p>
+
+<p>"Not if I can help it. But if I do, you must tell me, and I will be
+more careful."</p>
+
+<p>She submitted with a good grace, and I took her in my lap and dressed
+her like a baby, Mary handing me the things. The tears were very near
+my eyes as I was doing it, for I remembered how I used to dress my poor
+little sister Phillis, the one next older than the twins, who died of a
+waste a year before my father.</p>
+
+<p>I did not wonder that Lady Betty dreaded to be touched, when I saw how
+thin she was—nothing but skin and bone. She is terribly hunchbacked,
+too. Her backbone is turned to one side, and curves out so that she has
+a great bunch on her shoulders. She cried out once or twice, but on the
+whole we got through pretty well. When I had done, she put up her poor
+face and kissed me, saying that I had hardly hurt her at all. I was
+glad to see that Mary looked relieved and pleased instead of seeming
+jealous.</p>
+
+<p>"That is my good little Lady!" said she. "Now, I will bring your
+breakfast." And she hastened away.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you say your prayers?" I asked the child, when we were alone
+together.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, no!" she said, as if surprised. "I cannot go to the chapel."</p>
+
+<p>"But you might say them here. Your Heavenly Father will know what you
+say as well here as in the chapel."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I will say them, if you will hear me, as Mary used. I like you,
+and I will do as you bid me."</p>
+
+<p>I thought I had made a good beginning. I set her on the side of the
+bed, as she could not kneel, and kneeling by her, with her hands
+clasped in mine, I made her say after me the Lord's prayer, and
+another, which dear mother taught me as a child. Then I made her say,
+"God bless my father and mother, and all my friends, and make me a good
+girl."</p>
+
+<p>She was very serious and reverent. After we had finished, she asked me
+to carry her to the window that she might look out.</p>
+
+<p>"Cannot you walk?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but it hurts me. I like to be carried best."</p>
+
+<p>She was nothing to lift, so I humored her by carrying her to the
+window. It was the first chance I had to look out, and I exclaimed
+at the beauty of the view which met my eyes. The green grass of the
+lawn—oh, so green—stretched away to the woods, of which the buds were
+at least two weeks in advance of those I had left at home, and in
+some places showed a faint tinge of their summer's hue. On one side I
+could just catch a glimpse of a fine formal garden, with statues, and
+a fountain, and high clipped hollys and yews. The church tower peeped
+from the trees at the end of the long avenue, and away at the horizon
+lay a broad belt of glittering blue. I was so taken by surprise that I
+did not think what it was, and asked Lady Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that is the sea!" said the child. "Did you never see the sea
+before? I love to sit and look at it, and at night I lie and listen to
+the sound of the waves, till I long to fly away over there, where the
+birds go. Would you not like to fly, Margaret Merton?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are to say Mistress Merton," said Mary, who now came in with the
+breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall say what I like!" retorted the peevish child. "Margaret is a
+pretty name, and I love to say it. I may call you Margaret, may I not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, my love, if your mother does not object."</p>
+
+<p>"My mother wont care. Every one lets me do as I please, only my aunt
+Jemima, and you need not mind her."</p>
+
+<p>"Come now and have your breakfast," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want my breakfast. I am not hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will be hungry by and by," I urged. "And besides, your mother
+will not be pleased if you do not eat your good bread and milk. It is
+that which makes little girls fat and rosy."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall never be fat and rosy, I know!" said Lady Betty, in so sad
+a tone for a child, that the tears came to my eyes. "But never mind,
+Margaret, I will eat it if you want me to. Only please sit by me and
+talk to me!"</p>
+
+<p>I was quite ready to do that, and we grew very merry over the bread and
+milk, Mary putting the room to rights meantime. I was telling my Lady a
+long story about our old cat and her kittens, and how she carried them
+all back to the rectory in her mouth when we moved.</p>
+
+<p>I had just come to the most interesting part of the story, when the
+door opened, and a lady entered whom I had not seen before. She seemed
+to me about thirty-five, though I have since learned that she is not
+nearly so old. She was very plain, with hair, eyes and skin which
+seemed all of a color, and there was a wonderful formal, precise air
+about her.</p>
+
+<p>I broke off my story and rose, of course, while Lady Betty greeted the
+new-comer with:</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Aunt Jemima, do go away! Margaret is telling me such a pretty
+tale, and I want to hear the end of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, forsooth! And pray who is this young person with whom you
+are so intimate already?" asked the lady, glancing at me, as if she
+suspected me of committing some great impropriety.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Margaret Merton, of course!" answered the child, pettishly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I understand. The young damsel who was expected a week ago. How
+did it happen, Mistress Margaret Merton, that you did not arrive at the
+time appointed?"</p>
+
+<p>I explained to her that I had waited for Mr. Carey, who had changed his
+plans at the last moment.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed to consider my excuse as of little consequence, for she
+hardly heard me through before she turned to Lady Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, child, and how do you find yourself this morning?" Then, without
+waiting for an answer, she turned again to me:</p>
+
+<p>"It appears to me, Mistress Merton, that it would be more seemly for
+you to 'stand' in attendance upon your young mistress, than to be
+sitting thus familiarly by her side."</p>
+
+<p>I felt my face grow scarlet at the reproof. The truth is that I had
+never thought of Lady Betty as my mistress at all, but only as a poor
+suffering child who was to be made comfortable. And I had treated
+her just as I would have treated one of our own twins, or one of the
+village children in a fit of the earache. I knew not what to say, but
+Lady Betty answered for me:</p>
+
+<p>"I choose to have her sit by me, Aunt Jemima, and that is enough. She
+is good to me, and I love her, and she shall do as 'I' choose, wont
+you, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>I did not know what to say or do, for I had never heard a child speak
+to a grown person in that way. I thought the best way was to say
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima reproved the child sharply for her impertinence, and even
+went so far as to shake her. The child screamed loudly, at which I
+could not wonder, for the shaking must have hurt her very much, so thin
+and weak as she was. I thought, for my part, Lady Jemima deserved the
+shaking quite as much as Lady Betty; and I confess I should like to
+have given it her myself. At that moment my Lady Stanton appeared at
+the open door.</p>
+
+<p>"What is all this?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty at once began to tell her story, and Lady Jemima hers.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady said nothing till it came to the shaking. Then her great dark
+eyes flashed, and she turned upon her sister-in-law, and bade her never
+to touch the child again at her peril.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima at first began to justify herself, but stopped suddenly,
+burst into tears, and ran out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady tried to quiet the child, who was still crying, and at last
+succeeded by telling her that her father would hear her, and be very
+angry. Then she bade me go and get my breakfast, and she would stay
+with Lady Betty. She followed me to the door and closed it after her.</p>
+
+<p>"This is not a good beginning!" said she. "What did you do to displease
+my sister and make all this trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told her, adding that I was very sorry, but I had no thought of
+doing anything wrong, but only of pleasing Lady Betty, who would have
+me sit down with her, and tell her a story while she ate her bread and
+milk."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well!" said she. "'Twas no great matter to make such an ado
+about, but you must manage as quietly as you may. I am glad that Betty
+takes to you, and I hope you may be able to teach her something: but be
+very gentle with her, and above all, try to keep her quiet, for nothing
+vexes my Lord so much as her screams. There, go and get your breakfast,
+and look about you if you choose. I shall be with Betty for the next
+hour."</p>
+
+<p>She went back to Lady Betty and shut the door. I did not know what to
+do, for I had been so confused the night before that I had not observed
+which way we had come, and had no notion in what part of the house
+to look for Mrs. Judith's room. As I stood hesitating, Lady Jemima
+appeared again, her eyes red with crying.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" she asked, in a more gentle voice than I had yet
+heard her use: "Why do you stand here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I do not know which way to go, my Lady!" I answered. "I am to
+go to Mrs. Judith's room for my breakfast, and I don't know where to
+find it."</p>
+
+<p>"I will show you," she said. "Follow me."</p>
+
+<p>"But that is taking too much trouble for you, my Lady," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I choose to do it," she returned. "It is fit that I should humble
+myself as a penance for so forgetting myself before you this morning.
+Let it be a warning to you."</p>
+
+<p>I did not understand what was to be the warning, and there was
+something very strange to my ears in the way Lady Jemima talked of
+doing penance. However I said no more, but followed her down-stairs,
+noting the turns this time, that I might not be at a loss again. We met
+several persons who spoke to Lady Jemima, and looked rather curiously
+at me, especially one tall, stately gentleman, who said to her, in a
+laughing way:</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning, my Lady Abbess. Have you found a new penitent, or
+novice, or whatever you please to call her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly a novice, brother, but I fear not much of a penitent,"
+replied Lady Jemima, primly. "'Tis Betty's new governess, or waiting
+gentlewoman, which ever you please to call her."</p>
+
+<p>"So!" said my Lord, as I now perceived him to be, looking at me with
+more attention. "You have undertaken a hard task, my young lady. I
+would as soon be nurse to a wild-cat. But 'tis no wonder the poor
+thing is cankered and crabbed, considering her misfortune. Be kind and
+faithful to her, and you shall lose nothing thereby, I promise you."</p>
+
+<p>I courtesied, but did not speak. As mother says, "Mumchance is a safe
+game."</p>
+
+<p>"Here is Mistress Judith's room," said Lady Jemima, opening the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Many thanks, madam," I began, but she cut me short at once.</p>
+
+<p>"You owe me no thanks: I did it to please myself." Then more
+graciously: "I will see you again, and perhaps I may be of use to you.
+I daresay you need instruction in your religious duties."</p>
+
+<p>I courtesied again, and she left me. I could not but think that
+pleasing oneself was an odd way of doing penance.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Judith was very kind to me, and provided me a nice breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>When I had eaten, I thought I would look about me a little, as my Lady
+had said. The trees of the park came up quite close on this side of
+the house, and I found myself directly in a little wood, where grew in
+profusion primroses and many other flowers which had not begun to think
+of coming out in the North. I gathered two pretty little nosegays, one
+for my own room, and one for Lady Betty. And finding some snail shells,
+I put them in my pocket, thinking that they might amuse the child. I
+could have spent my whole hour in the wood, but I remembered that my
+clothes were yet to be put in order.</p>
+
+<p>So I went back to my room and unpacked all my things, arranging them as
+I was used to do in my old room in the Rectory. Then, having still a
+few minutes, I read the one hundred and third Psalm, which came in my
+regular course, and said my morning prayers. The chaplain is gone away,
+so we have no prayers in the chapel at present.</p>
+
+<p>Then I went back to Lady Betty's room. My Lady was still there, and
+smiled as she saw my flowers, while Betty uttered a cry of delight, as
+she took them in her hands and smelled them.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you then love flowers as well as myself?" said my Lady, gently.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my Lady," I answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret used to have a garden when she lived at home," said Lady
+Betty. "She told me so this morning. I wish I could have one, but then
+I could not dig in it myself, as she used to."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you may, some day, when you are stronger," said my Lady. "You
+and Mistress Merton seem to have made friends very readily."</p>
+
+<p>"She is so good to me," said Betty. "She dressed me without hurting me
+a bit. I love her better than anybody but my own old Mary."</p>
+
+<p>"Mistress Merton was very kind to dress you," answered my Lady. "But,
+my daughter, she is not your nurse or waiting-woman—she is your
+governess, and you must be good and obey her, and strive to learn all
+that she can teach you."</p>
+
+<p>I was not sorry to hear my Lady say this. It is much more comfortable
+to understand one's position, be that position what it may. But Lady
+Betty did not seem pleased at all.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want a governess!" she whimpered. "Mrs. Burley was a
+governess, and she was cross to me: and I want Margaret to dress me and
+tell me tales, as she did this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very well! That is as you and she can agree," said my Lady,
+smiling, as did I. "I dare say she will tell you tales if you are good;
+only, Mistress Merton, you must not let this imperious little girl make
+a slave of you."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will dress me, won't you?" asked the child, turning to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, if your mother is willing," I said. "Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>My Lady gave me a sweet smile, and a glance from her beautiful eyes,
+as she kissed Lady Betty, and sat her in her easy chair (for she had
+been all this while on her mother's lap). The child made up a crying
+face, but refrained, as her mother held up her finger, though her poor
+little mouth quivered piteously as my Lady left the room, and I feared
+we might have another scene.</p>
+
+<p>Luckily, I bethought myself of the shells in my pocket, and these and
+the rest of the story about the kittens diverted the impending storm.</p>
+
+<p>But I am running on at too great length with my first day's experiences
+at Stanton Court. I will only add that I dined with Mrs. Judith at
+noon, the house being full of company; and being used to eat my dinner
+earlier, I was hungry enough. Mrs. Judith says, 'tis the fashion now,
+not to dine till noon, and some very modish people put it off an hour
+later, which seems absurd enough. I had no more trouble this day with
+Lady Betty, who was good enough, only she has a pert, fretful way of
+speaking, which I do not at all like.</p>
+
+<p>I have begun making her a great rag baby, such as Phillis and I used to
+play with. Lady Betty is much interested, and I mean the job shall be a
+good long one. I rise before six and thus have an hour to myself before
+I go to my child. I have dressed her every morning and undressed her at
+night, making the condition that she shall learn a Bible verse every
+time, from my repetition. Then we talk a little, and I sing a psalm to
+her, and she goes to sleep quietly enough.</p>
+
+<p>Mary sleeps in the room with her, and is disposed to be very kind and
+faithful: but she does not know how to manage very well.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>March 23.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I am getting settled to this way of life, and have begun lessons with
+Lady Betty. She knew her letters, but that was all, so I begin at the
+beginning. We have half an hour's lesson, then an hour of talk and play.</p>
+
+<p>I have had a long conversation with my Lady, whom I like more and more
+all the time. I told her how Phillis and John had died of wasting
+sickness, and how my mother had then taken a different way with the
+others, giving them little or no medicine, and plenty of fresh air and
+good plain food, and how they had improved under the regimen.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed pleased with the notion, and said, as it grew warmer, we
+might perhaps get Betty out of doors. She likes my plan of teaching and
+says I shall manage matters my own way. Beside that, she hath caused my
+place to be fully settled in the family as Lady Betty's governess, and
+yesterday, hearing Anne give me a slighting answer about my room, which
+it is her business to take care of, she gave her a short but sharp
+setting down, and bade her beg my pardon, which she did, sulkily enough.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image012" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image012.jpg" alt="image012"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image013" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image013.jpg" alt="image013"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_4">CHAPTER IV.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>A WELCOME VISITOR.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>March 30.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>EASTER is almost here. It has seemed strange not to go to church, as my
+dear father maintained daily prayers all through Lent, but the chaplain
+is come home now, so we shall have prayers in the chapel every morning.</p>
+
+<p>I have quite shaken down into my place, and am beginning to feel at
+home, and even happy. Everybody is kind to me, even Anne. She came to
+me one day with her eyes red with weeping, and looking so sad that I
+asked her what the matter was. So she burst out crying and told me
+that her baby sister was dead. I comforted her as well as I could, and
+seeing her heart was full, I drew her on to talk about the child, and
+its winning ways, and finally read her what our Lord says about little
+children. She left me, quite consoled, and now thinks nothing too much
+to do for me.</p>
+
+<p>As for Lady Betty, I have no great trouble with her, except that I have
+now and then to fight a battle with her selfishness, and assert myself
+a little. The poor thing has taken to me wonderfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I do love you!" she said to me, last night, as I was undressing her.</p>
+
+<p>"And so do I love you!" I answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Really?" said she, looking at me wistfully. "Really and truly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Really and truly!" I answered. "Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Burley said I was so cross that nobody could love me," said she.
+"And I am cross, I know. I was cross to you this morning!"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather!" I answered, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I am sorry!" she said, impulsively. "Will you love me if I am
+cross?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my dear," said I: "only, Lady Betty, why should you be cross?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know—because I am so sick and so—you know, Margaret. I am not
+like other people, and I can't help being cross!"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure?" I asked. "Did you ever try?"</p>
+
+<p>She opened her great eyes as if such a notion had never occurred to her
+mind. But she answered frankly: "No, I don't know that I ever did."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you can't tell whether you can help it or not," said I. "All sick
+people are not cross. Phillis was not, neither was my little playmate
+and friend, Grace Forrester."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me about them," said she.</p>
+
+<p>I am glad every time I find something new to talk about, and Lady Betty
+is never weary of asking questions about Phillis and Grace.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I wish I 'could' help being cross," said she, finally. "How can
+I?"</p>
+
+<p>"You must ask the Lord to help you," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"And will He?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, if you ask Him earnestly. But then you must try hard not to let
+the cross words come out, even if you feel cross inside. If you don't
+say a word, you will get over it all the quicker."</p>
+
+<p>I noticed the next morning that she was not nearly so sharp with Mary,
+even when Mary hurt her by shaking her chair. I felt myself reproved at
+seeing the effort she made, thinking how ready I have all my life been
+to resent and retort.</p>
+
+<p>I have quite settled down, as I said, and everything goes on regularly.
+There are a good many ladies staying in the house, but I see none of
+them except by accident, as my room and Lady Betty's are quite by
+themselves, away from the company part of the house. If only I were not
+so homesick.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 6.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Something has really happened since I wrote last. I have had a visit
+from Mr. Carey, and have written a long letter to send home by him,
+since he was so kind as to offer to take charge of one. Mr. Carey
+stopped at the parsonage in the village with old Doctor Parnell, and
+walked up to Stanton Court to see his aunt Mrs. Judith and myself.</p>
+
+<p>I was overjoyed at seeing him, and was so silly as to let my joy
+overflow at my eyes. It did seem so like meeting some one from home. He
+told me he was going back to the Rectory next week, and would gladly
+take charge of a letter for me. So I wrote my letter, saying everything
+I could to make dear mother think me happy (as indeed I am, were I not
+so homesick).</p>
+
+<p>Hearing that I was writing home, Lady Stanton gave me a kind message
+for my mother, and a new silver groat apiece for each of the children.
+Lady Betty too would send her gifts to the twins, in the shape of a
+piece of gay ribbon, which she begged of her mother for the purpose.
+When my package was ready, my Lady kindly gave me leave to carry it
+down to the Rectory myself. I was glad to go, both for the sake of the
+walk, and that I might see something of the village, where I had not
+been except once to church.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Judith bade the gardener show me a shorter path to the village,
+through the wood, and down a ravine or coomb, as they call it here,
+in which runs a beautiful brook. About half way down, a beautiful
+spring comes boiling up from under a large rock, in quite a large
+stream, and the water is deliciously clear and cold. I could easily
+have wasted half the afternoon in this charming place, which, though
+very different, made me think of our old haunt, the Holy Well in the
+deer-park, where dear Dick and I used to have so many long talks. But
+I know that I must not be out too long, so I tore myself away and
+hastened onward.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed pleasant to be within the very walls of a rectory once more,
+though that at Stanton Corbet—as the village is called—is by no means
+so fine a house as ours at Saintswell. A part of it is very old,
+however, and it is all overgrown with climbing plants, (there is such a
+passion flower as never would flourish with us); and somehow the very
+air did smell like home.</p>
+
+<p>Mistress Parnell made me very welcome. She is not the rector's wife,
+but his sister, neither of them having married. They are both old
+people, with a wonderful likeness to each other, both in features and
+expression. Mistress Parnell would have me sit down to eat a cake and
+drink a glass of mead.</p>
+
+<p>"And so you have a new chaplain up at the Court?" remarked Doctor
+Parnell to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes sir," I answered. "He came only yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ever know him?" asked the Doctor, turning to Mr. Carey. "His
+name is—"</p>
+
+<p>"Penrose," said I, seeing that he turned to me to supply the name which
+he had forgotten. "Mr. Robert Penrose."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Aye!" said he, smiling. "A Cornish name, belike.</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"'By Pol, Tre, and Pen,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;You shall know the Cornish men.'"<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"He is a Cornish man, I know," said I; "I heard Mrs. Carey say as much."</p>
+
+<p>"I rather think I know him," said Mr. Carey. "He is an Oxford man, and
+one of the new lights. He was at Exeter awhile, and was to have been
+my Lord's chaplain, but the arrangement fell through. I fancy my Lord
+thought him too much of the Archbishop's way of thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well," said Doctor Parnell, "I hope he may prove a trusty
+shepherd, and preach the root of the matter, after all. For myself,"
+he added, smiling, "I must even go on in my own way. I am too old to
+change my old Mumpsimus, for the Archbishop's new Sumpsimus."</p>
+
+<p>Whereat both the gentlemen laughed, but 'twas all Greek to me. However,
+I fancied I understood something when I came to hear Mr. Penrose read
+prayers—for he used so much ceremony, and read in such an artificial
+tone, that I could hardly understand him.</p>
+
+<p>Mistress Parnell would have me carry a basket of Guinea fowls' eggs to
+my Lady, so I waited a little for them, and had a pleasant talk with
+Mr. Carey. Oh, how I did wish I were going back with him, but there is
+no use in that. Here I am, and here must I stay. And, in truth, 'twould
+cost me no small pang to part with my poor child. I begged him, if he
+saw Dick, to put him in mind to write to me, if ever he had a chance.</p>
+
+<p>"I think the opportunity is more like to be wanting than the wish,
+Mistress Margaret," said he, smiling. "Nevertheless I will give your
+brother your message, and also when I write to my mother, I will try
+to send you news from home. I could wish there were a regular post for
+letters from one part of the kingdom to the other, as it is said there
+is in Holland."</p>
+
+<p>"It may come to pass, though belike not in our day," said Doctor
+Parnell. "This maiden may live to see such a post passing regularly as
+often as once a week between London and Exeter."</p>
+
+<p>That does not seem very likely—however, there is no telling.</p>
+
+<p>When I parted from Mr. Carey, it was almost like leaving home once
+more, and I wept so much after I got into the woods, that I was fain to
+stop at the spring, and bathe my eyes a long time, before I went up to
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>As I was bending over the little basin, I was startled by a step, and
+looking up hastily, I met the eye of a fine-looking gentleman, whom I
+had never seen before. He had a look of my Lord, but much younger, and
+with a difference, as the heralds say. He was much bronzed, and I took
+him for a sailor. He raised his hat, and bowed in courteous fashion, as
+our eyes encountered, but passed without speaking.</p>
+
+<p>I wondered who he could be, but was soon enlightened by Mrs. Judith,
+who told me that young Mr. Corbet had come down to see my Lord. "He is
+my Lord's cousin, and the master, now his father is dead, of the fine
+old house in the woods, about a mile from here; and unless my Lady's
+child prove a boy, he is like to be heir of all."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty was full of news about Cousin Walter, as she called him.
+"Cousin Walter," had been to see her already, and had brought her a
+little dog from foreign parts, which she was to have to-morrow, and a
+fine picture-book from London. I am not likely to see much of this fine
+gentleman, but I cannot help fancying him for his kindness to my poor
+little nursling. And I could see that my Lady was pleased, also. It
+seemed that his mother, Mrs. Corbet, wishes to return to end her days
+in the old house, and he has come down, like a dutiful son, to see it
+put in order for her.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 9.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Our company have all gone now, and we are not to have any more for
+some time—only Madam Corbet is to be here for some two or three weeks,
+before she goes to her own house. Mary shook her head and looked grave
+upon this, but would not tell me why. I am glad, for my part, that
+we are likely to have a quieter house. I am sure so much of care and
+company cannot be good for my Lady. I now take my dinner and supper
+with the rest, an arrangement which makes me more one of the family
+than I have been before. My seat is next the chaplain's, so we are
+becoming well acquainted.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 10.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Last night Lady Jemima came to my room before I had finished writing,
+so that I was forced to put my book away in a hurry. I thought at first
+that something must have happened, and stood waiting to hear what it
+was, but she bade me be seated, and taking a chair herself she began
+turning over my books. They were but few—my Bible and Prayer-book,
+the book of "Contemplations" my Lord gave me, and Spenser's "Faerie
+Queene," a present from Dick, besides my old Latin grammar and
+Virgilius, which I had brought partly for association's sake, and a
+volume of father's sermons.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you read your Bible every day?" she asked, presently.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my Lady," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you understand all that you read?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my Lady," said I, adding: "I suppose nobody does."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not, child. And what other books of devotion have you?"</p>
+
+<p>"None, my Lady, only this." And I showed her the Bishop's
+"Contemplations," which I am reading by course.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at it rather slightingly, I thought, and laid it down. Then
+she began to catechize me. "Had I been confirmed? Had I received the
+Communion, and how many times? Did I say my prayers, and how often?"
+and finally—"Did I fast?" I did not quite know what to answer, so she
+asked me again if I ate meat at this holy season. I told her I did.</p>
+
+<p>"And why do you so?" she asked, sharply. "There is always fish on my
+brother's table."</p>
+
+<p>I told her that fish did not suit me: that it made me ill, and that
+if I went without meat, I had the headache, and was not fit for my
+work: but that I had always been used to deny myself in the matter of
+dainties in time of Lent. She looked but half satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>"'Where there is a will there is a way,'" said she. "If your heart
+were right, you would not mind a little inconvenience. I will give you
+a book of devotions, which you will do well to use, and which will do
+you more good than all this Puritan stuff!" giving my Lord's volume, a
+contemptuous push from her.</p>
+
+<p>I was nettled to see her treat the volume so, and said, I fear rather
+sharply:</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis no Puritan stuff, my Lady. It was writ by the Bishop of Exeter,
+and I am sure he is a good man, besides being a Bishop."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not the rochet that makes the Bishop, or the title either,"
+said Lady Jemima. "An open enemy is better than a half-hearted or
+treacherous friend. Your Bishop Hall is no better than a traitor, I
+fear. How do you like Mr. Penrose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well enough," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"But his preaching and services—how do you like them?" persisted Lady
+Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>I was rather confused. I said I was not used to that way of reading or
+speaking, and that Mr. Penrose's sermons seemed to me not very clear.
+I could not make out what he would be at, and it seemed to me as if he
+did not quite know himself.</p>
+
+<p>"That is a very improper way of speaking," said Lady Jemima, with
+great sharpness. "You should know that it is not your place to sit in
+judgment on a priest. You would do much better to learn in silence and
+humility, than to carp and criticise."</p>
+
+<p>I felt my face flush at her tone and manner, which were very severe,
+and even contemptuous, and I answered, quickly:</p>
+
+<p>"You asked me, my Lady, and if I speak at all, I must needs say what I
+think. I have no desire to criticise bishop, priest, or deacon, unless
+I am asked."</p>
+
+<p>It was now Lady Jemima's turn to color, and she bit her lip, as if she
+did not quite know what to say.</p>
+
+<p>"You are malipert, mistress!" she said, at last. "I came to do you a
+kindness, but this is not encouraging. I will leave you this book,
+however, and I hope before I see you again, you will have come to a
+better mind."</p>
+
+<p>And with that she rose, and laid a book on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, my Lady, if I have displeased you," said I, seeing
+that she was about to go. "I meant no offence."</p>
+
+<p>She seemed mollified, sat down again, and began giving me a lecture
+on my religious duties, as that I ought to spend so many hours a
+day in reading and devotion, that I should learn by heart the seven
+penitential psalms, and say them every day, and so on.</p>
+
+<p>"But, my Lady," said I, "if I were to do all that you have laid down
+for me, I should have no time for my duty to Lady Betty, which is my
+chief business, and for which my Lady keeps and pays me."</p>
+
+<p>"You should serve God first of all," said she, solemnly: "no matter
+what other interests may suffer. How do you expect to go to heaven
+unless you give up your whole life to God's service? The work of the
+longest life may not be sufficient to secure your salvation, and yours
+may, for aught you know, be very short. You may die this very night!"</p>
+
+<p>And then, the clock striking ten, she went away, much to my relief. The
+book she left was one of devotions and prayers for the seven canonical
+hours, which seem very good, though to use them all, methinks, would
+occupy the most of the day.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 11.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty has begun to spell words of two syllables. She learns very
+fast, and since she has really found out that reading means getting
+stories out of books, she is so eager to get on that I have to check
+her. She is usually very good, I must say, but now and then I have a
+little scene with her. She had a great crying time this morning because
+the little dog Mr. Corbet promised her has not yet come. I tried to
+soothe and quiet her, but she only screamed the louder, and struck
+right and left. As I came near her, she struck me a severe blow, and
+really hurt me.</p>
+
+<p>At last I said to her, "Lady Betty, unless you try to stop crying and
+be good, I cannot tell you any story to-night." (I have lately told her
+a story every night.)</p>
+
+<p>But she would not be still. Till at last, the door opened suddenly, and
+there was my Lord.</p>
+
+<p>"What's all this?" he said, angrily. "What is this noise—enough to
+deafen one?"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke very harshly, I thought, and Lady Betty stopped crying and
+seemed to shrink into herself.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you about, Mistress Merton, to suffer this uproar?" continued
+my Lord, turning to me.</p>
+
+<p>I said that Lady Betty had been disappointed about her dog, which Mr.
+Corbet had promised her.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, if she does not be quiet, I will have the dog's neck broken when
+it does come. Mr. Corbet had better mind his own business. He is not
+master quite yet, I trow. And for you, Betty, I will try what virtue
+lies in a birch rod, if I hear any more noise. You are cosseted and
+cockered out of all reason." So saying, he shut the door violently and
+went away.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Betty had sunk down into a shapeless heap in her chair, and was
+quite silent.</p>
+
+<p>I went to her, and found her shivering and trembling, as if in an ague
+fit. I took her in my arms, and she burst out into a fit of crying—not
+frantic screaming, as before, but deep drawn sobs, which seemed to rend
+her bosom.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if I had only never been born! If I had only never been born!" I
+heard her say over and over to herself, as her head lay on my shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"You should not wish yourself dead, my love!" I began, but she
+interrupted me.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't say I wished to die. That would make my mother sorry. I
+wished I had never been born at all, and then nobody would have cared.
+I wish God had not made me!" she added, with a fresh burst of sobs. "I
+don't see why He did. I am of no use to anybody, and now I have angered
+my father, and you, and—" The poor little head went down again.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not angry, my dear!" said I, which was true, as far as she was
+concerned, though I confess I was angry enough with my Lord. "I am
+sorry that you have been naughty, but I am not angry. I think you will
+try to be good now, and stop sobbing, for that will make you sick and
+vex your mother, and I am sure you would not wish to do that."</p>
+
+<p>She did really try to be quiet, but it was of no use. The sobs would
+come, in spite of her. At last, however, she grew more composed, and
+lay still, with her head on my breast. I held her in silence for a
+little while, my heart aching for the poor thing.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she raised her face, all stained with tears, and said, in a
+quivering voice: "Oh, I am 'so' tired!"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor dear!" said I, kissing her. "I will sing to you, and you shall go
+to sleep, and feel better."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall 'never' feel better," said she, pitifully. "I am tired all the
+time—tired of everything. I shall never be rested, I know. Is it wicked
+to wish I had never been born—for indeed I cannot help it?"</p>
+
+<p>I did not quite know what to say. It seemed to me that in her case, I
+should wish the same.</p>
+
+<p>"And now I have angered my father again," she continued: "and I have
+hurt you, and all—and oh, Margaret—" and her poor frame quivered with
+now excitement—"do you think papa will have my dog's neck broken when
+it comes?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my dear love," I answered her: "not if you are good. Don't disturb
+yourself about that. I do not think my Lord will let the dog be hurt,
+unless you are very naughty about it."</p>
+
+<p>"But he—he said he would, and he is angry with me, and wont forgive me,
+nor come and see me. Oh, Margaret, do ask him to forgive me, and not
+let my poor dog be killed!"</p>
+
+<p>"I will, by and by," said I, "but not now." For the truth was I did not
+believe my Lord would think of the matter again after he had gotten
+over his fit of temper, which seemed to me quite as bad as Betty's, if
+not worse. "I will ask him at supper time. I do not think he would like
+it if I were to go to him at present. Now let me wash your face and
+make you neat before my Lady comes in."</p>
+
+<p>She was very docile now, and I dressed her without any trouble. She was
+very tired, so I laid her on the bed and sat down by her.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret," said she, presently, "how can I help being angry?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that you can help feeling angry," said I, "but I will
+tell you how I help it sometimes. I just shut my mouth and don't say
+one word, only I repeat to myself the prayer for charity, and the
+Lord's prayer: and if I am firm, and don't let myself speak one word, I
+can generally put down the feeling pretty soon: but if I begin to talk,
+all is over!"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't suppose you were ever angry," said Lady Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"I have naturally a very hasty temper," I answered. "I don't believe
+yours is any more so."</p>
+
+<p>"But you had such a nice home, I should not think that you would ever
+have had anything to vex you."</p>
+
+<p>I could not help smiling as I thought of Felicia. I told Betty I did
+not believe there was any place in the world where there was not plenty
+of provocation of one sort or another.</p>
+
+<p>"There wont be any in heaven, I suppose," said she, wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"No," I told her. "Everything will be good and peaceful there."</p>
+
+<p>"But I am afraid I shall never go to heaven!" she continued, sadly.
+"Only good girls go to heaven, and I am not good, though I do try to
+be!" she added, earnestly. "Nobody knows how hard I try to be good,
+sometimes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Your Father in heaven knows," said I. "He knows all your hindrances,
+too, and will help you. Now lie still and try to sleep, and I will sing
+for you."</p>
+
+<p>She dropped asleep presently, for she was very tired, and I sat still
+by her side, holding her hands. My head was very full of thoughts.
+"Only good girls go to heaven!" Then what am I to do? I am not good, I
+know very well. Surely I must be better than I am, if I am to escape at
+last.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty waked when the bell rung for chapel, and Mary came with her
+supper. She said she did not want any, rather fretfully at first, and
+then, as if recollecting herself, she added:</p>
+
+<p>"But I will try to eat something, Mary."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a good little lady!" returned Mary, who is always kind and
+patient. "Eat your supper, and let Mrs. Margaret go to chapel."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will do what I asked you, wont you, Margaret?" asked Lady
+Betty. "I can't go to sleep to-night unless you do."</p>
+
+<p>I promised her that I would do my best, and having arranged my dress, I
+went down to chapel.</p>
+
+<p>It being Friday, Mr. Penrose preached a short sermon. I don't recollect
+the verse of Scripture, but the real text was poor Betty's, "You can't
+go to heaven unless you are good." He spoke much of the duties of
+fasting and mortification, and of our making satisfaction for our sins
+by repentance and good works. I am sure I never heard such a sermon
+from my father, but papa's discourses were generally very simple and
+plain. Mr. Penrose is a good speaker, when one is used to his voice,
+and certainly he seems very much in earnest, especially when he spoke
+of the horrors of perdition and the anger of God against sinners. His
+sermon made me miserable—if that does one any good.</p>
+
+<p>I did not forget my promise to poor Betty, and waited for my Lord as he
+came in to supper. He had slept, by the way, all through the sermon. He
+looked pleasant enough, and seeing me standing there, he stopped and
+said, in his usual cheerful, jovial voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Mistress Merton, what can I do for you?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him my errand, adding that Lady Betty was very unhappy, thinking
+that he was angry with her. He stared as if he had forgotten all about
+the matter, then said, as if he were a little ashamed, as well as
+sorry, I thought:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, poor thing, does she think so much of my words as that? Tell her I
+am not angry with her, only she must be a good girl, and not do so any
+more."</p>
+
+<p>"And about the dog?" I ventured to say. "Lady Betty has so set her
+heart upon it, I hardly know what she would do if it were killed. May I
+tell her that you do not mean to—"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," said he, interrupting me with some indignation in his
+voice. "Whoever thought of killing the poor thing? I wonder you should
+think of such a thing. What do you take me for, Mistress Merton?"</p>
+
+<p>"For a man who throws stones, and then wonders that any one should be
+so foolish as to be hit," I thought, but I only said, "I thank your
+Lordship. I will set poor Lady Betty's mind at rest, then."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. And here, give her this," said he, giving me a gold piece
+from his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"Much use she has for money, poor thing; a few kind words would be
+worth far more," I thought, but I said no more.</p>
+
+<p>I sat next Mr. Penrose at supper, and noticed that he ate almost
+nothing—only brown bread and cheese. Methought he looked reprovingly at
+my dish of cream and slice of white bread. He has been in Chester, and
+we had a pleasant little talk about that part of the country. I think I
+could like him well enough if he were not so solemn.</p>
+
+<p>I set poor Betty's mind at rest by giving her my Lord's message and
+present, at which she was wondrously delighted, and said again and
+again how good he was. I did not see the great goodness, but I was
+content that she should think so.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image014" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image014.jpg" alt="image014"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image015" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image015.jpg" alt="image015"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_5">CHAPTER V.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>EASTER TIDE.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 15.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THIS is Holy-week, and I have very little time to write in my journal.
+I am trying to pursue the course of devotions Lady Jemima gave me, and
+of which Mr. Penrose highly approves; and that, with my attendance on
+Lady Betty, takes all my time. Lady Betty has not been so well, and is
+rather fretful and exacting. I try to have patience with her, but it is
+hard work, sometimes.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know what to do about receiving the Sacrament at Easter. I
+don't like to miss it, but Mr. Penrose and Lady Jemima say so much of
+the peril of unworthily receiving. Lady Jemima is very kind to me, and
+gives me much good advice. I told her that I felt very unhappy because
+I was no better, and she said that was right—that we ought constantly
+to contemplate our sins and short comings in order to make us humble
+and contrite, and that it became sinners, in a state of probation, and
+likely to be called to judgment at any time, to be grave and sad.</p>
+
+<p>I have no time now to read the "Contemplations," and not much for the
+Scripture. To be sure, we hear it in chapel every day.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 17.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Betty said to me, this morning: "You are not my sunshiny Margaret, any
+more. You look so solemn all the time, just like Aunt Jemima!"</p>
+
+<p>And with that she pulled a long face, and put on a look so exactly
+like her aunt that I could not forbear laughing; at which she laughed
+too. I don't look any more sober than I feel, however. Mr. Penrose's
+sermons have made me realize the things of eternity more than ever I
+did before, and they are dreadful to me. To be sure, there is heaven,
+but how am I to know it is to be my portion? How can I know that my
+repentance is sufficient—that my sorrow for sin is real and sincere?
+And I have been such a sinner! In looking back over my life, I can see
+nought but sin. Sin where I never suspected it before—and nothing good
+anywhere: and the harder I try to conquer myself, the worse I am.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty's doll is finished. She is very much pleased with it, and we
+have had many games of play at "making believe": she being the mother,
+and I by turns doctor, nurse, and aunt.</p>
+
+<p>"But if you are an aunt, you must be cross," said Betty, this morning:
+"aunts are always cross."</p>
+
+<p>"O no!" I answered. "By no means. My dear Aunt Magdalen was not cross,
+nor aunt Willson."</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Jemima is—almost always, I mean," persisted Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Jemima is always what?" asked the lady, who had come in softly,
+in time to hear Betty's words—for the door being set open for the sake
+of air, and Lady Jemima always walking like a cat, we had not heard her
+approach.</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Jemima is always what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cross!" answered Lady Betty, simply. "But I suppose you can't help it,
+can you, Aunt Jemima?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima colored, but she did not answer Betty directly. Presently
+she said, "Who made you that great doll?"</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret," answered Betty. "She has just finished it." And she began
+to display all the perfections of the rag baby.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima looked at the clothes, and said that they were neatly made.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Margaret," said she, "I have come to sit with Betty while you go
+down to the chapel."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not chapel time," objected Betty; "and I don't want Margaret to
+go away."</p>
+
+<p>"But Margaret wants to say her prayers, if it is not chapel time,"
+returned Lady Jemima. "You would not be so selfish as to keep her from
+them, would you? It would be much better for you to be saying your own,
+than to be playing with your doll at such a time."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she may go, if she wants to," said Betty, rather sadly.</p>
+
+<p>So I went down and said my prayers in the empty chapel, out of the
+book Lady Jemima gave me, but I cannot say I found any great comfort
+therein. Lady Betty's sad, grieved face haunted me all the time, and I
+could think of nothing but getting back to her.</p>
+
+<p>When I finally returned, I found Lady Betty sitting looking out of the
+window, with her elbow on the sill, and her chin on her hand. Lady
+Jemima was reading to her out of the Bible, but I don't think she paid
+any attention.</p>
+
+<p>When Lady Jemima saw I had come back, she ceased her reading, and rose,
+but Lady Betty did not look round nor move.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by, Betty," said Lady Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by," said Betty.</p>
+
+<p>When her aunt left the room, she said, sorrowfully enough, "Don't you
+love me any more, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do!" said I, sitting down by her. "Why should you ask me
+such a question?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Jemima says you don't," replied the child. "She says I am so
+selfish."</p>
+
+<p>"Selfish about what?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"She said it was selfish in me to let you work so hard at the doll just
+to please me, when there are so many poor people that need clothes, and
+that—that—"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" said I. I could not help it, so vexed was I at Lady Jemima.
+"I was very glad to make the doll, and shall be always glad to do
+anything for you."</p>
+
+<p>She brightened a little on this, but I could see all the afternoon
+that she was cast down, and I was sorry enough that I had left her to
+her aunt, who, good as she is, never seems to come near Betty without
+hurting her in some way. After all, my work here is to take care of
+Betty, and I don't believe God means I should let her suffer for the
+sake of saying my prayers, more than anything else.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 18.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I have had a sharp dispute with Mr. Penrose. I had been walking as
+far as the Abbey ruin in the park, when he joined me: and after some
+discourse, began to ask me what I was reading. I told him that I was
+reading the Bishop's "Contemplations;" whereat, he spoke slightingly of
+the book, and said he would give me something better. Now, when I have
+learned to love a book as I have this one, 'tis all the same to me as
+a friend, and I cannot bear to hear it spoken against. So I answered
+something quickly that I wanted nothing better, and beside that, I had
+promised to read it.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mistress Merton," said Mr. Penrose, "are you sure that you are
+the best judge? Am not I, your pastor, best fitted to direct your
+reading? And if I tell you that any book is unfit for you, are you to
+sit in judgment on what I say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" I answered, hotly enough. "Since you yourself, as it seems,
+presume to sit in judgment on your Bishop?"</p>
+
+<p>He was silent a moment, and did seem somewhat taken aback. Then he
+said, "You are something sharp. What is the Bishop to you, that you
+defend him so earnestly?"</p>
+
+<p>"He has been a good friend to me and mine," I answered; "and he is
+a good man, and a good preacher. He preached the best sermon in our
+parish church that ever I heard in all my life."</p>
+
+<p>I saw he was touched at this, and I was wicked enough to be glad I had
+given him a pinch, though no such thing was in my thought when I spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Then," said he, "I am to conclude that my preaching does not please
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't sit in judgment on it," I said, demurely. Then willing to turn
+the conversation, I said, looking up to the great window which is still
+almost entire: "What a splendid pile this must have been in its day!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes!" he answered. "There was piety and zeal in England in those
+days."</p>
+
+<p>"And is there none now?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay!" said he. "Where do we hear now of bodies of men and women
+retiring to devote themselves to God and His service, as in those days?
+Now every priest must have his house and his wife and children. The
+service of His Maker is not enough for him."</p>
+
+<p>"You can hardly expect me to quarrel with that, since I am a priest's
+daughter," said I, laughing. "And does not St. Paul himself say both
+of bishops and deacons that they should be the husband of one wife?
+Besides," I added, more soberly, "I see no need of people retiring into
+convents and abbeys to serve God. Why should we not serve him in the
+daily work He has given us to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis a good thought, at least," he said, and so we parted good friends
+at last.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 20.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Well, Easter is passed and gone. I know not whether I spent it well or
+ill. I did not go to the service in the chapel, but, with my Lady's
+permission, walked down to the church in the village. The old rector
+preached on the Resurrection—a mild and gentle sermon enough, not very
+deep or brilliant, as are Mr. Carey's, nor so solemn and awful as
+those of Mr. Penrose, but somehow I felt it comforting and soothing;
+and though I shed many tears, they were not all sad. I went to the
+Sacrament with fear and trembling, but the words, "Come unto me!"—and
+the others did seem a voice bidding me draw near—so I went. There were
+a good many communicants, and all were serious and devout. I specially
+noticed a large and majestic old man, supported by his son, as I
+suppose, who approached the table. He stumbled a little at the step,
+whereat Mr. Corbet, whom I had not seen before, came forward and took
+his other arm.</p>
+
+<p>After the service, as I waited a little in the church-yard to speak
+to Mistress Parnell, this same old man came out of the church door,
+leaning on Mr. Corbet's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"And so, Master Watty, your lady mother is coming among us again?" I
+heard the old man say. "I hope I shall be able to pay my duty to her,
+but the path grows steep to my old feet nowadays."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet made him some pleasant answer, and then fell into
+conversation with the son—a man of about his own age.</p>
+
+<p>Meantime, Doctor and Mistress Parnell came along and spoke to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you not have service in the chapel at the Court to-day?" asked the
+Doctor, after he had saluted me politely. "I understood it was to be
+so?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him that it was so, but that my Lady had given me leave to
+walk down to the village. "The parish church seems to me so much more
+pleasant and homelike than the chapel!" I ventured to add. "It does not
+seem like the church, where there are no poor people, and no school
+children."</p>
+
+<p>The train of school-girls passed us at this moment, with their mistress
+walking behind them, and leaning on the arm of the oldest girl. She
+was quite elderly, and looked feeble, but had one of the finest and
+sweetest faces I ever saw.</p>
+
+<p>"You must find time to visit our school and almshouses, and that will
+make you feel still more at home!" said Doctor Parnell, kindly. "We
+have plenty of poor people here, as everywhere else. There is a poor
+woman down at the Cove, who was brought to bed last night, and is
+but poorly off for clothes. If you will mention the case to my Lady,
+perhaps she can do something for them."</p>
+
+<p>"I will," said I: and just at that moment a plan popped into my mind,
+which I hope to bring to good effect.</p>
+
+<p>Mistress Parnell would have had me stop at the Rectory and take some
+refreshment, but I excused myself, knowing that Betty would count the
+hours and minutes till my return, and hastened toward home by the
+shortest path. I stopped a moment at the entrance of the glen walk, to
+gather some wild flowers for my child, when Mr. Corbet overtook me and
+walked the rest of the way by my side. He asked after Betty, and sent
+her a kindly message, and told me his mother was coming to Exeter in
+the Bishop's company to-morrow, and that he should meet her there, and
+bring her home.</p>
+
+<p>"That will be pleasant to you," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to know my mother," said Mr. Corbet. "She is one of a
+thousand. Nobody ever knew her without being the better for it."</p>
+
+<p>"I think nobody can be like one's mother!" I said, and then I stopped
+and choked, and had much ado not to burst out crying, as I thought of
+my own dear mother, and how last Easter we were all together—father,
+and Dick, and all!</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet took no notice of my emotion, and presently began talking of
+other things. He asked me if I had noticed that tall old man in church?
+I said I had, and asked who he was.</p>
+
+<p>"That is old Uncle Jan Lee!" replied Mr. Corbet, smiling. "Uncle to
+half the village and all the Cove. He sailed with my father around the
+world, in Franky Drake's expedition, and can tell you tales by the hour
+about those times. He and his nephew, Will Atkins, have been my sworn
+friends ever since I could run alone, and I owe them far more than
+my own life. I will tell you the story some day—though perhaps I had
+better not," he added, with his sudden smile, which lights up his grave
+face at times like a flash of sunshine. "It would not be wise in me to
+do so, for the tale does not tell very well for me, and I should be
+loth to lose your good opinion, Mistress Merton."</p>
+
+<p>I don't see what my good opinion has to do with him. I am only a
+poor parson's daughter, and a governess, to make the very best of my
+position. However, we had a very pleasant walk, and I must say I have
+felt better and happier since than I have done for a long time. I
+suppose the long walk in the fresh air may have something to do with
+the matter, for I do miss the exercise I was used to take at home.</p>
+
+<p>I went up to my child, and was glad to hear Mary say that she had been
+very good. But the tears came to the poor thing's eyes as she kissed me.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could go to church!" said she. "I do get so tired of this
+room all the time!"</p>
+
+<p>It is no wonder, poor dear! I mean she shall have a change of scene,
+now that there are no strangers in the house to stare at her.</p>
+
+<p>When I sat down to dinner with the rest, I thought Mr. Penrose looked
+mighty stiff and dissatisfied, and I wondered what the matter was.
+Presently, however, it all came out:</p>
+
+<p>"I did not see you in chapel, Mistress Merton!" said he to me, when the
+dinner was fairly in progress. "Why was that?"</p>
+
+<p>I felt in very good spirits, and not, I am afraid, in any mood to be
+catechised; so I answered merrily enough: "I am not sure, Mr. Penrose,
+but I think it must have been because I was not there." And then seeing
+that he looked a little displeased, I added that I had been to church
+at the village.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I saw you walking home!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you did!" thought I. "Then why need you ask me anything about the
+matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you enjoyed the services!" he said, in a tone which
+contradicted his words.</p>
+
+<p>"I did," I answered. "It seemed like being at home again."</p>
+
+<p>"I had hoped, however, to see all the family present at the chapel,"
+said Mr. Penrose; "and said so to my Lady. I presume, however, you had
+her permission for absenting yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should not be very likely to go without it!" I replied with some
+heat, for I was vexed at his tone and manner. "If you doubt my word,
+you had better ask my Lady herself."</p>
+
+<p>By ill-luck occurred at this moment one of those unaccountable silences
+which will fall at such times, and my words were heard the length of
+the table.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady looked up, and said, smiling, while all eyes were turned on us:</p>
+
+<p>"What is that which is to be referred to me, Mistress Merton?"</p>
+
+<p>I don't know whether I felt more like sinking into the earth, or boxing
+his ears who had brought me into this scrape: however, I answered,
+smiling in my turn, though my cheeks were as hot as fire:</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Penrose seems to think I have been playing truant, my Lady, in
+going to the village church this morning. But I tell him that you gave
+me leave to do so."</p>
+
+<p>"I did so, certainly!" answered my Lady. "I thought you would feel
+yourself more at home, being a clergyman's daughter, and used to a
+parish church. I trust you had a pleasant time!"</p>
+
+<p>"I did indeed, my Lady," said I. "I enjoyed it very much."</p>
+
+<p>"Especially the walk home," said Mr. Penrose, in an undertone, intended
+only for my ear.</p>
+
+<p>I was so vexed I would not speak to him again all dinnertime.
+I am afraid, after all, that I am not much the better for my
+church-going—but Mr. Penrose was certainly very provoking.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, I gave my Lady, Doctor Parnell's message, and then opened
+my plan to her, which was to set Lady Betty to work on some clothes for
+the poor babes. I told her I thought it would make an interest for Lady
+Betty outside of herself—that it would divert her, and be good for her
+in many ways. She seemed much pleased, I thought, and gave me leave to
+do as I saw fit, only cautioning me against letting the child overtire
+herself, as she is apt to do with any new fancy.</p>
+
+<p>"You look brighter and better than you have done lately!" observed my
+Lady. "I have feared that you were finding your work too hard for you."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not hard at all, but too easy, if anything!" I answered. "Lady
+Betty makes me no trouble. I only wish I could do more for her."</p>
+
+<p>And then I told my Lady what I had thought of—that Lady Betty would be
+better for a change, and for more exercise, and I asked her if I might
+not have her chair carried into the long gallery on the other side of
+the house, and encourage Lady Betty to walk there a little.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed pleased at first; then, to my surprise, hesitated, and said
+she would speak to my Lord. I did not see why he should object, but
+afterward, talking with Mrs. Judith, when Betty was asleep, the murder
+came out. My Lord is ashamed of his poor little humpbacked girl, and
+does not like to have people see her, forsooth! It is a fine thing to
+be a man and a nobleman, to be sure. If one is to look up to them so
+much, 'tis a pity that they are not a little higher, so that one need
+not have to go down on one's knees in the dirt!</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>Easter Monday.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>My Lord has given his gracious consent, and so this morning Mary and I
+pushed Lady Betty in her chair across into the long gallery, and placed
+her at a sunny window. It was touching to see her delight. The gallery
+is a fine one, with a noble vaulted ceiling, and is hung with many
+family pieces, besides old armor and weapons.</p>
+
+<p>After Betty had rested a while, I proposed that she should try to walk
+as far as the next window.</p>
+
+<p>"But it hurts me to walk!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say it does, my love!" said I. "But I want to see whether you
+cannot, by degrees, get to walk without its hurting you. Just think, if
+you can once learn to use your limbs, how many nice things you could
+do."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I will try!" said she: "I will do anything for you, Margaret,
+because I love you so."</p>
+
+<p>"You are my dear good little girl," said I, kissing her, while the
+thought passed through my mind, "Love makes easy service!"</p>
+
+<p>Betty walked to the next window easily enough, and was so pleased with
+her progress that she would have gone still farther, but that I would
+not allow.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you have done enough for once," said I. "If this does not hurt
+you, you shall walk into my pretty room, and I will show you the
+pictures of my little brother and sisters." For having a knack at
+drawing, I had sketched a little portrait of each of the children
+before leaving home, and the likeness was not contemptible. "See, here
+comes good Mrs. Carey. How surprised she will be!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Carey was surprised enough to satisfy all our expectations. She
+said she was sure Lady Betty needed some refreshment; and going back to
+her room, she brought us some gingerbread and dried pears, and, some
+milk. So we had quite a feast.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish, Cousin Judith, you would tell us something about the picture,"
+said Betty. The ladies all call Mrs. Carey, Cousin Judith. "Tell me who
+is that beautiful dame with the pearls in her black hair?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is your great aunt, Lady Rosamond, who set up the almshouses,"
+said Mrs. Carey.</p>
+
+<p>"And who is that old lady in the close coif and black veil?" I asked.
+"She looks like a nun."</p>
+
+<p>"And so she was a nun. That is Mrs. Margaret Vernon, my dears. She was
+a Lady Abbess of Hartland, and brought up your grandmother, my old
+Lady. So after King Henry put down the convents, she came and ended her
+days with great content at Stanton Court. Mistress Corbet says she can
+just remember her, a very aged lady."</p>
+
+<p>"And who is that beautiful fair woman in black?" I asked. "I never saw
+a lovelier face, if she were not so pale. But she looks very sad."</p>
+
+<p>"That is called the fair Dame of Stanton!" said Mrs. Judith; and then
+followed a long tale, too long to write here.</p>
+
+<p>"Anne says my Cousin Corbet is the fair dame come back again!" said
+Betty. "And that it was she who made me crooked by her arts, but Mary
+says it is not true."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it is not true!" returned Mrs. Judith, indignantly. "I
+wonder at you, Lady Betty, for listening to such stuff about your dear
+cousin, who has always been so kind to you; and I will give Anne a good
+rating, that I will! There has been mischief enough done by such talk,
+before now. Everybody knows how your misfortune happened, my dear, and
+that was by being shrew-struck—beshrew the careless wench by whom it
+came about."</p>
+
+<p>"How was that?" I asked. "And what do you mean by being shrew-struck?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bless you, my dear, don't you know? It was Judith Hawtree did the
+mischief, not that she meant it, 'but evil is wrought by want of
+thought,' my dears. Old Mary left my Lady Betty in her charge, awhile;
+and what does Judith do, but lay the child down under the tree on the
+grass to sleep, while she gossipped with her sweetheart. There were
+always shrew-mice in the park, and one of them no doubt ran over my
+poor dear lady as she lay asleep on the ground, for there were the
+marks of its feet on her dress, and from that time the troubles begun."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it was not the shrew-mouse, after all," I ventured to say.
+"Perhaps Lady Betty took cold from lying on the damp ground. It seems
+more reasonable, than that a mouse should cripple a child by just
+running over its dress once."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, well! That may be your notion, Mrs. Merton. For my part, I don't
+pretend to be so much wiser than my father and mother before me," said
+the old lady, rather offended. "I don't profess to understand how a
+sting-nettle, that looks much like any other plant, should poison one's
+hand for hours, but I know it does. Anyhow the poor child pined from
+that day, but it is absurd and wicked too, to bring up that old story,
+which once nearly cost the dear lady her life."</p>
+
+<p>And then she told me that Mrs. Corbet had once been taken for a witch,
+and assaulted by the village rabble, so that she would have lost her
+life, but for the valor of the old schoolmaster, Master Holliday, and
+Will Atkins, "for Master Walty, he was away on some wild goose chase or
+other. He was but a wild lad then, though he is sober enough now, with
+his Puritan notions and ways?"</p>
+
+<p>"What Puritan ways?" I ventured to ask, but got no answer, for just
+then Lady Betty said she was tired, and we took her back to her room
+again.</p>
+
+<p>If she seems no worse to-morrow, I shall try again. I do not despair of
+getting her out of doors.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>Wednesday.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty was no worse for her journey, and yesterday we tried it
+again. I let her walk the length of two windows, and then she sat a
+long time looking out and watching the deer, which were feeding out in
+the open spaces of the wood, listening to the birds, and seeing the
+rooks, which are now busy with their nests. We were much amused to see
+them stealing twigs from each other.</p>
+
+<p>While we were looking at them, Mr. Penrose came along, and stopped to
+talk, but he was, methought, awkward and restrained, and I did not give
+him much encouragement, for I felt vexed at him; so he soon went away.</p>
+
+<p>At supper there arose, I know not how, a debate on the celibacy of the
+clergy. My Lord and Lady were for having them marry, and my Lord made
+some not very delicate jokes on the subject, I thought. Lady Jemima was
+vehemently against them, and, as her fashion is, grow very warm, and
+said some sharp things. Mr. Penrose appealed to me—small thanks to him
+for drawing the notice of the whole table upon me.</p>
+
+<p>I said, what was true enough, that I had never thought about the
+matter, but presumed it could not be wrong, as St. Peter and St. James
+at least had wives, as did some other of the apostles: and St. Paul
+expressly said that a Bishop was to be the husband of one wife. But, I
+added, that it did not seem to me desirable that clergymen should think
+of marrying till they were settled and know what they were likely to
+have to live on.</p>
+
+<p>Whereat my Lady smiled, and Mr. Penrose looked wondrously dashed. I am
+sure I can't guess why. I don't see why it should be anything to him.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>Friday, April 25.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Well, Betty has her dog at last, and a pretty, gentle little creature
+it is, just fit for her to play with. And I have something better
+brought by the same kind hand. Mr. Corbet himself brought the dog to
+Betty, as we were sitting in the gallery, whither we now go every
+morning when the sun shines.</p>
+
+<p>And after she had become a little quieted with her ecstasy, he turned
+to me.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a token for you also, Mistress Merton, if you will take it. My
+mother sends you this box, as an Easter gift."</p>
+
+<p>I took it, of course, with due thanks.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, open it," said he: "the best part is within."</p>
+
+<p>So I opened it, and there lay two letters—real goodly-sized letters—one
+in Dick's hand, the other I did not know. Mr. Corbet explained to me
+that his mother had brought the one from London, and the other had been
+sent in a packet of Mr. Carey's to his friend in Exeter. I could hardly
+believe my eyes, and I am afraid my thanks were clumsily expressed.
+However, Mr. Corbet appeared satisfied, and, saying he knew I wished to
+read them, he withdrew.</p>
+
+<p>I had hardly time for more than a glance at them through the day, but
+I have feasted on them this night to my heart's content. One is from
+Dick, as I said; the other from my Aunt Willson, enclosing two gold
+pieces, and telling me that she had made the acquaintance of Mistress
+Corbet in London, who had kindly offered to carry a parcel for her:
+so she sent me a piece of fine lawn for kerchiefs and aprons, with
+some laces and other small matters. 'Tis a kindly letter, full of good
+counsel and sympathy, somewhat roughly expressed, as is Aunt Willson's
+fashion. She says, in conclusion: "Remember, child, to keep your place.
+Every man, woman and child is respectable in his own place, whatever
+that may be, for the time."</p>
+
+<p>Felicia also sends a note, written in rather a mournful strain. I
+can see that she has found trouble already, and I dare say she and
+aunt have had more than one battle. She warns me against expecting
+happiness in this world, as that is the lot of but few—certainly never
+of the dependent and the poor. But I don't know that. I am both poor
+and dependent, and I am reasonably happy—or should be, only for some
+things which have naught to do with my condition in life. As for poor
+Felicia, I don't believe her condition makes so much difference with
+her. She always makes me think of a speech of one of the old almswomen
+at Saintswell, about her daughter-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman had been saying somewhat about her daughter's fretting,
+when my mother remarked, "Ah, well, Goody, I would not disturb myself
+about the matter. You know poor Molly's way—if she had no trouble in
+the world, she would make it."</p>
+
+<p>"Mek it!" cried the old dame, in her shrill voice. "Mek it, madam—she'd
+buy it!"</p>
+
+<p>Dick's letter is like himself—grave beyond his years, full of kindness
+and of a certain kind of humor too. He tells me a great deal of news
+about home matters, as that mother is well and seems much more cheerful
+than she did in the Rectory, and that she has taken to working in the
+garden. The twins and Jacky are doing well in school, and Jacky is
+much less forward and pert. I can guess why. He says Mr. Carey is much
+liked already in the parish, and is especially kind to the poor women
+at the almshouses, though he had a great argument with Dame Higgins
+on the claims of the Romish church. My father would never argue with
+her. He used to say 'twas a case of "invincible ignorance," and there
+was no use in fretting the poor old body, who, I verily believe, never
+remembers that she is a papist unless somebody puts her in mind of it.
+However, this dispute did not end in a quarrel, so it does not matter.</p>
+
+<p>Dick is getting on with his studies, and says his master is very kind
+in giving him time to read; so that he feels doubly bound to serve him
+faithfully. He says Master Smith's shop is a kind of rendezvous for all
+the learned men in Chester, and that the Bishop himself sometimes drops
+in to hear the news. He says, too, what I am very sorry to hear, that
+public affairs grow more and more disturbed, and that this attempt of
+the Archbishop's to revive the book of Sunday sports, put forth by King
+James, will cause great divisions among the clergy.</p>
+
+<p>Dick's letter closes with a gentle admonition to remember Goody Crump's
+motto: "'Tis all in the day's work."</p>
+
+<p>Ah, but then, if one cannot do one's day's work—if the more one tries,
+the more hopeless it seems—what then?</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>April 27.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima is going up to London to visit her cousin, who is to be
+married soon. She leaves next week. I should like to send a letter by
+her to Aunt Willson, but I don't like to take the liberty of asking her.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady again gave me leave to walk to the village to church, saying
+that she would herself remain with Lady Betty. She is wondrously kind
+to me, and seems altogether satisfied with the way that I manage the
+child. Well, I was very glad to go, and enjoyed my walk, as usual,
+pleasing myself with the thought that I should hear good Doctor
+Parnell. When, lo and behold, I found, as I entered the church, that
+the Doctor was gone away, and Mr. Penrose was to preach. I could not
+help feeling vexed and disappointed. His sermon was on the text about
+the strait gate and narrow way, and he drew a wonderful picture of the
+difficulties of the way and the gate, assuring us that even a life-long
+devotion, and that of the most austere, would hardly be enough to win
+an entrance.</p>
+
+<p>Dick used to say that his religion made him happy, but I can't see how
+any one is to be happy, according to Mr. Penrose—working so hard, with
+all our failings noted and set down against us, and, hanging over all,
+the fear of final failure and its dreadful consequences. Yet, if it
+is true, of course one ought to know it. I must say it makes me very
+wretched, and I don't know what to do. My temper is so warm and my
+feelings so quick, that I am always saying and doing what I wish unsaid
+and undone; and sometimes, the more I try, the worse it seems to be
+with me. The very effort makes me feel fretful and impatient.</p>
+
+<p>I don't believe Mr. Corbet agrees with Mr. Penrose in his notions. I
+saw him several times glance at his mother, and slightly shake his
+head. Mrs. Corbet is a beautiful old lady—I think the most beautiful I
+ever saw. She must be past sixty a good deal, yet her eyes are bright
+and clear, and her hair unchanged. To be sure, it is so nearly silver
+in its natural color that a few gray threads would not show. She seems
+quite feeble, and, indeed, Mrs. Judith told me she had never been
+really well since the time of the riot, when she was struck down by a
+stone and otherwise maltreated. She spoke to me kindly, and said she
+would send me the parcel she had brought from my aunt, or perhaps bring
+it to me, as she meant to come to the Great House before long.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Penrose came up with me as I was hurrying home, and asked me why I
+walked so fast? I told him I was in haste to return to Lady Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"The child seems to love you very much," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"And I love her," I returned. "Nobody could help it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yet you must find your life somewhat irksome," he went on to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all!" I answered. "Why should I? 'Love makes easy service,'
+and besides she really gives me very little trouble, considering all
+her misfortunes. I knew what I was undertaking when I came, and it
+has not been so hard as I expected. Every one is kind to me, my Lady
+especially, and as for the rest, why it does not signify. ''Tis all in
+the day's work.'"</p>
+
+<p>"My lady is kind to every one, I think," said Mr. Penrose, to which I
+agreed. "'Tis a pity she has been so unfortunate with her children. If
+the next child should prove a girl, or should not live, Mr. Corbet will
+come to be lord of all."</p>
+
+<p>"So I suppose," said I, "but we will hope for better things."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you would not wish it?" he said, looking at me.</p>
+
+<p>"Wish what?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"That Mr. Corbet should be lord of all!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not!" I answered. "Why should I? Mr. Corbet is well enough
+off; beside that he is nothing to me, and my Lord and Lady have been
+my very good friends. I don't understand you at all—and it seems to me
+that you do not understand yourself, very well!"</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merton, if I have offended you," was all his
+answer. Then, after a pause, "I suppose you were very much disappointed
+at seeing me in Doctor Parnell's pulpit?"</p>
+
+<p>What could I say? I was disappointed, but I would not tell him so. I
+said I was surprised, as I did not know that the Doctor was away.</p>
+
+<p>So then we walked the rest of the way in silence. It seems we never can
+meet peaceably. I wanted to talk to him about his sermon, but of course
+I could not, after that. I do think he is very odd.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>Monday, 28.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima has herself offered to carry a letter to my aunt, so I have
+written one to her, and one to Felicia—the latter as kind as I could
+make it. I am certainly glad that she has gone away, but yet I can see,
+now that we are separated, that I was often to blame in our quarrels.</p>
+
+<p>After I had finished my letters, I went to carry them to Lady Jemima's
+room, where I had never been before. It is very bare and plain—more
+so than mine—and looks, I fancy, like a nun's cell. She has several
+religious pictures, and many books of devotion, but none other, that
+I saw. Her bed looked hard, and as if it had very little covering
+upon it, and there was not even a rug by the bedside. Lady Jemima was
+looking over a great basket of work, not tapestry work, or any such
+thing, but coarse garments of various kinds. She made me welcome, and
+bade me sit down.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you busy about with your needle?" said she.</p>
+
+<p>I told her (what I forgot to mention in the right place) that I was
+making some clothes for the twins of the poor fisherman's widow down at
+the Cove, and that Lady Betty was helping me about them—adding that I
+was at work on a christening frock, for which my Lady had given me the
+material. She seemed pleased, but when I added that I liked the work
+because it made me think of home, she said, decidedly:</p>
+
+<p>"That is not a proper motive, child! You should do it because it is
+right, and because our Lord has commanded it—not because it gives you
+pleasure!"</p>
+
+<p>"But suppose it gives me pleasure to do what is right, my Lady?" said
+I. "Am I therefore to leave it off?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is a quibble!" said she, though I am sure I did not mean it so.
+"One must be arrived at a great degree of saintship to take pleasure in
+doing right because it is right. And if we only delight in it because
+of some pleasant remembrance, or pride in our own skill, there is no
+merit in it, whatever."</p>
+
+<p>Now I had never once thought of any merit in connection with my work
+for Mary Hawtree's twins. I know the babes needed the garments, and I
+thought, beside, that it would make a good healthy interest for poor
+Betty. However, the more I say, the less Lady Jemima understands me, so
+I held my peace.</p>
+
+<p>"I had hoped to leave you this work of mine to finish," continued Lady
+Jemima, "but you seem to have your hands full already. Do you think you
+could find time?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fear not, my Lady," I answered, after a little consideration.
+"You see the most of my time must be given, to Lady Betty, either in
+teaching or amusing her."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, but have you no time given you for recreation or devotion?"
+I told her that I had an hour in the morning and another in the
+evening, beside what I could gain by rising early.</p>
+
+<p>"And cannot you devote some of this time to the service of the poor?
+How can you hope for heaven, if you cannot make such a little sacrifice
+as this—or what would you do if you were called upon to give up
+everything for His sake?"</p>
+
+<p>Well, it ended with my promising to see what I could do, and taking
+the great basket to my room, where it stands now, and as I look at it,
+seems to reproach me for wasting so much time over my journal.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>May 1.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>We have done great things to-day. Lady Betty has really been out of
+doors.</p>
+
+<p>The way of it was this. My Lord and Lady, Mr. Penrose, and about all
+the household except Lady Betty and myself, had gone down to the
+village to see the May games on the Green. Mary would have had me go
+and let her stay, and Anne afterwards made the same offer, but I would
+not hear of it. I knew that Mary and her sweetheart would both be
+disappointed. And I don't like to leave Anne with Lady Betty; she is
+such a gossip, and fills the child's head with all sorts of unwholesome
+stuff. So I stayed at home, right willingly, for I don't feel in
+spirits for any such follies.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty was sitting at the window in the long gallery, and I by her,
+both of us feeling rather silent and doleful, when the door opened
+and the little dog jumped from Lady Betty's lap and ran barking and
+frisking to meet Mr. Corbet.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Cousin Walter!" said Betty. "I thought you would be at the May
+games?"</p>
+
+<p>"And I thought I would come to see my little lady!" he returned,
+kissing her. "Mistress Merton, the air is very warm, and the sun is
+like June. Could we not, think you, carry Lady Betty down to the garden
+and let her see a little what the world is like on a May-day?"</p>
+
+<p>It was just what I had been wishing to do, but I hesitated, because my
+Lady was away. However, I could not withstand my child's pleading, so I
+wrapped her in a shawl and hood of my own, and took down some cushions
+and cloaks, while Mr. Corbet brought Betty in his strong arms, and set
+her on the garden seat. I never saw any poor child so delighted as she
+was. She had not been out of doors in so long that 'twas like fairy
+land to her.</p>
+
+<p>After sitting in the garden a while, Mr. Corbet proposed to carry her
+in the woods, and that was still more wonderful. We found a safe seat
+on the dry grassy root of an old tree, and I sat down by her, while
+the little dog ran hither and hither, as well-pleased as his mistress.
+Mr. Corbet exerted himself to entertain Betty, telling her stories,
+bringing her flowers, and pointing out various things to her notice. I
+dared not leave her stay too long this first time. And though she was
+unwilling at first to go in, she gave up very pleasantly at the last.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that's my brave, good little maid!" said Mr. Corbet, as she
+consented to go in. "You have worked wonders, Mrs. Merton. I was afraid
+of a scene."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't cry any more, now!" said Betty. "I am trying to be good, like
+my mother and Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>When I reported the matter to Lady Stanton, I thought she looked rather
+grave upon it. So I hastened to say, that I did not think Lady Betty
+had taken cold, and I was sorry if I had done wrong, but that the child
+had been so overjoyed at her cousin's offer, that I could not bear to
+disappoint her.</p>
+
+<p>"You have done no wrong, sweetheart!" said my Lady. "And I dare say
+nobody will be the worse, but we must not trouble Mr. Corbet. The next
+time, we will have John Footman carry her down."</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>May 9.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima is really gone, and Mr. Penrose with her. They travel in
+company with some friends from Exeter. She left on the fifth of the
+month, and is to be away four weeks, she says, at the very most. I am
+rather sorry I gave her the letter for Felicia. I somehow feel as if
+trouble would grow out of it. I don't know why, only that Felicia has
+been my great cause of trouble hitherto, and I doubt if she will be
+able to let slip a chance of saying something to my disadvantage. Aunt
+Willson will speak for me, that is one thing.</p>
+
+<p>Betty has been out every pleasant day, and I think the fresh air, the
+change, and exercise, really do her good. She has gained strength,
+appetite, and a little color, and Mary says she sleeps more quietly at
+night. She gets on finely with her reading, and wants to begin writing,
+but I put her off as yet. My Lady demurred a little at this, because
+Lady Betty is so very backward for a child of her age. But I told her I
+was sure it was best not to overcrowd her, but to better her health, if
+possible, first of all. And to this, she agreed.</p>
+
+<p>Betty herself is growing ambitious, and I now have to check her instead
+of urging her on, as at first. She is very much pleased at being
+godmother (by proxy, of course) to one of the twins for whom we have
+been working, and I have promised that the babes shall come up to see
+her when the mother is able to bring them. I have sometimes debated in
+my own mind, whether she ought not to be told of what is coming, but on
+the whole I do not think it best.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Corbet has been up at the Court, and made us quite a visit in the
+nursery. How any one could for one moment impute evil to her, I cannot
+guess. I should think the very sight of her face would be enough to
+banish suspicion, if one had entertained it. There is somewhat in her
+very presence so restful—I know not how else to express my meaning. I
+think if I were ill, or in trouble, I should feel it a comfort only to
+have her in the room, if she did not say a word. She looked with a real
+interest at Lady Betty's sewing, commended its neatness, and said she
+was glad to see her busy about such work.</p>
+
+<p>"It was all Margaret's doing," said Lady Betty, frankly. (She will
+always call me Margaret, even before strangers, and I have begged my
+Lady to let her have her own way.) "I should never have thought of it
+only for Margaret. And oh, cousin, it is so nice! So much nicer to be
+thinking about my little god-daughter, and what I can do for her, than
+to think only of what I want myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear heart!" said Mrs. Corbet. "It is always much pleasanter and
+happier, even for oneself, to think of the wants and pleasures of
+others, than to dwell forever on one's own. That would be the worst
+punishment that could befall any one in this world or the next. Do you
+not think so, Mistress Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do, indeed!" said I. "And yet—" and here I stopped, fearing lest I
+should be thought forward.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet—" she repeated, with that sweet, sudden smile of hers.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet we are told to think about ourselves in some things!" I went
+on to say. "Mr. Penrose says we are to watch ourselves constantly, lest
+we fall into sin, and we must think about ourselves, to do that—or, so
+it seems to me. You heard him last Sunday, madam?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did," replied Mrs. Corbet.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," I said, marvelling at my own boldness, but something seemed to
+draw me on—"if life is what he said—just one constant struggle with
+the power of evil within and without—if we are in every way to keep
+under and bring into subjection our bodies by fasting and penance, and
+our souls by mourning and mortification, with but a doubtful hope of
+succeeding after all—what can we do but think about ourselves?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear heart!" said Mrs. Corbet, again. (She uses these Devonshire
+phrases so sweetly and tenderly.) "Dear heart, do not you go to making
+bricks in Egypt with Mr. Penrose—albeit I think him an earnest,
+painstaking young man, and I believe he will yet work himself right.
+But, my child, remember who it was that bade us take no thought for the
+morrow, and commit thy soul to His keeping. Believe me, when I tell
+thee, that one good earnest look at thy Lord, will do more to keep thee
+in the right way than gazing on thyself forever."</p>
+
+<p>How I did want to go on with the conversation! But at that moment my
+Lady came in, and carried away her cousin to see something in her own
+room—baby things, I suppose.</p>
+
+<p>I know how to work satin stitch wondrous nicely, and I have a great
+desire to work something pretty for my Lady, but here is this great
+basket of Lady Jemima's staring me in the face all the time. I wish I
+had refused to have anything to do with it at first. And yet, according
+to her, there would be no merit in doing the robe for my Lady, because
+it would be a pleasure from beginning to end. I am sure it is no
+pleasure to work on these garments. They are so coarse that I think
+it will be no mean penance to wear them, and I must say, marvellous
+ill-contrived. I have neglected my journal and my recreation to work at
+them, but I am sure I am no better for the sacrifice, as yet. I wish
+I could talk the matter over with Mrs. Corbet. I feel as if she might
+shed some light on my difficulties.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Corbet brought me my parcel from Aunt Willson. The lawn she sent—a
+whole piece—is beautifully fine and sheen, and would be just the thing
+for my embroidery. There are besides some dressing things, cords and
+laces, pins, needles, bodkins, and a nice housewife, stored with
+abundance of thread of different kinds, and a new book for my journal,
+with some other papers. I wonder, by the by, how Aunt Willson knew I
+kept a journal? I suppose Felicia must have told her.</p>
+
+<p>Felicia herself sends me a kerchief and apron, of fine stuff, indeed,
+and well made, but "green," just the color she knows I never can wear,
+even if I were not in mourning.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>May 12.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Judith says Mr. Corbet is going southward on a journey, and is
+expecting to be gone some time. His mother, methinks, will be lonely
+without him. Of course I shall not see him before he goes, unless he
+comes to say good-by to Betty. I have not told her that he is going.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know how it is, but I do not feel like myself for a few days
+past. I feel fretful, and the least thing troubles me, and I do not
+sleep well, for the first time in my life. My head aches and feels
+heavy, so that I find it hard to exert myself to amuse Lady Betty,
+and I am glad that she has her dog to play with. I think I miss my
+afternoon walks, which I have given up to sew on the work which Lady
+Jemima left me.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>May 13.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet did come to bid Betty good-by, after all. More than that, he
+told me that he meant to go and see Mr. Carey, and most kindly offered
+to take charge of a packet for me; so I have written two long letters
+to mother and Dick. How pleasant it seems to think that he will see
+them all, and can tell me how dear mother is looking.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>May 16.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I have finished all the work that Lady Jemima left me, and oh, how glad
+I am that it is done! I am afraid it has done me no good, however,
+because I have disliked it so much. And more than that, I am afraid
+that the poor women at the almshouses, for whom it is intended, will
+not be so very much the better either, for the garments are not
+well-fashioned, and though I did my best to reform their shapes, I did
+not succeed very well. I asked my Lady if I might go and carry the
+basket to the almshouses.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>I told her about it.</p>
+
+<p>"And when have you found time to do so much?" she asked, looking not
+very well-pleased.</p>
+
+<p>I hastened to tell her that I had sewed during my hours of recreation,
+instead of going out to walk, but she was no better satisfied than
+before.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were not looking well," said she. "Lady Jemima should
+have had more consideration than to lay such a task upon you.
+Henceforth, Margaret, remember that I wish you to walk every day when
+the weather is pleasant. You will fulfil no duty to anybody by making
+yourself sick."</p>
+
+<p>"I did miss my walks very much, my Lady," I said, "but my Lady Jemima
+wished the work finished, and she said I ought to deny myself daily."</p>
+
+<p>I stopped, for I did not wish to repeat all that Lady Jemima had said.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well!" said she. "My sister meant well, no doubt, and so did
+you. But remember, sweetheart, that your time and your health are not
+altogether your own, and that you must first do your duty in the state
+of life to which you have been called. I am not angry with you, child,
+so you need not look so downcast."</p>
+
+<p>"But, mamma!" said Betty, anxiously, "Margaret and I want to make
+some more clothes for the twins, and for their mother. You don't mind
+that, do you? I do love it so much, and I am learning to work nicely.
+Margaret says so."</p>
+
+<p>"O no. That is quite another matter. Let me see this same work."</p>
+
+<p>So I brought out our basket, and Lady Betty displayed all we had
+accomplished between us, scrupulously avoiding the taking any more than
+her due share of credit. She is a wonderful truthful child. My Lady
+examined the work, and seemed much pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"You have done wonders," said she. "But whose work is this pretty
+christening dress, for so I presume it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is Margaret's!" said Lady Betty, as proud of the modest little
+row of satin stitch, as if she had done it herself. "Is it not pretty,
+mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very pretty, indeed!" replied my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret knows how to do all kinds of pretty work," continued Betty.
+"She can work tapestry, and make knotting, and knit!"</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret is a wonderful person, no doubt. I think we are much obliged
+to good Mr. Carey for bringing her to us. You must ask her to teach you
+some of these feats of hers," said my Lady. "Have you any of your work
+by you, Margaret? I should like to see it."</p>
+
+<p>I had some few little pieces, so I brought them, and my Lady looked
+them over, and was pleased so to commend them, that I found courage
+to make my request, which was that she would let me work something
+for the baby that is coming, on the fine linen that my aunt sent me.
+She consented, on condition that I should not abridge my hours of
+recreation.</p>
+
+<p>"But how shall you manage about Betty?" she asked. "I suppose she knows
+naught of the matter, and she will be all curiosity about your work."</p>
+
+<p>"If I might venture to speak my thoughts about that, my Lady," said I,
+and then stopped, fearing I was too bold.</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" said my Lady. "Speak out. Your thoughts are usually to the
+purpose, I find."</p>
+
+<p>Thus encouraged, I did venture to tell her what I was thinking
+of—namely, that she should tell Lady Betty herself.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, my Lady, she is sure to find out in some way. Lady Jemima is
+very outspoken, and the maids will talk: and if she learns the story
+from you, she will be less likely to take up any wrong impression, or
+to ask inconvenient questions. My mother did so by me when Jacky and
+Phillis were born, and she said she thought it the best way."</p>
+
+<p>"Your mother has made a wondrous wise maid of you!" said my Lady. "I
+wonder she could make up her mind to part with so notable a daughter."</p>
+
+<p>I told her that Dick and myself, being the eldest children, were
+obliged to do what we could to help the others, dear father's death
+having left us poor, and besides, I said, people at home did not give
+me credit for so much wisdom.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed and said something about a prophet being without honor in
+his own country. And then bidding me take a good long walk, and enjoy
+myself in the fresh air, she went back to Lady Betty, and I took my
+bundle of work and went down to the almshouses.</p>
+
+<p>They are pretty cottages enough, five in number, and stand on the
+village green, near the church-yard. I thought the thatch would be
+the better of mending in some places, but, on the whole, they looked
+comfortable, though not so nice as ours at Saintswell. I wonder, by the
+way, whether Mr. Carey will hold Sir Peter Beaumont up to the point of
+keeping them in repair, as my father used to do.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I knocked at the door of the first one, and a voice said, "Come
+in!" so I entered.</p>
+
+<p>There, in her bee-hive chair, sat an old woman look so like dear Dame
+Crump that I could have kissed her. She made me most civilly welcome,
+and asked me to sit down. I told her that I had brought her a cap and
+petticoat, which Lady Jemima had left for her. She smiled, and said my
+Lady was very kind, but I can't say she showed any great enthusiasm
+about the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"You will be the young lady now to take care of my Lady Betty," she
+said, presently.</p>
+
+<p>I told her I was.</p>
+
+<p>"And how is she, poor dear maid? No better, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>I told her I thought Lady Betty was stronger than when I came, adding
+that I believed the fresh air did her good.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt, no doubt!" said Dame Yeo, for such I found was her name.
+"Fresh air and good food are better than doctor stuff. You are not from
+this part of the country, Madam, or so I judge, from your speech?"</p>
+
+<p>I told her I was from a little village not far from Chester.</p>
+
+<p>"Chester!" said she, musingly. "I had a sister that married and went
+to live somewhere near Chester. Her husband was a sailor, and when he
+went away on his long voyage to the Indies, Madge went to live with
+his old mother. She was much older than I. I doubt she is not alive. A
+fine stout lad was Thomas Crump, and Madge was a handsome maid as ever
+I saw. But she would be near a hundred an' she were living. I am past
+eighty, myself."</p>
+
+<p>The resemblance to my old friend was explained.</p>
+
+<p>"I can give you news of your sister, I believe," said I. "She is still
+living in one of the almshouses in Saintswell, and though old, as you
+say, is well and cheerful. I saw her the day before I left home."</p>
+
+<p>Never was any poor old creature so pleased. The tears ran down her
+withered cheeks, as she thanked God again and again for sending her
+news of her sister. I told her all I could think of about Dame Crump,
+and when I had stayed as long as I could, I rose to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Come again, my dear, tender soul! My dear young lady, now do, wont-e?"
+she said, detaining me with a trembling hand. "It does seem to do me
+good to see you!"</p>
+
+<p>"And I am sure you have done me good," I answered. "It is so pleasant
+to talk of home."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, that it is—that it is!" replied Goody Yeo. "There is no place
+like home, my maid; now is there? There, bless thy heart! I didn't mean
+to make thee cry. Don't-e cry, now, but keep up a good heart, dear
+soul, and when you are downcast, think about the home above. We shall
+all meet there, you know!"</p>
+
+<p>"Can I do aught for you, Goody, before I go?" I asked, brushing the
+drops from my eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"If it wouldn't be asking too much, if you would just take the Bible
+and read me a psalm and chapter. My eyes are not worth much nowadays,
+though I do spell out a verse now and then."</p>
+
+<p>"What shall I read?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, the psalms for the day, first of all."</p>
+
+<p>So I read the psalms for the day, the old woman listening devoutly,
+her wrinkled face full of peace. Then, at her request, I read the last
+chapter of Revelations.</p>
+
+<p>"And to think that is all ours—our purchased inheritance!" said Goody,
+when I had done. "Truly we need not murmur over the hardships of the
+way when it leads to such a home at last."</p>
+
+<p>The old woman does not seem to have any of those doubts which Mr.
+Penrose thinks we ought to have, to keep us humble. I would have liked
+to talk farther with her, but I had stayed too long already. I see the
+cushion of her chair is worn out. I will beg some pretty piece of my
+Lady, and when Betty has finished her present work, she shall make a
+patchwork cushion for Goody Yeo.</p>
+
+<p>Goody Hollins was in a very different mood. The world was out of joint,
+according to her. Nobody cared for her. Parson never came to see her,
+and Mistress Parnell was always corsetting up Goody Yeo and old Master
+Dean with good things, while she had nothing to eat, and nobody would
+care if she starved.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody don't take no care of we!" were her last words. "We is naught
+but poor old folk that they just want to get rid of!"</p>
+
+<p>She was deaf as a post, so there was no use in talking to her.</p>
+
+<p>I found Gaffer Dean, a cheerful old man, sitting out in the sun, and
+as chirruping as an old cricket. I would have liked to stay longer and
+chat with him, but the afternoon was wearing away, and I wanted to call
+at the Rectory.</p>
+
+<p>Mistress Parnell made me welcome, as usual. I told her I had been at
+the almshouses, and she laughed at my account of Goody Hollins.</p>
+
+<p>"I carried her a jug of broth this very day!" said she. "But the poor
+old soul is sadly crabbed and cankered."</p>
+
+<p>"She seems to think that every one neglects her," I said: "even her own
+daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"Her daughter has as much as she can do and more to take care of her
+own," said Mistress Parnell. "Besides that, she is and always was a sad
+slattern. Even Mistress Ellenwood could make naught of Peggy Hollins."
+And then she told me a great deal which I have not time to set down
+here, about Mistress Ellenwood the schoolmistress, and all the good she
+had done.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>May 18.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I have begun my work for my Lady, which I think will be very pretty.
+The lawn is so fine it shows the embroidery to great advantage, and the
+thread Aunt Willson sent with it is just the thing.</p>
+
+<p>Betty has heard the secret, and seems to take it kindly. She says
+little, but I see that she is turning the matter over in her own mind,
+in her silent fashion. Last night, after I had put her to bed, she
+asked me:</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, do you think the baby will love me, when it comes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, if you are a good kind sister!" I answered.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't think mamma will leave off loving me then, do you,
+Margaret?" she asked again, with a quivering lip.</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not," said I. "She will love you all the more, and if
+you are a good girl, and try to learn, you can be a great help to her
+by and by."</p>
+
+<p>This notion seemed to comfort her, and she lay down contented.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>May 30.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>This morning Lady Betty walked farther than she had ever done before.
+She is delighted with being out of doors, and it certainly does her
+good. The wild flowers, of which the wood is full, are an endless
+delight to her, and she is never weary of gathering them and observing
+them. This morning she saw a squirrel. The dog ran after it, and Betty
+was in a terrible taking lest he should hurt it, but it escaped easily
+enough, and sat on a branch, scolding us, at which the child was
+delighted.</p>
+
+<p>She is certainly stronger, and complains much less than she did,
+either because she really suffers less, or because she has more to
+think about, and so dwells the less on her own discomforts. She has
+not had a crying fit in a long time. I talk to her about all sorts of
+things—about the village and the poor people here and at home, and
+everything else I can think of to interest her. She was much delighted
+with my story of finding Dame Crump's sister in Goody Yeo, and in
+hearing of Gaffer Dean's jackdaw, which I forgot to mention in its
+place. She wished she could go down to see it. I wish she could. I
+wonder much whether she could learn to ride a donkey?</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>June 1.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Penrose is come back, but not Lady Jemima. He brought letters for
+my Lord and Lady from her, and one from Felicia to me—the most cordial
+I have ever had from her. Perhaps if we do not see each other for
+a year or two longer, we shall become quite intimate and friendly.
+Felicia, seems to have seen a good deal of Lady Jemima, and has much to
+say in her praise.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Penrose has brought down some beautiful furniture for the
+chapel—candlesticks, vestments, and what not, and he is busy arranging
+them in order. He would have had me help him, but I could not leave
+Lady Betty, who has been ailing for two or three days, and is so
+restless at night that I have taken turn about with Mary to stay with
+her. She seems to get no sleep unless some one is sitting by her. I
+almost fancy she is afraid.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>June 2.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I have found out what ails Lady Betty. Anne has been telling her ghost
+stories. I hardly ever let Anne stay with her. But Mary's mother-in-law
+that is to be, is sick, and she, like the good girl that she is, wants
+to take her share in nursing the old woman. Then old Brewster has
+also been ill, and my dear Lady has asked me to see that she had her
+medicine properly, and to attend to various little matters for her: so
+I have been much more away from my child than usual.</p>
+
+<p>Last night she was very restless, and started so at some strange sound,
+of which there are always plenty, that I asked her what was the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid!" she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Afraid of what?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>She would not tell me at first, but at last I coaxed her. Anne has told
+her I know not what tale of the ghost of a knight who walks in the
+long gallery. He is called the Halting Knight, because he had one leg
+shorter than the other, and Anne says that when any misfortune is about
+to happen to the family, he walks up and down all night, wringing his
+mailed hands, and tossing his arms over his head.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" exclaimed the child, clinging to me. "Don't you hear it? Oh,
+what if he be come to presage the death of my mother!"</p>
+
+<p>I certainly did hear something like a halting step: and at another time
+I might have been afraid myself. But I saw how necessary it was to
+soothe Betty, who was trembling all over.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear heart! That noise you hear is not the Halting Knight," said I.
+"I cannot tell you just what makes it, but very likely it is the wind
+knocking a branch of ivy against the wall. Do not think about such
+frightful things, but remember how you have asked God to take care of
+you, and think about the holy angels that he sends to have charge of
+us."</p>
+
+<p>Then I repeated the ninety-first psalm to her, and by degrees, she grew
+more composed.</p>
+
+<p>"So you don't think it is the Halting Knight?" said she, presently.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't," I answered: "and I will tell you why. If the knight
+was a good man when he was alive, and served God, I am sure he is in
+heaven, and that he would never care to come from that holy and happy
+place to walk up and down all night in the dark windy gallery. And if
+he is with wicked spirits, I am quite sure that God will not let him
+come out of prison to hurt them who put their trust in Him."</p>
+
+<p>So I soothed her to sleep, and the rest of the night she rested
+tranquilly. She has been better to-day, though not well enough to go
+out of doors, and I have tried in every way to keep her mind diverted.
+Poor thing, she has trouble enough, without any fanciful fears.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>June 4.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>My Lady asked me to-day some questions about my friends in London.</p>
+
+<p>I told her I had none except my aunt Willson and Felicia, who was
+also my aunt, though I had never called her so, we being brought up
+together, and so near of an age. I spoke warmly, as I felt, in praise
+of Aunt Willson, and told how nobly she had come forward to help us in
+our troubles.</p>
+
+<p>Then she asked me about Felicia. I hesitated, and then said, frankly:</p>
+
+<p>"To tell you the truth, my Lady, I would rather not talk of her. We
+were never good friends, and I am afraid I might say more than I ought."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well!" said my Lady. "I will not ask you any more questions.
+My sister seems to think highly of her, but she is apt to take sudden
+fancies, especially when people are of her own way of thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"Felicia must have changed a good deal if she is of Lady Jemima's way
+of thinking," said I. "But she can be very pleasant when she pleases,
+and she is very pretty. I hope she gets on well with my Aunt Willson. I
+hope she will not be discontented, and go back to mother again. I was
+so glad she went away before I did."</p>
+
+<p>"Now you have told me all I wished to know," said my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>Then laughing merrily at my discomfiture, she bade me not be
+disturbed—she should think none the less of me.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>June 8.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Penrose has finished all his decorations, and called me in to see
+them. There is a deal of gold lace and purple cloth, with silver-gilt
+candlesticks, and other trinkets, of which I do not even know the
+names. He would have me say how I liked it all.</p>
+
+<p>"Honestly?" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Honestly, of course!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>"Well then, to be plain with you, I like it not so well as before!"
+said I. "I think the old carven wood you have covered up much more
+beautiful than the embroidered cloth on it. And for the rest, I must
+say it puts me in mind of my little sister's baby-houses, or the Popish
+chapel my father once took me to see at my Lord Mountford's."</p>
+
+<p>"You are something of a Puritan, I see, as your cousin says," said Mr.
+Penrose.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't even know what a Puritan is," I answered, I am afraid rather
+too warmly for the place. "Felicia—I suppose it is she you mean by
+my cousin—used to call me a Puritan, because I did not like the East
+window in our church."</p>
+
+<p>"And why did you not like it?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Because there was painted thereon the image of Him of whom no image
+should be made," I answered. "I could not think it right. It seemed to
+me like blasphemy. I don't see anything wrong about these decorations
+of yours, but they seem to me not at all suitable for a church."</p>
+
+<p>"I am unfortunate in incurring your disapprobation," said he, stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>"You asked me, you know," said I. "I could but say what I think. I am
+sorry if I have hurt you!"</p>
+
+<p>"You have not hurt me—only as you always do hurt me," he answered, with
+such a strange quiver in his voice, that I looked at him in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>He turned away, however, and began arranging some of the drapery about
+the altar. In doing so, the fringe caught on one of the tall, heavy
+candlesticks.</p>
+
+<p>I saw that a fall was imminent, and sprang to save it, but I was too
+late. The candlestick fell, and as ill-luck would have it, struck me
+on the forehead, and the edge being sharp, made a pretty deep cut from
+which the blood flowed freely. I felt stunned and sick for a minute,
+but recovered myself, to see Mr. Penrose gazing at me with a face
+whiter than his band.</p>
+
+<p>"It is naught!" said I, pulling my kerchief to my forehead. "Don't look
+so frightened, but help me to find Mrs. Judith."</p>
+
+<p>For I was vexed at him, standing there as if rooted to the earth, never
+offering to help. It was rather unreasonable in me, too, but I do love
+folk to have their wits about them. He started, and recovered himself,
+and came forward to give me his arm.</p>
+
+<p>Well, at last I got to Mrs. Judith's room, narrowly missing meeting my
+Lady, which was what I dreaded above all things. Mrs. Judith knew what
+she was about, at any rate, plastered up my head and bathed my face,
+and then helped me to my room. She would have had me lie still the
+rest of the day, but I did not like to leave my child, and I have felt
+no inconvenience since, save a headache, and now and then a strange
+sickness.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>June 28.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I did not think, when I laid down my pen, that three weeks would pass
+before I took it up again.</p>
+
+<p>I felt the sickness coming over me again, and I suppose went to the
+window for air, for I was found senseless on the floor under the open
+casement, by Mrs. Judith, who, in her kindness, had come up before
+going to bed to see how I was. She called Mary and got me to bed, and
+for three or four days I was in considerable danger, it seems, but my
+good constitution and Mrs. Judith's nursing brought me through. I had
+no surgeon, for the nearest, who lives at Biddeford, had been called
+away. I was not sorry, for I did as well without him, and perhaps
+better.</p>
+
+<p>I have been sitting up now for a week, and to-day ventured out of my
+room into the long gallery, greatly to the delight of Lady Betty, who
+thinks I must be almost well. The dear child was as good as possible
+all the time I was at the worst, so Mary tells me, even stifling her
+sobs when she was told that she would make herself sick, and that would
+grieve Mistress Merton.</p>
+
+<p>Since I have been getting better, Mary has brought her in to see me
+every day, and she has spent hours, sitting in her chair, or lying on
+the bed beside me. At first I had hard work to persuade her to go out
+of doors without me, but at last she let old John carry her down, and
+Mary go with her. She brings me great nosegays of flowers every day, as
+well as long stories about the squirrels and the young birds, for now,
+as ever, she prefers the wood to the garden.</p>
+
+<p>Every one has been very kind to me since I was sick. Only I fancied
+Lady Jemima (who has been at home more than a week,) treated me rather
+coldly. She brought me letters from aunt and Felicia, the latter sweet
+as honey—rather too sweet, in fact. Felicia is not apt to be so loving,
+unless she meditates a bite, or a scratch at the least.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet has not yet returned, but his mother, who has been once to
+see me, tells me that she expects him in a few days. Oh, how I have
+longed and pined for home, and mother, since I have been sick! All the
+home-sickness I have felt before was as nothing to it. But I hope to
+get the better of this weakness when I am able to take up my work once
+more.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 1.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>As I was sitting in the gallery this morning, who should come in but
+Mr. Penrose, whom I had not seen before since that unlucky day in the
+chapel. He looked pale and wretched enough, and I felt sorry for him.</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to see you up once more," said he, with something of a
+tremor in his voice. "I little thought what would be the end, when I
+called you into the chapel. If you had died—"</p>
+
+<p>"You would doubtless have been much afflicted," said I, as he paused.
+"That would have been only natural, but even then, Mr. Penrose, you
+would have had no cause of self-reproach. Nobody would have been to
+blame—not even myself!"</p>
+
+<p>"I would never have entered the desk again!" said he. "I would have
+sought some solitude—there are no convents now to retire to—and have
+given my life to fasting and penance forever after."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you would have done a very wrong and foolish thing!" said I.
+"What if St. Paul had taken such a course? His crimes were committed
+of set purpose, yet did our Lord himself call him to the ministry, and
+that when he was upon the very errand of slaughter."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I ever thought of that," said he. "But you know
+Archbishop Abbot was deprived because he killed a man by accident when
+out hunting."</p>
+
+<p>"I always thought it a very hard measure to the poor old gentleman,"
+I said. "There was no malice in the act, and the archbishop did all
+in his power to make amends. My father was ever of the mind that if
+the Archbishop had been more of a courtier, his homicide would have
+troubled nobody."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Penrose looked a little grave upon this. I believe he thinks it
+little less than blasphemy to say a word against the present archbishop.</p>
+
+<p>"But you see I was not killed, nor anything like it!" I continued. "So
+you may put off your purpose of retirement a little while."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you feel quite yourself again?" he asked, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Why no, not altogether," I said. "I feel weak, and a little thing
+tires me, but I have no pain, and my head is quite clear. I had odd
+fancies while I was sick, Mr. Penrose. I remember them only dreamily,
+however, and hope to forget them altogether soon. I feel that I have
+much to be thankful for, both because my life was spared, and also for
+the care and kindness of all about me. It is not every poor girl, alone
+and among strangers, who meets with such friends."</p>
+
+<p>"If Margaret had died, I would have died too!" said Betty, who had
+hitherto taken no part in the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"And so would I!" said Mr. Penrose.</p>
+
+<p>But Betty was not pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"She is not 'your' Margaret!" she retorted, with the pertness which I
+have not yet been able to cure: "I don't see any call that 'you' would
+have to die!"</p>
+
+<p>I could not help smiling. But seeing Mr. Penrose's color rise, I chid
+Lady Betty, and bade her ask pardon, which she did readily enough, only
+rather spoiling it by repeating very decidedly, "But she is 'not' your
+Margaret, Mr. Penrose! She is mine!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wont have any quarrelling about me!" said I. "Come, my dear, we have
+sat here long enough, and here comes Mary to say that our dinner is
+ready."</p>
+
+<p>For since I have begun to sit up and move about a little, I have taken
+my meals with my child, an arrangement which she likes marvellously.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we not see you at the table soon?" asked Mr. Penrose.</p>
+
+<p>"As soon as Mrs. Judith permits," I said. "I am at her orders, you
+know. Thank you, Mr. Penrose, for coming to see me."</p>
+
+<p>"Can I do nothing for you?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one thing, if I may venture to ask so much," I said. "Would
+you find time to go down and read a chapter now and then to Dame Yeo
+at the almshouse. I promised to do so, but she must think me strangely
+forgetful."</p>
+
+<p>To my surprise, he hesitated. "I would gladly do so," he answered,
+presently, "but I fear Doctor Parnell would think it an undue
+interference."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe he would," said I. "He is a kind old man, and I
+believe he would be pleased with anything that pleased the old folks.
+At all events, you could speak to him about the matter. But do not do
+anything about it, if it is like to make any trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I will go!" said he.</p>
+
+<p>And, I rather think he did go this very afternoon.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 3.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I felt so much better this morning that I coaxed Mrs. Judith to let me
+go out with Lady Betty into the wood. The day was lovely, and the whole
+air seemed full of the scent of hay. Lady Betty, who walks with more
+and more ease every day, ran about quite a good deal, and gathered wild
+flowers for me. Her little dog has done her a great deal of good in
+this respect, for she goes after him and joins in his play.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady came out while we were in the wood and sat down by me. After
+looking at, and highly commending my work, which I had brought in my
+hand, and kindly telling me not to tire my eyes over it, she began to
+talk about Lady Betty, who was at a distance gathering some plants
+which had taken her fancy.</p>
+
+<p>"You have done wonders during the little time you have had her in
+charge," said she. "I could never have thought to see her move so
+freely—so much like another child. If she had gained naught in
+learning, I should owe you a debt of gratitude for all you have down
+for her health."</p>
+
+<p>"You owe me nothing, my Lady," I said. "I have but done my duty, and I
+would gladly have done ten times more. It is I who am in your debt for
+all your goodness to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, we wont dispute the matter!" said she, with, her sweet,
+sad smile. "If only you can stay for a year or two—but I fear that will
+hardly be."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know why not, my Lady," I ventured to say. "Unless you tire of
+me, or I misbehave myself, which I trust not to do; I see no reason why
+I should not stay with Lady Betty as long as she needs a governess."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you have yourself no desire to change your condition—to be
+anywhere else?" she asked, looking at me in a searching way, with her
+great beautiful eyes, as if she would read my inmost thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"My Lady," said I, "I will tell you the simple truth. I would rather
+be at home with my mother, even in her little cottage, than here in
+Stanton Court, though here I am lodged and waited upon as I never was
+before. But as for any other place, I speak but simple sooth in saying,
+that since I cannot be at home, I would rather be here than anywhere
+else in the world. Every one is kind to me, and I love my Lady Betty
+dearly. I have no wish to change my condition."</p>
+
+<p>"It is well said, sweetheart, and as much as I could ask," said my dear
+Lady. "I could not in reason ask you to prefer any other place to home.
+But suppose some one comes and proffers you a house and home of your
+own, what then?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is too large a supposition for my poor imagination!" said I,
+smiling. "A poor plain parson's daughter, without beauty or dower,
+is not like to attract many suitors, I fancy. Besides, if I were as
+beautiful as Mrs. Corbet, or the Fair Dame herself, I see nobody."</p>
+
+<p>"You are like the princess in the fairy-tale, shut up in an enchanted
+castle!" said my Lady. "But you forget Mr. Penrose."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he is nobody—so far as that goes!" said I. "He looks down upon me
+as an ignoramus and person of no family, and besides, he thinks me a
+Puritan!"</p>
+
+<p>"What is a Puritan?" asked Lady Betty, coming up and leaning on my lap.</p>
+
+<p>"That is more than I can tell you, my dear," said I; "unless it is a
+person who likes clear glass better than painted windows, and carven
+oak better than scarlet cloth and embroidery."</p>
+
+<p>My Lady laughed and bade Betty see if she could find a clover with four
+leaves. When the child had set seriously about her search, she said to
+me, taking my hand, and speaking very earnestly:</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, will you make me a promise?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I can, my Lady," I answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Promise me then that you will not leave Betty for at least a year,
+whether I live or die. In the latter case, I do believe the child would
+not be long behind her mother—certainly not,—" she said, with a strange
+look in her face—"if, as some say, the dead mother hath the power of
+calling the child after her. But promise me that you will remain with
+my child for at least a year."</p>
+
+<p>"I promise you, my Lady!" said I, as soon as I could speak. "I will not
+leave Lady Betty for a year, at least, unless I am sent away."</p>
+
+<p>"You may not find things always as pleasant as now," she went on to
+say. "My sister-in-law sometimes takes strange fancies, and she has
+great influence with her brother, though they are so very different.
+But promise me that you will not leave my child for at least a year,
+even," she added, "if the fairy prince should come for you!"</p>
+
+<p>"The fairy prince is not likely to come, unless, indeed, my poor dear
+father's ship should come home at last," said I. "But if he does, I
+shall send him about his business, my dear Lady. I am so glad you are
+pleased with me," said I, with a silly gush of tears, which, however, I
+could not help. I suppose because I am so weak still.</p>
+
+<p>She smoothed my hair with her lovely hands, and said many kind things,
+and I recovered myself presently, and begged her pardon.</p>
+
+<p>"Tut tut," said she, lightly. "Tell me about your father's ship."</p>
+
+<p>So I told her all about it, and how we feared it had been a total loss,
+and how my brother had been obliged to change all his plans, with much
+more—too much, I fear, for it was so pleasant to talk of home, and she
+listened so kindly, that I hardly knew when to leave off.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 6.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet has come back, and has brought me a great packet of letters
+and little keepsakes from the friends at home—so large a parcel that I
+fear it must have been inconvenient to him, but he made light of it.</p>
+
+<p>Betty and I were out in the woods, as usual, she running about—for she
+can really run a little now—and I very busy with my pretty work, when
+Mr. Corbet came out of the side door and down to where I was sitting.
+Betty gave a cry of joy at seeing her cousin, whom she loves dearly,
+and with some reason, for he is ever kind and gentle with her. He
+caressed her, and gave her a pretty box of comfits he had brought, and
+then turned smiling to me.</p>
+
+<p>"And Mrs. Merton must also have her box of comfits," said he, putting
+my precious packet into my hand. "I am sure to bring my welcome, since
+I come from Chester and Saintswell."</p>
+
+<p>"And did you really go to Saintswell?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I really did," he answered. "I stayed a week with my good friend,
+Mr. Carey, and made acquaintance with your honored mother, and with
+Master Jacky and his sisters, as well as with many other folk, old and
+young, gentle and simple. I should have been much flattered by their
+attentions, only I was forced to lay all to the account of my knowing
+the last news of dear Mistress Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>I asked him many questions, as to dear mother's looks, and I know not
+what all, some of which I doubt he thought silly enough. I know I asked
+him whether the twins were grown.</p>
+
+<p>"That I can hardly tell you, as I never saw them before. But 'tis not
+likely that they have changed a great deal in three months," said he.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't think that I have been hardly three months away," said I. "It
+seems so long since I have seen any of them." And then I began with new
+questions, which he answered patiently enough.</p>
+
+<p>He told me that Mr. Carey seemed to be much liked by all his people,
+though some of them thought his preaching not so plain and simple as my
+father's. He had even been taken by the twins to see the almshouses,
+and had been able to give dear old Goody Crump news of her sister, and
+of other folk she had known. The old woman had sent me her blessing,
+as had also Dame Higgins; the latter hoping that I had safely kept her
+precious medal.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall have to begin watching you as a dangerous person," said he,
+smiling: "since you deal with such trinkets as medals blessed by the
+pope."</p>
+
+<p>"I could not well refuse the old woman's gift," I said. "'Tis but a bit
+of tarnished silver, when all is said. And as to the pope's blessing,
+I fancy, as Goody Higgins said, if it does no good, it can do no great
+harm—especially as I keep it with the stone old Esther gave me to keep
+off the witches."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you believe in witches, Mrs. Merton?" asked Mr. Corbet.</p>
+
+<p>"I never saw one," I answered. "We were happy in having none of those
+fearful troubles in our parish, which were so rife in this part of the
+country some years ago, and all our old women are very harmless folk.
+I believe Esther has her doubts of Goody Higgins, but that is only
+because the poor thing, being a papist, never goes to church. No, I
+don't think I have much belief in witches."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor in ghosts?" he asked, smiling. "Are you not just a little afraid
+of the Halting Knight, when the wind blows hard o' nights? Or have you
+never heard his story?"</p>
+
+<p>"O yes, I have heard all about him," I answered. "I dare not say that
+I have not sometimes listened for his lame step in the gallery, but I
+don't think I am much afraid of him, after all. I don't think, to say
+the truth, that I have it in me to be very much afraid of such things."</p>
+
+<p>After that we fell into a pleasant chat till it was time for Betty to
+go into the house.</p>
+
+<p>I have read my letters over and over—the long ones from dear mother
+and Richard, poor Jacky's short and somewhat blotted scroll, and the
+printed notes of the twins. I feel as if I had made a visit at home. So
+many little things can be told by word of mouth, which no one thinks of
+putting in a letter, and Mr. Corbet seems to have noticed everything,
+even to poor Punch, our three-legged, or rather three-footed cat, who
+lost his fore-paw in a rabbit-trap, and whom father would not have
+killed, but dressed the creature's wounds with his own hands, and
+nursed him till he got well.</p>
+
+<p>He is a wonderful kind gentleman to take so much pains for me. I am so
+glad he and Richard took so to each other. It would seem but natural
+that they should, thinking so much alike on many subjects, but one can
+never guess beforehand how such things will turn out.</p>
+
+<p>Richard says he makes progress in his studios, and that Master Smith is
+kind and generous as ever. He still hears much of public affairs, and
+I can see that he does not like the complexion of them, and doth fear
+much trouble and discontent, arising from the high-handed proceedings
+of the Archbishop and the Star Chamber.</p>
+
+<p>He writes me that Mr. Prynne, the barrister, an old friend of my
+father's, and one who hath been many times at our house since my
+remembrance, is in prison, and like to fare badly. He was always a
+bugbear to us children, with his sour, austere face, and his perpetual
+arguments with my father, wherein he was ofttimes so sharp and rude
+that a less sweet-tempered man would have at the least declined his
+acquaintance. But my father always said there was much good in him, and
+I know that he was ever liberal in giving to the poor. I shall be sorry
+to hear of any great harm coming to him, poor man. It seems he hath
+writ a book concerning stage plays, whereat the Court are much offended.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image016" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image016.jpg" alt="image016"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image017" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image017.jpg" alt="image017"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_6">CHAPTER VI.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>MAKING PROGRESS.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 9.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>AT her own earnest desire, Lady Betty has began writing. She takes
+to it very handily, as indeed she does to most things. I never saw
+any child learn to read so fast. I was astonished thereat, till my
+Lady told me that it was in some sense rather a revival than a new
+acquisition of learning. That before her last long and dreadful
+illness, which lasted more than a year, Betty had known how to read in
+easy words pretty well. But that when she recovered her right senses
+after many days of unconsciousness or raving, she seemed to have
+forgotten everything, even the names of those about her.</p>
+
+<p>The dear child takes great pains to learn, as well to please me, as for
+learning's sake. Her health is certainly much better. She now moves
+with freedom and without pain (unless, which I have learned to guard
+against, she is on her feet too long at a time), sleeps soundly, and is
+far less whimsical about what she eats, so that she takes contentedly
+plain nourishing food. Her temper and spirits improve with her health.
+I rarely have to reprove her, and it is a long time since we have had a
+screaming bout, which I dread most of all. They distress my dear Lady,
+and make my Lord so angry if he chances to hear them, and he is not a
+man to hold any curb of measure or reason over his anger. Well! Well!
+My Lord is my Lord, and I desire to pay him all due respect, but at
+times I cannot but wonder what ever my Lady married him for. 'Twas a
+love match, too, so Mrs. Judith says.</p>
+
+<p>But as for my child, I have much to be thankful for in her continued
+improvement, and her affection and obedience to myself. And I am also
+thankful to my dear mother for using me early to the care of the young
+ones, and for her confidence in me, almost always telling me why she
+did thus and so with them. It will be her credit far more than my own,
+if Lady Betty recovers her health.</p>
+
+<p>The child's back can never be straightened, of course, but now that her
+face is filling up, and she is gaining color, and losing her unhealthy
+sallowness, she is really very pretty, and hath a great look of her
+mother's.</p>
+
+<p>For myself, I must say that I have been far happier under this roof
+than I ever expected to be anywhere away from my home. Indeed, I don't
+know when I have been better off. I have had very few trials of temper
+(which were always my trouble when I lived with Felicia), and every one
+is kind to me—my dear honored Lady above all.</p>
+
+<p>As to Mr. Penrose's little pets, I don't value them a pin, especially
+since I know the real goodness of his heart. He hath been almost daily
+to read with Dame Yeo and old Master Dean, at the almshouses. But he
+seems like one who hath some great trouble on his mind. I wonder what
+it is?</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 18.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I am quite sure of one thing—namely, that Lady Jemima hath somewhat
+against me, and that ever since she returned from London. She treats
+me with studied coldness and indifference, never comes to my room,
+as she used to do, to ask me about my reading and my devotions, nor
+stops to chat in the hall, or the gardens. My Lady is just the same,
+but my Lord, I fancy, looks coldly on me, and throws out hints against
+Puritans, &amp;c. Even Mr. Corbet does not come to see his cousin as often
+as he used to do. I cannot understand it, for I am sure I have done
+nothing to merit displeasure. Mr. Penrose alone is unchanged, and we
+have really had some pleasant talks together. He preaches every week in
+the chapel—sometimes very well, too—and I go to hear him, but I know
+not how it is, the more I hear, the more discouraged and downhearted
+I grow. I feel downright rebellious, sometimes. Mr. Penrose says
+it is fitting we should go mourning all our days on account of our
+sins, thankful that we have so much as a chance of salvation, but not
+building too much thereupon, lest we fall short after all, and all our
+good works be as nothing. He ought to know. He is a clergyman, and a
+good one, but I cannot feel satisfied.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 22.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Well, the murder is out—at least a part of it. Lady Jemima has treated
+me more and more coldly all the time. And yesterday, being in my
+Lady's antechamber, mending and arranging of some laces too fine for
+Brewster's eyes, I heard Lady Jemima come in by the other door, in
+earnest conversation with my Lady, and talking so loud, that though I
+made a noise to announce my presence, she did not seem to heed in the
+least.</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to send her away, Elizabeth!" I heard her say, in her
+emphatic way. "You ought not to keep her about the child a day longer!"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall certainly do nothing of the sort, till I see better cause than
+I have yet seen," replied my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"Better cause!" repeated Lady Jemima, in that contemptuous tone of hers
+which always makes me angry, whether she speaks to me or not. "What
+better cause do you want than that the girl is a bitter Puritan—an
+Anabaptist, for aught I know, and will be sure to fill your child's
+mind with all sorts of poisonous notions about religion and government!"</p>
+
+<p>"But I have no evidence that she is so, Jemima, nor do I believe it.
+Margaret is regular, both at church and chapel. She is a clergyman's
+daughter, hath been well brought up, and the Bishop of Exeter told me
+himself that he thought I had made a happy choice. He saw Margaret at
+home, and was much pleased both with her and her brother."</p>
+
+<p>Now, for the first time, I discovered that they were talking about me,
+for at first I thought it was Mary they meant, and I wondered how any
+one could think of calling her a Puritan. I knew I ought not to hear
+more, and as I was considering for a moment what to do, I heard Lady
+Jemima say, contemptuously:</p>
+
+<p>"The Bishop of Exeter, indeed! He is a fitting person, truly! He is as
+much a Puritan as the worst of them."</p>
+
+<p>"He is your spiritual pastor and Bishop, Jemima, and, as such, is
+entitled to your respect!" answered my Lady, more sharply than I had
+ever heard her speak to her sister, save once. "It is a wonderful thing
+to me, to see you and Mr. Penrose, professing to think so highly of the
+priestly office and authority, and yet losing no occasion to condemn
+and vilify your own Bishop. I have spoke my mind on it to Mr. Penrose,
+and I must say to you that such conduct is neither consistent nor
+becoming!"</p>
+
+<p>Brewster coming in at this moment, and beginning to commend my work on
+the lace, put a stop to the conversation, and I escaped to my room,
+more angry than ever I was with Felicia at home, to think that Lady
+Jemima should be trying to undermine me with my Lady, and to separate
+me from my child.</p>
+
+<p>I was much perturbed all day, insomuch that I fear I was impatient with
+Betty even, for she asked me, rather plaintively, what was the matter;
+adding, "You are not angry with me, are you, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>I kissed her, and had much ado not to burst out crying. However, I
+conquered myself, and told her that she was a good girl, and that I
+loved her dearly.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure I love you!" said she. "Aunt Jemima asked me if you were
+good to me, and I told her that you were just as good as ever you
+could be. But I am sure that something troubles you, if you are not
+vexed with me, for you go red and pale, and your voice does not sound
+natural."</p>
+
+<p>"It is true, my dear, that something has happened to vex me, but you
+need not mind. I hope all will come right by and by. Come, now, I will
+teach you your task in the Catechism. You know you must be well learned
+in it that you may teach your little god-daughter by and by."</p>
+
+<p>(I forgot to say, in the right place, that the babes were christened
+the other day, I standing as proxy for Lady Betty, and Mrs. Corbet for
+the other child, who is named for her. Mr. Corbet made the poor woman
+a handsome present. And the next day, she brought the babes up to the
+Court, to Lady Betty's great delight.)</p>
+
+<p>Betty did her lessons well, and enjoyed her walk in the wood. I have
+got permission to try riding for her, and Thomas is training a fine
+steady donkey for her use, which she goes to see every day. Sitting in
+my usual place in the wood, while Betty played about, I could not but
+remember the conversation I had with my dear Lady, and wondered if she
+had even then foreseen this trouble. A few tears came to relieve me,
+as I remembered her kind words. Betty espied them, and came in great
+trouble to wipe them away.</p>
+
+<p>"You must not cry, Margaret," said she, with quivering lips. "I can't
+bear to have you cry."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I wont," said I, recovering myself. "There, see, the tears are
+all gone away."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid they have only gone 'inside,'" said the dear child,
+regarding me wistfully. "I am afraid they will come out again by and
+by. You said, when I was ill the other day, that we might ask God to
+take our pains away, if He saw best. Why don't you ask Him to take your
+trouble away?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, so I will!" I answered her. And I did put up a petition then and
+there for grace against anger and uncharitableness. I could not but
+think it was heard, for I grew more calm in spirit, and was able to
+think what I had better do.</p>
+
+<p>Betty was very sober all day, and at night, she added to her prayers,
+of her own accord, "Please take away Margaret's trouble, and make her
+happy again."</p>
+
+<p>The dear little loyal soul! I am sure of her love, at all events.</p>
+
+<p>It was a custom of my dear father's, when we did not have prayers in
+the church, after his voice began to fail, to say the Litany with his
+own family, every Wednesday and Friday; and I have kept up the custom
+of repeating the petitions on those days. As I did so that night,
+and especially at the prayer, "O God, Merciful Father," a wonderful
+quietness and peace seemed to come over me, and I felt like a grieved
+child hushed and quieted in its mother's arms. 'Twas as if an all but
+visible Presence filled and sanctified the room. When I had finished, I
+took up my Bible to read, as usual, and my eye lighted first on these
+words:</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"'If thy brother trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault
+between thee and him alone. If he shall hear thee, then thou hast
+gained thy brother.'"<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Surely," I thought, "this is the rule for me to follow. I will go at
+once to Lady Jemima, and lay the case before her fairly, and try to
+find out where the trouble lies."</p>
+
+<p>No sooner said than done. I knew Lady Jemima would be in her room and
+up, for she never goes to rest early. So I went and knocked at her
+door, and she bade me enter. I had not been in her room since her
+return, and I noticed some changes. She hath put a great crucifix over
+her reading-desk, and taken away the cushion and mats before it, as if
+she used to kneel on the bare boards; and she hath a fine picture of
+the Assumption, as they call it—assumption, indeed! 'Tis to be hoped
+the Blessed Virgin knows not the use made of her name. Lady Jemima was
+sitting reading by her table, and as she looked up and saw who it was
+at the door, she said, sharply enough:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Mrs. Merton, what brings you hither at this time of night?"</p>
+
+<p>"I desire to see your Ladyship alone," I answered, "and I knew that I
+should find you so at this time, therefore I took the liberty to come."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," said she, still very short. "What is your business? State
+it quickly, for I have no time to spend in idle talk."</p>
+
+<p>"I would fain know your Ladyship's interpretation of this text," I
+said, putting into her hands the Bible I had brought with me, and
+pointing to the text in St. Matthew, I had just read.</p>
+
+<p>She relaxed a little at my words, as I thought, and looked gratified,
+but colored scarlet as she looked at the text.</p>
+
+<p>"What should it mean, save just what it says?" she asked, with
+asperity, yet displaying a certain uneasiness. "'If any person hath
+done you a wrong, go first to him alone, and tell him his fault in all
+kindness.' I see nothing hard to understand in that. You are trifling
+with me, Mrs. Merton!"</p>
+
+<p>"By no means, Lady Jemima," said I; "I never was more in earnest in my
+life. 'Tis upon that very errand I have come, since you have not come
+to me. And I desire humbly to know what it is that you have so much
+against me, since your return."</p>
+
+<p>"I have not said that I had anything against you," she answered. "Why
+should you think I have?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would fain hope so," I answered her. "It would be lack of charity
+to think that you should treat me so unkindly, and strive to set my
+honored mistress against me, unless you had some cause for so doing."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know that I have tried to set my sister against you?" she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I heard you—much against my own will," I answered her; and
+then told her how it came about. "And I would fain know, my Lady, who
+hath so changed your mind toward me, or who hath traduced me to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody has traduced you!" she said, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>"But somebody has given you a bad character of me, I am sure," I said;
+"and I have a right, with all due respect, to ask who that person is."</p>
+
+<p>"It is one who has known you ever since you were born," said Lady
+Jemima, "since you must know; one on whom you have heaped many
+injuries, even to the driving her forth of her own home, among
+strangers, but who still wishes you well. She hath told me naught of
+your unkindness toward herself, though I can gather enough; nor did she
+tell me anything directly, till I asked her."</p>
+
+<p>"Felicia!" I exclaimed, enlightened all at once. "I see it all now.
+Felicia has been poisoning your Ladyship's mind against me."</p>
+
+<p>"My mind is not poisoned against you," she answered, coldly, "but
+I have learned enough of your rebellious temper, your disobedient
+carriage toward your parents, and your openly avowed heresies in
+religion, to make me aware that you are no fit companion for my
+brother's child. Felicia, as you disrespectfully call her, seems to
+me a most religious, and virtuous, and sweet young person, with a
+mind most open to receive the truth, and a most becoming modesty and
+deference,—a quality, Mrs. Merton, in which you yourself are very
+deficient, let me tell you. I saw some things in your conduct, even
+before I left home, which did not please me, and I am convinced that
+you are no fit person for your place."</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask what those things were, my Lady?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Your flirting and coquetting with Mr. Penrose, for one thing,"
+answered Lady Jemima. "Yes, you may laugh as you please, but I have
+seen what passed. You know he is all but vowed to celibacy, and it
+would be a fine triumph to your Puritan notions, to make him false to
+his profession."</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Jemima," said I, feeling my cheeks flush in spite of me, "I know
+not why you call me a Puritan. I am an unworthy but faithful member of
+the Church of England. I love her ways, and desire her peace above all
+things; and whoever has told you to the contrary hath said falsely.
+Felicia was ever mine enemy, and hath made me all the trouble I have
+ever had in life, heretofore; and I believe she will not be content
+till she works my ruin."</p>
+
+<p>"You misjudge her much, and with great want of charity," interrupted
+Lady Jemima. "She desires naught but your good, and 'twas to that end
+she spoke to me about you, beseeching me to have an eye to you, that
+you did not get into mischief, or make mischief for others. 'Tis you
+who have injured her. As for her, I believe she would not hurt a fly."</p>
+
+<p>"I have known her nearly eighteen years, and your Ladyship not as many
+weeks," said I. "Which hath had the best opportunity of understanding
+her character?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not apt to be deceived in my estimate of character," answered
+Lady Jemima, stiffly. "I said to myself the first time I ever saw you,
+'Here is one destined to make mischief,' and so you did, causing a
+misunderstanding between me and my sister the very first day you were
+in the house. But this is unprofitable," she added, catching herself
+up. "If you have no more to say, Mrs. Merton, I must pray you to
+retire, and leave me to my devotions."</p>
+
+<p>"I will do so," I answered, "first taking the liberty to tell your
+Ladyship a rule given me by my Lord the Bishop of Exeter, at my coming
+to this place: 'Never to do anything upon which you cannot ask the
+blessing of God.' Doubtless your Ladyship will ask His blessing on your
+attempts to undermine and defame an orphan girl, who is striving with
+all her might to do her duty in that station to which it hath pleased
+God to call her."</p>
+
+<p>So saying, I courtesied and shut the door. I thought she would have
+called me back, but she did not, and I returned to my room, feeling
+grieved, vexed, and discouraged, yet withal a little disposed to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Flirt with Mr. Penrose!" quoth I. "I would as soon flirt with that
+red, yellow, and blue Saint Austin in the chapel window. How can she be
+so absurd!"</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 24.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>It seems I did not improve matters by my appeal to Lady Jemima. She
+will hardly speak to me at all now, and I know she doth not cease to
+prejudice others against me. Even Mrs. Judith grows rather cool, or
+so I fancy, at least; only my Lady is just the same. I should not say
+only, for Mr. Penrose is even kinder than ever, and Mrs. Corbet and her
+son treat me with as much consideration as though I were a relation
+of the family. But I can't help feeling the change very much, for I
+was fond of Lady Jemima, though I used sometimes to be vexed with her
+meddling ways. Besides, I "know" that I have done my best since I came
+here, and any one may see how much the child has gained.</p>
+
+<p>It is very hard, but I see no way but to bear it for the present, and
+that in silence. I cannot and will not trouble my dear Lady with any
+complaints, and I don't suppose she could help me, if I did. I have
+passed my promise to my Lady to stay for a year, unless I am sent away,
+and after all, my lot is not as hard as hers. As old Jane Betterton
+used to say at the end of her catalogue of troubles, to my father, "I
+hav'n't no old man to plague me, thank goodness!"</p>
+
+<p>I remember once, when dear father was teaching us Latin (and a kinder
+teacher sure never any one had), my growing terribly discouraged, and
+thinking I never should learn. Father comforted, instead of chiding me,
+when I burst out crying over Cæsar, his Commentaries, and told me that
+I had only come to the "hard place," that every one found just such a
+hard place in all serious undertakings, and if I would only do my best,
+and persevere, I should soon get past it, and find I had made a great
+step in advance; and so I did. I suppose I have now come to the hard
+place in my service, and if I can only live it over, I shall go on well
+again. If only I can be kept from wrong doing—but my natural temper is
+so warm, and I fear I have not made much progress in controlling it.</p>
+
+<p>I find it hardest to forgive Felicia. Her conduct seems so wantonly
+malicious—unless, indeed, she has grown tired of Aunt Willson, and
+wants the place herself. How she must have flattered Lady Jemima. I
+can see it all—how she hinted, and then drew back and let herself be
+questioned, and brought out her tale with seeming reluctance, and was
+so anxious all the time for my good. She is not at home to plague
+mother, that is one comfort, and she will never be able to hoodwink
+Aunt Willson, living, as she does, under the same roof.</p>
+
+<p>Well, well! "'Tis all in the day's work!" as Dick says, and we must
+take the bitter with the sweet. Oh, Dick, only to put my head down on
+thy honest shoulder, and tell all my troubles!</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 25.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Mr. Penrose preached this evening in the chapel, on charity. "The
+greatest of these is charity."</p>
+
+<p>He made a noble discourse, and spoke, methought, with some asperity of
+them that take up idle reports and are ready on the least evidence to
+believe evil of their fellows.</p>
+
+<p>I dared not glance at Lady Jemima, but I saw Mrs. Judith look rather
+uneasy, and after chapel she was unusually kind to me, and asked me to
+sup with her in her room, which I did. I thought she had something on
+her mind she wished to say, and at last it came out.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you are not a concealed Papist, are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I must be very carefully concealed if I am, Mrs. Judith," I answered,
+laughingly; "for I have never even found it out myself. Whatever put it
+in your head to think me a Papist?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I will tell you," she answered, in a confidential tone, "though
+I am afraid you will be vexed. You see, when you were so very ill, I
+went one day to your cabinet to see if I could find any smelling-salts
+or the like, and there, lying with some other trinkets, I saw a silver
+medal with a picture of the Virgin thereon."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," I answered, as she paused; "I know what you mean. A poor old
+woman at home gave it me for a keepsake."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that was not all," continued Mrs. Judith. "I put my hand back in
+the recess to take up a bottle, I saw there, and I suppose I touched
+a spring, for a door opened at the back, and there lay a rosary and
+crucifix, and a little carven stone image of some saint or other."</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing about that," I answered, surprised enough. "I did not
+know there was any such door. The things must have been there a very
+long time, I think. Did you take them out, Mrs. Judith?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not I, Mistress Merton!" answered the dear old woman. "I had no call
+to be prying into your secrets, if you have any. So I just laid matters
+as they were before, and locked the cabinet, that no one else should
+meddle. But oh, my dear, you are not a Papist nor a Puritan, are you?"</p>
+
+<p>I could not help laughing, but stopped, as I saw the tears in the old
+lady's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest Mrs. Judith," said I, "I begin to think that I must be just in
+the right place, since Lady Jemima calls me a Puritan, and you think me
+a Papist. But I solemnly assure you I am neither Papist nor Puritan,
+Anabaptist nor Turk, nor do I worship the sun and moon, as Doctor
+Parnell says the old heathens used to do on the great barrow up on the
+moor. I am just a simple Churchwoman, as all my family have been. But
+Mrs. Judith, if you are so startled at seeing a little medal in my
+cabinet, what do you think of some other rooms in the house, and of the
+pictures, Mr. Penrose has just put up in the chapel?"</p>
+
+<p>"I like them not, my dear,—I like them not," said Mrs. Judith, shaking
+her head, solemnly. "It looks too much like bringing back the old
+religion for denying of which my grandfather died bravely at the stake.
+But I am so glad you are not a Papist! Do have some of this junket, now
+do, my dear heart! I made it with my own hands, and the clotted cream
+is an inch thick on the top."</p>
+
+<p>I was in no ways averse to the junket, and so all was well once more
+between Mrs. Judith and me. I cannot but note here what a different
+spirit in the two! Lady Jemima telling every one she can get to
+listen to her of the great discovery she fancies she has made to my
+disadvantage—Mrs. Judith locking up my cabinet, lest some one else
+should see what she had seen and I be injured thereby.</p>
+
+<p>I have been examining this said cabinet, and have found, not only the
+rosary and the little marble saint, but several other small matters,
+none of them of any great value, save a rose noble of King Henry's
+day. I carried them all to my Lady, but she bade me keep them if I
+liked, so I set the saint on the top of my cabinet. 'Tis a fair little
+image, carven in alabaster, perfect, but somewhat yellow with time,
+and represents a young maid with spindle and distaff, and a lamb by
+her side. Mr. Penrose says it is meant for St. Agnes, and has promised
+to find out her history for me. Poor little lady, she hath had a long
+and dark imprisonment, if, as my Lady supposes, she has been hid there
+since the early days of King James, but she looks very smiling. Lady
+Betty will have it that she is Una, with her milk-white lamb, about
+which I have read to her in Spenser in his "Faerie Queene."</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 26.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I can see that Mr. Penrose's sermon has done me no good with Lady
+Jemima, and only hurt himself with her. They were talking together a
+long time this morning, in the garden, and parted evidently ill-pleased
+with each other—I could see thus much from my window.</p>
+
+<p>This has been a great day for Betty. She has taken her first ride on
+the donkey, Thomas leading him, and I walking by her side. I held her
+at first, as she seemed rather timid, and I wanted her by no means to
+have a fright. But presently she gained more confidence and would ride
+alone. We did not go far the first day, for I did not wish her to be
+overtired, but she enjoyed herself wonderfully.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet joined us as we were returning up the avenue, and taking
+Thomas's place, led the donkey himself. He told me a great piece of
+news—namely, that the Bishop is coming here within a short time: Now I
+shall see whether he will remember me, or whether, as Felicia said, he
+has never given me a thought. Mr. Corbet looked grave and disturbed,
+and made somewhat absent answers to Betty's questions, which she
+remarking, he roused himself to be more attentive.</p>
+
+<p>"Some day, perhaps, Margaret and I shall come down to your house to see
+you, Cousin Walter," said Lady Betty. "I should love to see Corby-End,
+wouldn't you, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"And Corby-End would love to see you," answered Mr. Corbet: "but maybe
+Mrs. Merton would find the walk long."</p>
+
+<p>"O no!" I answered. "I have been used to long walks, and I often walk
+down to the Parsonage."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever been down to the cliff?" asked Mr. Corbet.</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I had not, that I was rather frightened at the
+steepness of the path, and the roaring of the waterfall so near.</p>
+
+<p>"It looks more dangerous than it really is," said Mr. Corbet. "The
+little children from the Cove come up every day to school. 'Tis a hard
+walk for them, and but for seeming to interfere with Mrs. Ellenwood, I
+would set up a dame school down there for the little lads and maids.
+But I believe I should have few willing pupils. The children are all
+devoted to their present mistress, who is indeed an admirable person.
+But you must go down there some day, Mrs. Merton, and make acquaintance
+with my old friend, Uncle Jan Lee and his family. They are well worth
+knowing."</p>
+
+<p>At supper time, Mr. Corbet being present, my Lord asked him if he had
+seen Doctor Parnell, adding that to him the old man seemed failing.</p>
+
+<p>"I see that he is so, and I am very sorry," answered Mr. Corbet. "There
+are few better men than he. I would all parish clergymen were like him."</p>
+
+<p>"So would not I, though I like the old man well enough," replied my
+Lord. "He is too stiff-necked for me, and I like not his opposing
+of the Sunday sports on the Green. The King and the Archbishop have
+approved them, and what is good enough for his betters might, one would
+think, be good enough for him."</p>
+
+<p>"However, the Archbishop does not sanction them by his example," said
+Mr. Corbet.</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon ensued an argument on Sunday games in general, in which Mr.
+Corbet seemed to me to have much the best of it, he keeping cool,
+while my Lord grew very warm, and said the same thing over and over,
+not without some oaths better left out. Catching Mr. Corbet's eye, I
+ventured to glance toward my Lady, who I saw was uneasy, as she always
+is when there is danger of one of my Lord's tantrums. He took the hint
+at once, and smilingly changed the subject, by asking my Lord if he had
+heard, I know not what wonderful tale of a stag lately killed by Sir
+Thomas Fulton. My Lord opened on the scent of the stag directly, and so
+all ended well. Mr. Penrose was not present, nor Lady Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>After supper, Mr. Corbet came to me as I was passing through the hall,
+and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Merton, for the hint."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear you must think me too bold!" I answered, feeling my cheeks
+flush scarlet. "But a little thing disturbs my Lady nowadays."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall never think you aught but what you are," said he. "But tell
+me, how does this matter strike you?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I thought as he did—that such sports, even when
+harmless in themselves, were ill-suited to the Lord's day, which was
+needed for religious improvement, and meditation, and added that my
+father used to say that if masters were so anxious for the poor to have
+a holiday, it would be far better to give them time for recreation
+during the week than thus to run the risk of driving out in the
+afternoon all the religious impressions made in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>Just as I was saying good-night, my Lord came into the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"So, Master Watty, the Puritan, you have found some one to agree with
+your strait-laced notions!" said he. "Mrs. Merton, I dare say, can give
+you text for text and groan for groan. Come, Mrs. Merton, let us have a
+specimen of your power. Give us a text!"</p>
+
+<p>"I can think of but one at this minute, my Lord," I answered, I fear
+not in the meekest tone, "and that is this: 'Judge not, that ye be not
+judged!'"</p>
+
+<p>"Well put, Mistress Presician!" said my Lord, with a great laugh. "I
+see there is something within that can strike fire, after all. But I
+bid you beware, Walter. You are poaching on another man's manor."</p>
+
+<p>I waited to hear no more, but escaped and went to my child. I wish they
+would let me sup with her all the time. I suppose I shall do so next
+week, when the Bishop comes to stay.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>July 29.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>This day we were returning up one of the paths in the chase. Betty had
+taken quite a long ride, and was full of the wonderful things she had
+seen, especially of the ruins of the old abbey. She was talking with
+great animation, when, at a turn in the road, we met my Lord. One can
+never be sure of his mood, and I am always rather uneasy when Betty
+encounters her father, but he was in high good humor this day, having
+been angling and met with great success.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey-day! Whom have we here?" he exclaimed. "Surely this bold
+horse-woman, or donkey-woman, can never be Betty! Why, what change has
+come over you, child? Hold up your head and let me look at you!"</p>
+
+<p>Smiling and blushing, Lady Betty held up her head. She did really look
+wonderfully pretty.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, the fairies have been at work with you, Betty!" said my Lord. "I
+never in all my life saw such a change! But can you walk as well as
+ride?"</p>
+
+<p>"O yes, papa!" answered the child. "I can run a little, too, and I have
+learned to read and to write, and I sleep almost all night, now. I did
+not hear the clock strike but twice last night."</p>
+
+<p>"But what is it?" questioned my Lord. "What medicines have you given
+her?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I had given no medicines except change of air,
+exercise, and amusement. That I had in fact treated Lady Betty just as
+my mother had treated her own younger children, and I hoped with like
+good results. I added that I thought, unless she had some new drawback,
+Lady Betty might yet grow up to be a healthy woman.</p>
+
+<p>He muttered somewhat to himself, and then turned to Betty again, asking
+her about her ride, and telling her she should have a pony some day.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not think you could sit so straight," said he.</p>
+
+<p>Betty straightened up still more at the words and looked so much
+pleased that I think my Lord's heart was touched. He kissed her, a
+thing I never saw him do before, told her to be a good maid, and get
+well as fast as she could. And then turning to me, he said, with real
+feeling and dignity:</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you heartily, Mrs. Margaret Merton, for what you have done for
+the child, and you shall find that I do. I could not have thought such
+a change would be wrought in so short a time. It was a good day, as my
+Lady says, that brought you to us. Only mind," he added, relapsing into
+his usual manner, "mind you teach her none of your new-light notions.
+I will not have her made a Puritan, no, not if she never sets foot to
+ground again."</p>
+
+<p>"What is a Puritan, papa?" asked Lady Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"A Puritan, child? How shall I tell you? A Puritan is one who sings
+naught but Psalms through his nose, and wears his hair cropped close,
+and is always turning up his eyes, and hates king and church, and
+thinks a play-book, or a romance, or a dance round the May-pole, worse
+than the devil himself."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I am sure Margaret is not a Puritan!" said Betty, eagerly. "For
+she sings me all sorts of merry songs, and not through her nose at all,
+and she has beautiful long hair, almost down to her feet, and she makes
+me say a prayer for the king and queen every day. And she is teaching
+me the Catechism, and she does not hate all romances or play-books, for
+she has 'The Faerie Queene,' and some of Mr. Shakespeare's plays in her
+room, and she read one to me, all about Puck and Titania, and some poor
+men that played a play before the Duke—what is its name, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"'The Midsummer Night's Dream,'" I told her.</p>
+
+<p>"And she can dance beside, for she showed me how her mother taught her
+to dance the Corants," continued Betty, eagerly. "So, you see, she
+cannot be a Puritan!"</p>
+
+<p>"Argued point by point, like a good advocate," said my Lord, laughing.
+"Well, well, child, you do well to speak up for your friend. I dare say
+it is all nonsense what your aunt says."</p>
+
+<p>And with that he bade us good morning, and went on his way whistling.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 1.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Dear good Doctor Parnell died this morning, just at sunrise. He has
+been ailing for some days, but it was only yesterday that they thought
+him near his end. Mr. Corbet and Mr. Penrose sat up with him all night.
+He did not sleep much, but spoke many times, sometimes of his sister,
+whom he solemnly commended to Mr. Corbet's care, sometimes of the
+parish, and again of the joys of heaven, where he seemed, Mr. Penrose
+said, to feel himself already translated. He thought of everybody, and
+even sent me, by Mr. Penrose, his parting blessing, and a little book
+of devotions.</p>
+
+<p>He died just as the sun was rising, commending his soul to God, without
+any appearance of fear or anxiety. Mr. Penrose, telling me the story,
+was affected even to tears, and I wept with him, feeling that I had
+lost a friend.</p>
+
+<p>I went down to-day to bid him a last farewell, and to see Mistress
+Parnell. She is as it were stunned by the blow. She said to me:</p>
+
+<p>"I am several years older than my brother and I had arranged everything
+for my leaving him, but I never once thought of his going first and
+leaving me. Ah well, I am thankful that in the course of nature I
+cannot be long behind him. Mr. Penrose is a good young man, and I think
+he will be kind to the poor folks."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Penrose!" said I. And then it came out that my Lord had promised
+the living to Mr. Penrose. It is a great piece of preferment for so
+young a man, the living being a very good one; and I am glad he is so
+well provided for.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord joked with him a little, at supper, and said somewhat about a
+mistress for the parsonage; at which Lady Jemima said hotly enough,
+that Mr. Penrose was not a marrying priest. He cast a glance at her, as
+if he were not over well-pleased by her interference, and said, very
+soberly, that he counted not the house his own, so long as the corpse
+of its former master lay under its roof, and therefore he had no need
+to take any order about a mistress for the same as yet. Whereat my
+Lady smiled approvingly, and my Lord seemed somewhat dashed. I thought
+it was very prettily said of him, for my part. I wish he had a good
+sensible wife. He would not have nearly so many absurd quiddities if he
+were married.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 4.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Doctor Parnell was buried this day—in the church-yard, as he desired,
+and in a spot which he himself selected long ago. Mistress Parnell told
+me afterward it was by the side of a young lady, a cousin of the Mrs.
+Corbet that then was, who died more than forty years ago. It seems
+there were some love passages between them, but she being caught in
+a heavy storm of rain, took a quick consumption and died, her lover
+attending her, and cheering her last moments by his prayers. Since that
+time he would never hear of taking a wife, though some of good family
+were proposed to him, he being accounted rich, but he would have none
+of them, though he was a great promoter of marriage in the parish, and
+always made the brides a present. Methought a pretty story of constancy.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 6.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Here is a change of affairs with a witness! Mr. Penrose has made up his
+mind with respect to a mistress for the parsonage, and upon whom should
+his choice fall but on my unworthy self. I never was so astounded in
+all my life, as when my Lady told me (for he broke the matter to her in
+the first place). And I told her I thought she must be mistaken, that
+he must have meant somebody else.</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly know who else he could mean, unless you think Lady Jemima
+was the person," answered my Lady, smiling. "Besides, he was quite too
+explicit, and too much in earnest to leave room for a mistake. 'Tis
+your own little self he wants, sweetheart, and nobody else."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, my Lady, 'his want must be his master,' as they say in our
+country," I said. "I cannot marry Mr. Penrose."</p>
+
+<p>"Bethink you this is a grave matter," said my Lady. "Here, sit you down
+and let us talk it over reasonably."</p>
+
+<p>We were talking in her closet, and I sat down, not on the chair beside
+her, but on a hassock at her feet. I was glad of the permission,
+for what with excitement and some other feeling, I know not what, I
+trembled from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>"Bethink you well; this is a grave matter," repeated my Lady. "Mr.
+Penrose is an excellent man, and a gentleman. He hath now a good
+living, and you will have such a settlement for life as belongs to few
+at your age."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, my Lady," I answered, as she seemed to pause for a reply.
+"I know all that, and that it is an offer far above my deserts, but I
+cannot marry him."</p>
+
+<p>"But, sweetheart, have you never given Mr. Penrose cause to think that
+you would marry him—at the least that you were not averse to him?" said
+my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"No, madam, that I have not, I am sure," I answered, eagerly. "How
+could I, when I no more expected such an offer from him, than from St.
+Thomas of Canterbury, in the chancel window? I never even thought of
+such a thing, till Lady Jemima accused me of flirting with him; and
+since then I have seen Mr. Penrose hardly at all. Indeed, my Lady, I
+have given him no reason, and he is a coxcomb if he says I have!"</p>
+
+<p>"Gently, gently!" said my Lady, laughingly (which she does but rarely).
+"Why, what a little pepper-pot it is, after all! Mr. Penrose neither
+said nor hinted aught of the kind, so you need not be so hot against
+him. 'Tis no insult, sure, for a good gentleman to wish to marry you."</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, my Lady," I faltered. And then, like a great baby,
+I burst out crying, and sobbed, "O mother, mother! I want my own
+mother!"</p>
+
+<p>Instead of chiding me, as I deserved, my dear Lady laid my head against
+her knee, and kissed and soothed me, till I was able to recover some
+self-control. Then she asked me again, what objection I had to Mr.
+Penrose.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I have any particular objection, my Lady, only that
+he is Mr. Penrose," I answered. "I liked him well enough till he wanted
+to marry me, and now I cannot bear him. Beside, my Lady, I cannot leave
+you and Lady Betty. I am promised to you for a year, at least. Oh, my
+Lady, don't turn against me and send me away! Indeed, the stories about
+me are not true. I am no Puritan, and—" I found the tears were coming
+again, so I checked myself and said no more.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no wish to get rid of you, Margaret," answered my Lady, gravely
+and kindly. "I have seen no fault in you myself, and I pay no heed
+to idle tales. 'Tis true I have written to your Aunt Willson about
+the matter, but only that I might have the better means of defending
+you. It is my most earnest wish that you should continue my child's
+governess as long as she wants one. But, at the same time, I would not
+selfishly stand in the way of your prosperity. I know it is not as
+pleasant to you here, as it has been, and it will be still less so if I
+am taken away. You may never have such another offer, and I want you to
+do what is best for yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot marry Mr. Penrose, my Lady, if I should never have another
+offer in all my life," I answered. "I have no wish but to live with
+you, and take care of Lady Betty. And if things are not quite so
+pleasant now, I dare say they will come round again, and if they do
+not, why I must expect some trouble as well as other folk. ''Tis all in
+the day's work!' as brother Richard says."</p>
+
+<p>"But would not brother Richard say that ''twas in the day's work' to
+marry and settle when so good an offer came in your way?" asked my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"No, madam, I think not," I answered. "Richard gave up all his own
+plans in life that he might help dear mother, and I came here to do the
+same thing. I am sure he would say I ought to consider her more than
+myself."</p>
+
+<p>"But, see you not, sweetheart, that this marriage would put you in a
+better position to help your mother than you are now?" argued my Lady.
+"What with his place as chaplain, which he is still to keep, and his
+living, Mr. Penrose will be well to do, and he is like to rise, holding
+as he does in all things with the Archbishop, who is all-powerful
+nowadays. He will be able greatly to help your mother and the younger
+children."</p>
+
+<p>"Able is one thing, and willing is another, my Lady!" I answered. "'Tis
+not every man who would wish to be burdened with his wife's family, nor
+should I like to ask my husband to support my mother. I would rather do
+it myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid you are very proud, Margaret," said my Lady, shaking her
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps so, my Lady," I answered. "But I pray you, dear Lady, do not
+urge me farther. I am greatly beholden to Mr. Penrose for his offer,"
+(I am afraid this was a fib. I did not feel beholden to him at all, but
+very much as if I should love to box his ears for him) "but I never can
+marry him in the world."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, you shall not be urged," said my Lady. "I will tell him
+what you say, but I feel sure he will not be satisfied without talking
+to yourself. And, Margaret, let me add one thing more. My Lord hath
+gotten hold of this matter—through no good-will of mine, but by Mr.
+Penrose's bad management; and 'tis like he may rally you upon it. Do
+not you get angry if he does, but laugh in your turn. Learn to rule
+that fire within, and it will save you a great deal of trouble, my
+little one."</p>
+
+<p>She bent and kissed me as she spoke, and I kissed her beautiful hand.
+"Oh, my dear Lady!" I said, out of the fulness of my heart, "if I could
+only do anything to return or requite your goodness to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then I will tell you what you may do," said she, smiling. "I am going
+to spend the day at Corby-End with my cousins, and you may take the
+opportunity to look over all my laces and lay out those which-need
+repairing. The work is too fine for Brewster's eyes, and I know
+you love to do it. Bring Betty in here and let her superintend the
+operation."</p>
+
+<p>I knew Betty would be delighted with the change, and I was glad to hear
+that I need not meet my Lord for one day, at least.</p>
+
+<p>So Betty and I spent the morning very comfortably, and I got quite
+cooled down over the laces, and was able to look at the matter
+reasonably. I am ashamed now to think how foolishly I behaved, and how
+absurd it was in me to be so angry with poor Mr. Penrose. I am sure it
+was kind of him to think of me. All the same, I would never marry him
+if there were not another man in all the world. I only hope he will
+take my Lady's word for it, and not desire to see me himself.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 8.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>It turned out as my Lady said. Mr. Penrose would not be satisfied
+without talking with me himself, and trying to move my resolution. He
+used many arguments, as the advantage to my family, my having such a
+pleasant home near to my Lady, chances of usefulness in the parish, and
+so on, till at last I lost patience a little, and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Penrose, you are but wasting your breath. If I loved you as I am
+sure a woman ought to love the man she marries, I should need none of
+these persuasions, and as I love you not, they are all thrown away."</p>
+
+<p>"You think, then, that I could not make you happy?" said he. "I know I
+am faulty, and that you have often seen me peevish, but I would do my
+best, Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't doubt you would," I answered him. "As for your faults, if I
+loved you at all, I know I should love you none the less for them,
+but perhaps all the more. But I have seen married life—only from the
+outside, 'tis true—and I am sure the trials of temper which come in
+the happiest marriage, would be too much for me, unless I—Well, the
+whole of the matter is, Mr. Penrose, I cannot think of it. I am sorry
+if I have been to blame, but I do assure you solemnly that till my Lady
+broke it to me, I no more thought of your wanting me, than I did of
+being Queen of England."</p>
+
+<p>"You have not been to blame," said Mr. Penrose, abruptly. "Nothing is
+to be blamed but my own miserable folly in thinking that one such as
+you could ever fancy such a lout as I am."</p>
+
+<p>"Now you are just as far the other way," said I. "You are quite my
+equal in every respect, and very much my superior in most things. I am
+greatly honored by your regard, and do really wish that I could return
+it. You must see that I should have everything to gain, if I did, and
+therefore you should allow that my refusal is disinterested. Besides,
+even if I did, there is another lion in the way. I have promised my
+Lady, in the most solemn manner, not to leave Lady Betty for at least a
+year."</p>
+
+<p>I was sorry I said as much, for he caught at it directly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you will wait that time before coming to a final decision. You
+will let me try to change your mind. I promise you that you shall not
+be urged or annoyed in any way. Only wait a year before quite deciding."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not feel that a year will make the least difference," said I,
+feeling vexed at him and at myself. "I wish you would put the matter
+out of your head, and marry somebody else."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall never marry anybody else," said he, flashing up. "It may be
+this disappointment is a punishment laid upon me for entertaining the
+notion of marriage at all. I suppose Lady Jemima would say so."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind Lady Jemima, but follow your own good sense, Mr. Penrose,"
+said I. "Do you think if marriage had been such a sin, so many of the
+apostles would have married? I hope to see you well settled with a wife
+yet, and as happy as you deserve to be in your own family. Then I will
+come and see you, and be Aunt Margaret to every one, though Lady Betty
+says aunts are always cross."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled faintly, kissed my hand, and went away looking very
+crestfallen, and I went back to my room, and had a good cry, partly
+because I was sorry for him, partly, I believe, because I was a little
+sorry for myself. He is a good man, that I am sure of, and a gentleman
+bred as well as born, which is more than one can say for some folks;
+and the parsonage is so nice, and then it would be so pleasant to have
+a home to which I could ask dear mother. I shall never have another so
+good a chance of settling in life to advantage.</p>
+
+<p>But after all, I feel that I never can bring my mind to marry Mr.
+Penrose. I could as soon sell myself for a slave. And I should not make
+him happy, either. I feel sure that all the good would die out of me,
+and all the evil increase tenfold. I could never ask God's blessing on
+such a marriage.</p>
+
+<p>When I went back to Lady Betty, I found her in tears, and Mary in
+vain trying to pacify her. It seems the story of Mr. Penrose's offer
+has gone all through the household (thanks, I must say, to his own
+awkwardness in the matter), and Mary, who, with her good qualities, is
+somewhat of a gossip, had been telling Betty, thinking, to be sure, the
+child would be delighted.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as I came near, Betty threw her arms round my neck, and sobbed
+out, "O Margaret, don't go away and leave me! I shall die if you do!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, Lady Betty, Mrs. Merton will be no farther away than the
+parsonage, and you can ride down to see her on your donkey," said Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"I wont!" cried Betty, in something of her old tone. "I will never go
+near the parsonage!"</p>
+
+<p>"You had better wait till you are asked, my dear!" said I, a little
+sharply. "If you do not go thither till you go to see me, it will be a
+long time first. Mary, you would do much better to be about your work,
+than to be gossipping about my affairs. You have made the bed very ill,
+and the hangings are all in strings, nor have you put away your Lady's
+clothes, nor dusted properly. And you, Lady Betty, have neglected your
+lesson to hear and fret yourself over this idle matter. If you do so
+again, I shall set you a double task."</p>
+
+<p>Dick used to say, laughing, that I could be awfully dignified when
+I chose, and I suppose I was so now, for poor Mary looked very much
+scared, and began to make apologies, but I cut her short.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to hear no more," said I. "Do your work over, and do it
+properly, and another time remember that my affairs are not yours. Lady
+Betty, you can bring your book into the gallery, and learn your lesson
+there, till this room is fit for you!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty took her book and followed me, meekly enough.</p>
+
+<p>As I closed the door, I heard Mary say to herself, in a tone of wonder:</p>
+
+<p>"O dear! Then she don't mean to have the parson, after all!"</p>
+
+<p>I set a chair for Betty in her favorite window, and took my place
+beside her with my embroidery.</p>
+
+<p>After a little Lady Betty said, timidly, "You are not vexed with me,
+are you, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am!" I answered. "'Twas not like a little lady to let Mary
+gossip to you about me and Mr. Penrose. My Lady, your mother, would be
+ill-pleased if she knew you had done such a thing. I shall not tell
+her, but you must never do so again. Come now, learn your lesson, and
+then we will go out into the chase."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet joined us in the chase. I think he must have seen that
+something was the matter, but he made no allusion to it. On the
+contrary, he began telling Betty stories of his travels and the wonders
+he hath seen, and soon effectually diverted not only her but myself.
+He hath been to America two or three times, and hath seen the place
+whither so many colonists are now going. He says it is a fair land
+and fertile enough, but that the winters are long and severe, and the
+perils many, both from savages and wild beasts. Yet more and more
+people go thither every year, and he thinks that in time the settlement
+may be one of considerable importance.</p>
+
+<p>"What sort of people go thither?" I asked him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mostly people of substance and good character," he answered. "None
+of very high rank, that I have heard of, but many gentlemen have gone
+from this country, and more substantial yeomen and tradesmen, but all
+of the sort called Puritans. A good many of the descendants of the
+French Huguenots have also joined them, driven out by this new edict
+concerning their worship, and obliging them to conform. The Court is
+doing here what Mazarin hath done in France, namely, sending away the
+wealth and industry of the country to enrich foreign lands. However,
+in this case, it may turn to good in the end, for I believe the trade
+to North America will in time grow so great as to be valuable to the
+mother country."</p>
+
+<p>"Think you that the Church of England will be benefited by these
+extreme measures?" I ventured to ask him.</p>
+
+<p>"So far from it that she hath need to pray that she may be delivered
+from the foes of her own household," said he. "But that I believe her
+to be founded on the rock of Divine Truth, I should despair of her
+cause, and think the dark ages were coming back again."</p>
+
+<p>"Yet the Archbishop professes a great hatred of popery!" I said. "They
+say he hath refused a cardinal's hat more than once."</p>
+
+<p>"The Archbishop thinks mayhap that he would rather be King of Brentford
+than Lackey in London!" said Mr. Corbet, dryly. "What signifies lacking
+the name, if we have all the worst errors of the thing? I would as soon
+have an Italian Pope as an English one, and the Star Chamber seems like
+to rival the Inquisition in its cruelties. But we will talk no more of
+these grave matters now," he added, seeing Betty's eyes wide open. "I
+wonder if she ever heard the story of how Will Atkins and I saved the
+Indian woman's babe from the lion?"</p>
+
+<p>Betty had never heard the tale, and "did seriously her ear incline,"
+like Desdemona in the play. If she were older—but she is only a child,
+and it can do no harm. Only for her misfortune, it would be a good
+marriage—but then Mr. Corbet is past thirty—nearer forty, I should say.
+He tells a story better than any one I ever heard, neither speaking
+too much of himself nor affecting a false modesty. He hath read and
+reflected much, as well as seen a great deal of the world, but Mrs.
+Judith says the Corbets are naturally scholars. The families have been
+so much mixed up with intermarriages and constant intercourse that I
+should think it would be hard to tell which was Corbet and which was
+Stanton.</p>
+
+<p>When the tale of the lion was ended ('tis not a true lion, either, Mr.
+Corbet says, but a much smaller, though very fierce beast), I told
+Betty it was time to go in, and Mr. Corbet took his leave.</p>
+
+<p>I dined in the nursery, but went down to supper, where I had to meet
+my Lord's jokes, as I expected, but he was in a good humor, and more
+inclined, I thought, to be merry at his sister's expense than at mine,
+reminding her of what she had said about Mr. Penrose not being a
+marrying priest, and telling her that her turn would come next. Whereat
+she was very angry, which only led him on to tease her the more. Then
+he turned to me, and swore I was a fool not to have the parson, adding
+that he would have put the parsonage in good order for me, but he would
+not touch it for Mr. Penrose. It was good enough for a bachelor.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps Margaret may think better of it," said my Lady. "She is but
+young, and she is promised to me for a year at least. There is no time
+lost. She is not yet eighteen."</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, that is not fair—to keep the poor fish on your hook so long,
+Margaret!" said my Lord. "Either land him or let him go."</p>
+
+<p>"No fear of her landing him!" remarked Lady Jemima, with a sneer. "She
+is angling for higher game. She fishes for salmon, not for trout."</p>
+
+<p>I felt my face grow scarlet, but I would not say a word. My Lord looked
+from one to another.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?" he asked, wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Corbet finds the chase wondrous attractive of mornings!" returned
+Lady Jemima, with another sneer. "He is very fond of poor Betty's
+society, nowadays. 'Birds of a feather flock together,' they say!"</p>
+
+<p>"So! I take your meaning," said my Lord. "Is that true, Mrs. Merton,
+that you are setting your cap at my cousin, and think Corby-End at
+present, and Stanton Court in reversion, mayhap, better than Stanton
+Parsonage? Is that Jem's meaning?"</p>
+
+<p>"What Lady Jemima means she can perhaps explain herself," said I,
+rising from the table. "Meantime, I must beg your Ladyship's permission
+to retire, and henceforth to take my meals with Lady Betty in the
+nursery, or with Mrs. Judith. There at least I shall be safe from
+insult!"</p>
+
+<p>My Lord stared a moment, and then burst out into one of his great
+laughs.</p>
+
+<p>"Gad-a-mercy, what a firebrand it is!" said he, as soon as he could
+speak. "Who could think gentle Mrs. Merton could look so like a queen
+of tragedy! Nay, nay, sit you down, my maid, and finish your supper,
+and nobody shall affront you. What, then! I must have my joke, you
+know, and, if Wat did make love to you under pretext of caring for the
+child, it would not be the first time such a thing has chanced. Many a
+long dull sermon have I sat out under my wife's uncle the Bishop, that
+I might have the pleasure of sitting next her, and reading from the
+same book. Come now, sit down again, and care you not for my jokes nor
+for sister Jem's sour grapes!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are blind, brother, utterly blind!" said Lady Jemima, as I resumed
+my seat, feeling rather ashamed of my outburst.</p>
+
+<p>"And you are spiteful, Jem!" retorted my Lord. "You need not grudge
+every other woman a sweetheart because you have none!"</p>
+
+<p>It was now Lady Jemima's turn to leave the table, which she did, and
+the room too, slamming the door with some force behind her. My Lord
+laughed again, and fell to talking to my Lady of the days of their
+first acquaintance at King James' Court.</p>
+
+<p>After supper, he challenged me to play backgammon with him, and so I
+did. He was very kind, and even courtly, as he knows how to be well
+enough. Only at my going away, he detained me, and said, very seriously:</p>
+
+<p>"One word, my maid. Do not you lose your heart to Mr. Corbet. He is the
+next heir to the Earldom, and like to be lord of all, should my Lady
+miscarry, which heaven forbid, and he must marry according to his rank.
+I believe not my sister's words have anything in them, but 'forewarned
+is forearmed,' you know. You are a good girl, I truly believe, and my
+Lady loves and trusts you, and if for no other reason, I would be loth
+to have any trouble arise."</p>
+
+<p>"You need not fear me, my Lord," I answered. "I am but a poor
+governess, 'tis true, but I am a gentlewoman born and bred, as much so
+in my station as Lady Jemima in hers, and I do not think I am like to
+forget what is due to myself, even if I did not remember my duty to
+your Lordship's family."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis well said," answered my Lord, seeming no way displeased by my
+frankness. "I like your spirit. As for Penrose, you shall not be teased
+about him. He is a good fellow, and I should be well-pleased to see him
+fitted with as good a wife as yourself; besides that I can't but enjoy
+the joke of the thing. But 'tis early times yet, and he can afford to
+wait. Come, you bear me no malice, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>I never liked my Lord so well, and was very willing to part good
+friends with him. As for Lady Jemima, I can hardly think of her with
+patience, much less forgive her. Yet I must, or what will become of me?</p>
+
+<p>When I put Lady Betty to bed, she put her arms round my neck and
+whispered in my ear:</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't be angry, Margaret, but you wont marry Mr. Penrose, will
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will marry the man in the moon, and go and live with him upon green
+cheese, if I hear another word about the matter," said I. "Or I will
+run away in the first ship to America, paint my face all over red
+stripes, and wed the king of the Neponsets."</p>
+
+<p>Betty laughed, and so did I, but my heart hath been heavy enough since.
+Here is Betty deprived of one of her greatest pleasures (and she has
+few enough, poor child) that of hearing her cousin's tales and playing
+with him, and all mine own ease and comfort spoiled, all because of
+Lady Jemima's spiteful words—for spiteful they were. Ah me! My day's
+work is like to be a hard one—too hard, I fear, for my strength.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image018" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image018.jpg" alt="image018"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_7">CHAPTER VII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>THE BISHOP'S VISIT.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 10.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>THE Bishop hath really come, and I have seen him and heard him preach.
+He was to arrive yesterday, and for three or four days, Mrs. Judith
+has been as busy as a bee, making up extra beds, airing rooms, and
+superintending the cooking of all sorts of nice things. I had myself
+the honor of making some almond tarts after dear mother's own receipt,
+which turned out very well.</p>
+
+<p>Well, the Bishop came at last, and with no such great retinue,
+either—only his necessary servants, his chaplain and secretary. Betty
+and I peeped out of the window and saw him alight. I think Betty was
+rather disappointed, for she said gravely: "I should never have taken
+him for a Bishop. He looks just like any other clergyman, for aught I
+see."</p>
+
+<p>My Lady would have me go down to supper, which I had not expected
+or exactly wished to do, knowing that I should have to sit next Mr.
+Penrose. However, my Lady's least wish is law to me, so I dressed
+myself all in my best, and went down. Mr. Penrose, however, sat farther
+up the table than his old seat, and so I was put next the Bishop's
+chaplain, a very handsome, modest young man, who hardly opened his
+lips. His name I believe is Tailor, and the Bishop thinks him a person
+of much promise. The Bishop sat near the head of the table, at my
+Lady's right hand. I saw him looking down the table, and as he caught
+my eye, he bowed to me and smiled, yet without speaking at that moment.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet, who sat near me, looked surprised. I have never said
+anything about my former acquaintance with my Lord to any one but my
+Lady and Lady Jemima, and I believe the latter thought I made more of
+the matter than there really was, for she too looked surprised, and
+then scornful. In a little pause of the conversation, the Bishop said
+to my Lady:</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to meet at your table, a young friend of mine, Mrs. Merton.
+Mistress Margaret Merton, I hope you are in good health," he added,
+turning to me.</p>
+
+<p>I answered as well as I could, though feeling rather embarrassed
+at having the eyes of all the table turned upon me. He then asked
+after the health of my mother and brother, and said he would see
+me again. There is an indescribable charm in his voice and manner.
+He is wonderfully polished and courtly, yet with no appearance of
+insincerity, or an effort to please. Even Lady Jemima, who has a fixed
+prejudice against him, and who had come down looking as black and as
+stiff as one of the clipped yews in the garden, relaxed and became
+quite gracious under his influence.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Betty had for some time been begging that she might go to chapel
+when the Bishop came, and my Lord being in high good humor to-day, I
+ventured to ask permission. He hesitated a little, but finally said:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, if she likes. I suppose she will have to show sometime. After all
+'tis not her fault, poor little thing, and she may improve with time."</p>
+
+<p>"She is much improved now," I said, feeling, God forgive me, a kind of
+disgust for him—a father ashamed of his own unfortunate daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think she will ever be straight again?" he asked, eagerly. "I
+was surprised to see her sit up so well the other day."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think her backbone can ever come straight again," I answered,
+"but she grows stronger every day, and the deformity will be less
+noticeable. I am not sure, but I think she is growing taller also, and
+your Lordship must allow that she has a beautiful face. She would be
+observed anywhere."</p>
+
+<p>"That is true, too," he said. "I noticed it the other day. Well, well,
+do the best you can for her, Margaret, and let her have her way in
+this, since her heart is set upon it. It would be natural enough for
+her to take to religion, wouldn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him I thought it was natural enough for any one, especially any
+one in affliction.</p>
+
+<p>"That's because you are a woman," he answered, tapping my cheek, as he
+does sometimes, but not in any offensive way. I will do my Lord the
+justice to say, that loud and careless, and hectoring as he often is,
+he is polite to the point of chivalry to every woman about the house or
+place, aye, and respectful, too. "Here, wait a moment."</p>
+
+<p>He turned from me and began searching in his cabinet, and presently
+brought out a book splendidly bound in gold and blue velvet, though
+somewhat faded.</p>
+
+<p>"Here, give this to Bess, with my love," said he. "It was her
+grandame's book, given her by the queen that then was, and I have
+always meant the child to have it. Tell her, her father sends it, and
+bids her be as good as her grandame was."</p>
+
+<p>I was more pleased than if he had given it to myself, for I knew that
+such a message and token of remembrance from her father, would make the
+poor child happy for a week. She worships her father with a devotion
+which I must say he neither understands nor deserves.</p>
+
+<p>We looked the book over together, and were delighted to find on the
+fly-leaf, the bold, plain writing of the great queen herself. It seems
+Lady Stanton was her god-daughter.</p>
+
+<p>Well, at the due time, or rather a little before it, Thomas carried my
+little lady down and set her in a comfortable corner, and I took my
+place beside her, as my Lady had told me.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you not take your usual seat, Mrs. Merton?" asked Lady Jemima,
+who was placing some flowers on the high altar, as she calls the
+communion table.</p>
+
+<p>I told her that my Lady had desired me to sit by Lady Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better take your usual place," said she. "I will myself sit by
+Lady Betty, and see that she behaves properly."</p>
+
+<p>I knew that this would never do in the world.</p>
+
+<p>"With submission, Lady Jemima, I think it best to obey my Lady's
+orders," said I, as respectfully as I knew how. "She will not be
+pleased if I do not." And to avoid any further words, I took my place
+directly, and knelt down to say my prayer, so that she could not
+decently interrupt me.</p>
+
+<p>The company came in directly, and, with our own servants, made a good
+congregation. Lady Betty was as good and reverent as a child could be,
+only she did not kneel, which was not her fault.</p>
+
+<p>The Bishop's chaplain read prayers without any of the extravagant
+gestures of devotion which Mr. Penrose is apt to use, but as my father
+used to do, and with a voice so full, so musical, and withal so devout
+and reverent, that it was a pleasure only to listen, and would have
+been had he read in a foreign tongue. The Bishop spoke a few words of
+exhortation on a text from the Psalms.</p>
+
+<p>When prayers were over, I whispered Lady Betty to sit still till Thomas
+came for her. As I stood by her, partly screening her from observation,
+the Bishop drew near. He was talking with my Lady, and at first did not
+see me, but presently turned round, and smiled as his eye met mine.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you not present me to your little daughter, madam?" he said to my
+Lady, who presented Lady Betty, and then me, in due form. He sat down
+by the child, and spoke kindly to her, asking her if she loved coming
+to church.</p>
+
+<p>"I like it very much," answered Betty, who does not know what shyness
+means. "I never came before, and I asked mamma to let me to-night,
+because I wished to see you, and hear you."</p>
+
+<p>His Lordship smiled, and said it was a pretty compliment. "But I think
+you would like to come every day, would you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, when my back does not ache," said Betty, "but I wanted to hear
+you because Margaret told me about you, and how kind you had been to
+her and her mother. I love Margaret, and I love everybody that is kind
+to her."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that's well said, my daughter," returned the Bishop. "You do well
+to love Mistress Merton, who deserves your regard. I doubt not but she
+is a good governess, for she has been a dutiful daughter, and a kind
+sister, as I know."</p>
+
+<p>These praises were very sweet to me, and all the more as Lady Jemima
+stood by and heard them. She looked very scornful, and presently asked
+the Bishop, rather pointedly, if he knew my kinswoman, Mistress Felicia
+Merton. He looked surprised, and said he believed he saw her in church
+with the family, but that was all.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt she was cleverly kept in the background," murmured Lady
+Jemima, not so low but I heard her, and so did the Bishop also, I am
+sure, from the way he glanced at her, as he said:</p>
+
+<p>"My first meeting with Mrs. Merton and her brother was purely
+accidental and fortuitous. I came across them in the church, and
+having been uncivil enough to listen to their conversation, was so
+much interested in it as to desire to improve the acquaintance. I had
+afterwards some dealings with their mother in the way of business, and
+now I think of it, I saw a young gentlewoman, whom Mistress Merton
+presented to me as her husband's sister. If I mistake not, your mother
+told me she was not going to remain with her."</p>
+
+<p>I told him no, she had gone to live with an aunt in London, Mrs.
+Willson by name.</p>
+
+<p>"What!" said his Lordship. "Not my old acquaintance Mrs. Willson, widow
+of the bookseller and stationer, living near St. Paul's church-yard?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him my aunt's husband had been a bookseller, and that she had
+still an interest in the business, and lived I knew near St. Paul's;
+and added that she had been very generous, not only to Felicia, but to
+all the family.</p>
+
+<p>"I know the good woman well," said the Bishop, "for good she is in
+every sense of the word. We must talk over our mutual friends, Mrs.
+Merton. I will see you again."</p>
+
+<p>I can see that every one thinks it a great matter that I should receive
+so much notice from the Bishop. Mrs. Judith would know the whole story,
+and she will tell good Mistress Parnell, so I shall be illustrated.</p>
+
+<p>Since I have been out of doors so much with Lady Betty, I have left off
+my morning walks, but this morning, I know not why, I felt as if one
+would do me good, so I took my hood, and went out into the chase. The
+morning was fine, and everything was pleasant, but I felt I know not
+what, of heaviness and discouragement.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure 'tis very hard to have such an enemy as Lady Jemima, and that for
+no fault of mine own that I know of," I thought.</p>
+
+<p>It is Felicia's doing, to begin with, but she has no right to judge me
+on such slight evidence, nor to treat me as she does. Every time I try
+to set matters straight between us, I only make them worse. I have no
+one of whom I can ask advice either, now that Doctor Parnell is dead,
+and Mr. Penrose has raised up such a bar between us. If only I could
+see Mrs. Corbet alone, she might help me, but then she is one of the
+family, and it might only make trouble.</p>
+
+<p>As I was thinking thus, waking with mine eyes on the ground, I almost
+ran against somebody coming in the opposite direction, and looking up,
+I saw the Bishop before me.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, this is well," said he, with his kindly smile. "So you too love
+the early morning. But methinks your roses are not as blooming as when
+we met before. I trust all is well with you?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I was quite well in health, and that my Lady was very
+kind to me, and I thought I had satisfied her so far.</p>
+
+<p>"But," said he, smiling, and then seemed to be waiting for me to say
+more. Then, as I did not, he continued himself:</p>
+
+<p>"But you have round, I suppose, that things do not go on without rubs
+in courts and castles, more than in rectories and cottages?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose there must be rubs everywhere," said I. "''Tis all in the
+day's work.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Not of course," said my Lord. "We make a good many rubs for ourselves,
+which do not come into our day's work at all."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't really know that I have made any of my rubs for myself," said
+I, considering a little, "unless it was about—" and then I stopped, and
+felt my face grow scarlet, for I was just going to speak of Mr. Penrose.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said the Bishop, as I paused—"except what? Except in tempting
+poor Mr. Penrose away from his vocation, as they say abroad among the
+Papists. Truly that was no great sin. They talk about arguments for and
+against the celibacy of the clergy," he added, more to himself than to
+me. "Truly, I have ever found the meeting and acquaintance of a comely
+maiden, better than any logic in that matter."</p>
+
+<p>"How did you know?" I asked, in utter amazement, forgetting, I am
+afraid, the respect due to his Lordship.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, a little bird told me. But now I must tell you all, or you will be
+fancying more than there is. Sit you down, if you have a little time. I
+should like to talk with you about that and other matters."</p>
+
+<p>We sat down together on a rude seat which stood well sheltered by a
+thicket of holly, and he went on talking as he might have done to his
+own daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"My Lord told me last night that Mr. Penrose was looking for a wife,
+and Lady Jemima said he had not looked very far, or very high, or some
+such phrase. Then Mr. Tailor asked my opinion about priests marrying."
+He paused, and I suppose I looked curious.</p>
+
+<p>"And 'what then,' you are looking," he said, with a laugh which it did
+me good to hear, it was so clear and genial, yet with nothing coarse
+or rude about it. "Marry then, I told my young friend that if what was
+sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, as our old saw hath it,
+I thought the dressing that did for the bishop might suit the curate
+well enough, and that I hoped to see each of them fitted with as good a
+wife as I had myself. Then—I am betraying no confidence in this matter,
+sweetheart, for I told Mr. Penrose that I should speak to you about the
+matter—Mr. Penrose came to me in private, and told me that he had asked
+you to be his wife, but you had put him off for a year, on account of
+a promise you had made my Lady. But my Lady was willing to let you off
+your promise in such a case, and my Lord was also favorable, and he
+begged my good offices with you. There, you have the whole story."</p>
+
+<p>"My Lord," said I, "Mr. Penrose is under some strange mistake. I never
+said or hinted that I would marry him at the end of the year, or at any
+other time."</p>
+
+<p>"Understand me! He did not say positively that you did so promise,"
+said his Lordship. "He only told me that you had put him off till that
+time before he should speak again. He told me that you had behaved most
+honorably with him, with a great deal to your praise, which I need not
+repeat, and then, with a great deal of humility, he did ask me, if I
+thought right, to speak with you on the matter. So now I have fulfilled
+my word in so speaking; and what do you say thereto?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only what I have said before, my Lord," I answered, trying to speak
+calmly. "Mr. Penrose is a good young gentleman, and I know the match to
+be far above my deserts, but I can never marry him, if he waited ten
+years instead of one."</p>
+
+<p>"But your mind may change in a year," said my Lord.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not believe it will, and I do not want it to change," I answered.
+"I 'know' I shall never want to marry him."</p>
+
+<p>"But why?" asked the Bishop.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," I answered, "I know how I feel now. I like Mr. Penrose very
+well as a friend and neighbor, but the minute I think of marrying him,
+I perfectly hate him, and feel as though I would walk to the Land's End
+to get out of hearing of his name."</p>
+
+<p>"That would be going out of the river into the sea," said the Bishop,
+laughing again at my vehemence. "You would meet with plenty of
+Penroses between here and the Land's End. Ah, well! I see my poor
+chaplain's cake is dough, and though I like him well, I would not have
+it otherwise, so long as you feel so. I would not have you marry for
+interest, my maiden. Wedded life is a lovely and a holy thing where
+love is, but where it is not, there is confusion and every evil work.
+And then, you are but young to settle in life. I am sorry for Mr.
+Penrose, though. He is a good young man."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed he is!" I answered, warmly. "And that made me so sorry to have
+this come up, because I liked him so well. And now we can be naught but
+strangers. I wish he would fall in love with somebody else."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis not unlikely your wish may be gratified!" said my Lord, dryly.
+"But let him pass for the present. My Lady tells me that your little
+pupil has improved wonderfully under your hands, and that she is much
+pleased with your management."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very glad," I answered. "My Lady does me more than justice. I do
+not think that Lady Betty has learned so very much, but her health has
+improved, and with it her spirits and temper. She is so bright, 'tis
+but a pleasure to teach her."</p>
+
+<p>"And now for yourself," said the Bishop, with a penetrating, but kindly
+look. "How have you fared? Do you remember the promise I exacted from
+you that day in the church?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him that I had never forgotten it, and that I believed I had
+kept it every day; and added that I had read half through the volume he
+gave me.</p>
+
+<p>"That is well!" said he, seeming pleased. "And have you not found those
+things a help to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"They have been a help," said I, "and also a comfort. But I know not
+how it is, I seem to gain no ground, or what I gain one day I lose the
+next. I have tried to be good, indeed I have!" I continued, feeling
+the tears very near my eyes, but determined, if I could, to keep them
+back. "But I do not succeed, and I sometimes fear that I shall never
+reach heaven at last. When I first came here, Lady Jemima was very
+kind to me; and gave me rules about devotions and fasting, and so
+on. But I cannot keep to them because my time is not my own, nor my
+strength either, and my Lady was not pleased when I gave up my hour
+of recreation to sew on Lady Jemima's work for the poor. Then I am
+conscious of so many failings every day that I am afraid—" I had to
+stop here and look very steadfastly through the tears.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand," said the Bishop. "My dear maiden, do you not see
+wherein your trouble lies? You have undertaken, something which is not
+in your day's work at all, and which therefore is too much for your
+strength. You are trying to purchase eternal life by your own works and
+deservings, whereas it has already been bought for you, and the whole
+price paid by another, so that to you it is offered as a free gift. The
+'gift' of God—observe, daughter, the 'gift' of God is eternal life,
+through Jesus Christ our Lord."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at him, but I could not speak—such a light seemed all at once
+to flash upon me. He went on. I cannot tell all he said, only he made
+it plain to me from many places of Scripture that nothing we could do
+could save ourselves. That God had appointed another way, easy and
+plain, namely, faith in His dear Son, whom He had sent to die for our
+sins and to rise for our justification. That He, by His one oblation
+of Himself, once offered, had made a full, sufficient, and perfect
+atonement and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world, and that
+I should make that atonement mine, and receive all its benefits, the
+moment I should come to Him in faith and humility, giving myself to
+Him, and asking God for His sake to receive me.</p>
+
+<p>"But what becomes of good works?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"They are of the utmost value!" he replied. "They show our sincerity to
+ourselves and to the world, for one thing; and they are a part of the
+work our Heavenly Father has given us to do, not as task-work to slaves
+to be sharply exacted and grudgingly paid, but as work laid out for
+good and loving children that they may both improve themselves thereby,
+and also help on His plans for the good of all. Tell me, sweetheart,
+which is best—to make garments for an old woman because she is in need
+and because she is one of God's creatures whom He loves, or because
+clothing the poor is one of the corporal works of mercy, and you are
+laying up just so much merit thereby?"</p>
+
+<p>"The first, of course," I answered. "'Love makes easy service,' dear
+mother used to say. But, my Lord, you say that I have only to believe
+that this sacrifice was made for me—that I have but to believe and be
+saved."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said, kindly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I may know that I am saved now—because I can certainly know that
+I believe now, as well as I can know anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, why not?" he repeated. "Is not the knowledge pleasant—to feel
+that you are the beloved child of God, and an heir to everlasting life?"</p>
+
+<p>"So pleasant," I replied, "that I see not what becomes of Mr. Penrose's
+saying that it behoves us to walk softly and mournfully all our days,
+in the bitterness of our souls. It seems to me that there is no room
+for it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, my dear maiden," said the Bishop, smiling somewhat sadly, "we
+shall have sorrow enough, never fear—quite as much as is good for us,
+without seeking or making any. I wonder if Mr. Penrose ever thought
+that with all the commands to rejoice, to be exceeding glad, to rejoice
+evermore, and so on, there is not one single direct command to mourn,
+in the New Testament. I would have you go on your way rejoicing. I
+would have you gather every flower which your Father plants in your
+path, and take delight in every innocent pleasure, because 'tis a gift
+from His hand. And even when trouble comes, as come it does to all, I
+would have you rejoice because you are in the hand of One who never
+afflicts willingly, and who is bound, by all His attributes, to bring
+you safely through."</p>
+
+<p>Much more he said, but this is what I remember best—what I am sure I
+shall never forgot as long as I live. I have felt all day as though a
+great burden which I had been trying to carry, but which was beyond my
+strength, had been suddenly lifted off, and I had been told to go on my
+way without it.</p>
+
+<p>When I came in, my Lady asked me if I had heard any good news, that
+my face was so bright. The Bishop preached for us in the chapel this
+evening. There was a great congregation—all the Fultons, and many other
+neighboring gentry, besides Mrs. Corbet and her son, all of whom were
+entertained at supper afterward. Lady Betty sat in her corner, only
+somewhat more out of sight than before, and I by her. The Bishop's text
+was out of the third of St. John's Gospel—</p>
+
+<p>"Whoso believeth on Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life."</p>
+
+<p>I shall never forget it while I live—so clear and plain was it, so full
+of beauty, and delivered with such eloquence, yet so expressed as that
+the youngest and simplest person present could take in somewhat of the
+doctrine.</p>
+
+<p>I saw many looks exchanged, mostly of approval, though Lady Jemima was
+evidently ill-pleased, and I thought Mr. Penrose somewhat dubious. As
+for my Lord, he slept through most of it, as he does at all sermons.</p>
+
+<p>I did not go to the supper table, but Lady Betty and I supped
+sumptuously in Mrs. Judith's room afterward—a great delight to the
+child, to whom every change is a treat. Mrs. Corbet came in to speak
+to her, and spent an hour with us talking about the sermon, which, she
+said, had made her young again. Mr. Corbet was here, but I did not see
+him, save for a moment, as he came to speak to me in the chapel.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Mr. Penrose looks very pale and downcast, but did give me a very
+kindly greeting, and a message from Mistress Parnell, whom he has
+begged to remain in the rectory and keep his house for him.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you would have one of your sisters," said I, when he told me
+this bit of news.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I shall, by and by," he answered, "but they find enough to do
+at home, and it seems a pity Mistress Parnell should leave the roof
+which hath sheltered her so long. So I have even begged her to stay,
+and she hath consented to do so, instead of going to her niece at
+Bristol. Will you not come and see her sometimes?"</p>
+
+<p>Then, as I hesitated, he added, "Believe me, Margaret, I will annoy you
+with no more importunities. I see that there is no use in it, and I
+will spare myself the humiliation and you the pain, of asking what can
+never be given."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke with much kindness, but with dignity, and without a tinge of
+pique or offence; and then added, smiling somewhat sadly, "You know you
+are to be Aunt Margaret by and by, so you had best begin on Mistress
+Parnell."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I shall come," said I. I never was so near liking him as at
+that last minute. If it were not—but there it is. Nobody knows or
+guesses—there is one comfort. O yes! There are a great many comforts.
+What a long story I have made of the matter!</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 15.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>The good Bishop has gone, but I might say that his spirit abides with
+us still, everything seems to go on so pleasantly and peacefully. My
+Lord has been away for a few days, but is to return to-morrow. My Lady
+keeps her room a good deal, looking over papers, &amp;c., and has spent
+more than her usual time in the nursery, to the delight of both Betty
+and myself.</p>
+
+<p>This morning she brought me a letter from Aunt Willson, which came
+in one to herself. She showed me the last. It is short, and to the
+purpose, saying much that is kind of me and mine, and thanking her
+Ladyship for her goodness to me. Her note to me was the same, only
+adding at the end that she hoped I should have no more trouble made by
+the schemes of one that should be nameless.</p>
+
+<p>Only Lady Jemima will not be pacified toward me. She stopped me in the
+garden the other day, and told me she had had a letter from Felicia,
+who sent me her forgiveness for the ill offices I had been trying to do
+her, but which had failed; as she hoped, for my own sake, all my plans
+of that sort might do.</p>
+
+<p>"So do I," said I. "If I ever make any plans for mischief, I trust
+they will fail. As yet I have made none, nor done any one ill offices.
+Whether any one has done them for me, is quite another matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Beware!" said she, solemnly. "You are so set up with pride, because of
+the Bishop's ill-judged notice of you, and because my Lady takes your
+part, that you can see no danger; but beware! There is One that sees
+and judges."</p>
+
+<p>"I rejoice to think there is, and to Him I commit myself and my cause."
+And with that I left her. It is strange how prejudiced she hath become.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet rarely joins Betty in her walks and rides now, and the
+poor child is very much grieved, and thinks cousin Walter has grown
+strangely remiss. I fancy some one—my Lady, perhaps—has spoken to him.
+It is just as well. I only wish he had not begun it. And yet—I don't
+know that I do, either.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 17.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I said the last time I wrote that things were going on pleasantly, but
+since then we have had a grand explosion, the effects of which are felt
+even yet. It came about in this wise.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord came home the day before yesterday, bringing with him a
+guest—Lord Saville, a court gallant, and I know not what relative of
+my Lady's. Never was anything so fine as this gallant, with his satin
+trunks and hose, his shoes with roses of gold lace and brilliants,
+his jewelled hatband, and I know not what else of bravery in the
+gayest colors—nay, I verily believe he painted his face, at least his
+eyebrows. For my part I cannot think so much finery becoming a man. Mr.
+Corbet, in his plain dark cloth and trimmed hair, looks ten times the
+gentleman that this lovelocked and perfumed court popinjay does.</p>
+
+<p>Well, he was at the supper table, of course, and Mr. Corbet and Mr.
+Penrose also. One of Sir Thomas Fulton's daughters is here visiting
+Lady Jemima, and she was the only lady guest. It fell out that my Lord
+began speaking of Mr. Prynne, and of Lilburne, and now for the first
+time I heard of the barbarous sentence—the branding and cropping of the
+former gentleman—for a gentleman he is, and of as good blood as my Lord
+himself. My Lord swore with many oaths, as his way is, that the canting
+beggar was rightly served, and he would like to see them all served
+with the same sauce.</p>
+
+<p>"It would be a great dish that should hold them," said Mr. Corbet,
+dryly, "and would need to be made very strong."</p>
+
+<p>"You are right, sir," said Lord Saville. "The faction increases
+wonderfully, in spite of the Archbishop, who is a jolly Churchman. They
+say that Mr. Prynne received wonderful tokens of kindness and sympathy
+on his way to prison, and that money was showered on his wife, but she
+would not take it. Marry, that is the wonderful part of the tale."</p>
+
+<p>They should all be served alike, my Lord swore, and said he would like
+to hear one of his household or dependents say a word in favor of the
+sour, vinegar-faced hypocrite or his abettors. My Lady looked at me,
+and I read in her glance what would have kept me quiet but for Lady
+Jemima's interference. She saw my disturbed countenance, as she sees
+everything, and said, in her most sarcastic tone:</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Merton, you need not look so distressed. I dare say my brother
+will make an exception in your favor, if you are desirous of pleading
+the cause of your kinsman."</p>
+
+<p>How she knew Mr. Prynne was my kinsman I cannot guess, unless Felicia
+told her.</p>
+
+<p>All eyes were turned on me at once.</p>
+
+<p>"What!" exclaimed my Lord. "That canting scoundrel Margaret's kinsman!
+I do not believe it! Speak up, Margaret, and deny it; or say, at the
+least, that you do not take the part of such an execrable villain. Say
+that he hath had his deserts, or at least some small part of them, and
+I shall be content. Speak out!" he cried, seeing that I hesitated, and
+smiting the table with his fist till the dishes rang.</p>
+
+<p>"Since I must needs speak, then, my Lord," said I, "Mr. Prynne is my
+kinsman, and hath often been at our house in my father's life-time; and
+then I am sure he was an honest gentleman, though somewhat sour and
+austere. What he has now done, I know not, save that he hath printed
+a book inveighing against stage plays, but sure it must have been a
+greater crime than that to merit so barbarous a sentence."</p>
+
+<p>"Barbarous! Do you say barbarous?" exclaimed my Lord, in tones that
+trembled with passion, while Lord Saville looked on with an expression
+of contemptuous amusement.</p>
+
+<p>"I did say so, my Lord," I answered, for my own spirit was up by this
+time. "Branding and cropping do seem to me barbarous punishments, and
+unworthy a Christian age: and I cannot understand how a Christian
+prelate could sit by when such sentence was given, and not protest
+against it."</p>
+
+<p>"He was so far from protesting that he was the very head and front of
+the matter," said Mr. Corbet.</p>
+
+<p>"And am I to hear this?" said my Lord, fairly glaring at me.
+"Elizabeth, do you hear this—this chit brave me at mine own board?"</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret said nothing till she was pressed," answered my Lady, more
+loftily than her wont.</p>
+
+<p>"And you dare to take the part of this fellow!" said my Lord to me.</p>
+
+<p>"How can you be surprised, brother?" asked Lady Jemima, scornfully.
+"'Birds of a feather flock together,' you know."</p>
+
+<p>"But you don't mean it, Margaret," said my Lord: "you do not mean
+to take the part of this crop-eared scoundrel and own him for your
+kinsman? You don't mean to say—"</p>
+
+<p>"I did not mean to say anything, my Lord, and should not, unless it
+had been forced upon me," said I, as he paused for breath, and seemed
+to expect some answer, "but what I have said, I cannot unsay. Mr.
+Prynne 'is' my kinsman, and he has been kind to my mother since my
+father's death. What ill he may have done I cannot say, but if it is
+no more than writing a book against plays and play-houses, I must say
+that the sentence seems to me a very severe and barbarous one, and
+most unworthy of a Christian prelate." I said this, I am conscious,
+with some emphasis and heat, for it seemed to me that I was being very
+unfairly treated both by my Lord and Lady Jemima, and it did not make
+me any cooler to see that Lord Saville was amusing himself with the
+whole affair. But here I received support, though I can hardly say
+assistance, from a very unexpected quarter.</p>
+
+<p>"I am with you, Mistress Merton," said Mr. Penrose (who had hitherto
+been quite silent), in his clear, precise voice. "I have always
+hitherto loved and revered the Archbishop, but I cannot approve his
+course in this matter. It seems to me far worse than the homicide for
+which Archbishop Abbot was deprived. I have seen Mr. Prynne's book. I
+have also seen two or three plays, when I was last in London," (and
+withal he blushed like a girl,) "and though I like not at all Mr.
+Prynne's spirit, and believe him to be guilty of dangerous errors in
+doctrine, I think what he says of the practises of plays and players
+too well deserved. I am ashamed when I remember the play which I saw
+played before the king."</p>
+
+<p>"And what was that play, Mr. Chaplain, an it like you?" asked my Lord
+Saville.</p>
+
+<p>"It was called, if I mistake not, 'The Gamester,'" answered Mr. Penrose.</p>
+
+<p>"I would have you to know, sir, that the plot of that play was
+furnished to Mr. Shirley the poet by his Majesty's own hands," said
+Lord Saville, arrogantly, and as if to bear down all before him: "I
+myself heard the king say it was the best play he had seen in seven
+years."</p>
+
+<p>"So much the worse," said Mr. Penrose, shortly. "I could not have
+believed it of his Majesty."</p>
+
+<p>With that my Lord exploded in a new fury. He put no bounds to his
+language, but called Mr. Penrose all the opprobrious epithets he could
+muster, and reproached him with the benefits which had been bestowed
+upon him in language which I am sure he would not have dared to bestow
+upon an equal. It was enough to make one ashamed of ever having been in
+a passion, to see what a pitiful spectacle this man made of himself.
+Mr. Penrose sat quite still till my Lord paused, from sheer inability
+to say another word. Then he said, rising from the table, as he spoke:</p>
+
+<p>"My Lord, it has been your pleasure to insult at your own table, and
+before your servants, a gentleman whose birth is as good as your own,
+and whose family was known and distinguished, when yours was still in
+obscurity. My profession, if nothing else, forbids me to demand of you
+the satisfaction which one gentleman owes to another in such a case. I
+am your debtor, 'tis true, but I am also a gentleman, and a clergyman
+of the Church of England, and as such entitled to speak my mind. I
+return upon your hands the benefits with which you reproach me, and
+which you have rendered more bitter than gall, by your insults, I will
+be no man's lackey, though I be forced to drudge for my daily bread
+like any plowman. I here resign both the chaplaincy and the benefice
+which you have given me, thanking you for any courtesy you have shown
+me hitherto." And with that he rose from the table, bowed to my Lady
+and the rest, and took his hat to leave the room.</p>
+
+<p>"I will walk with you, Mr. Penrose," said Mr. Corbet, also rising.
+"Give you good-night, fair ladies." And they left the hall.</p>
+
+<p>I could not have believed it was in the little man to look and speak as
+he did, with so much calmness and dignity. Even the allusion to his own
+family (which, he being a Cornishman, is, of course, a good deal older
+than Adam), sat gracefully enough upon him.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord was actually silenced, and had the grace to look ashamed. My
+Lady prevented any more words by rising from the table, and of course
+all of us did the same. As we passed out of the hall, I heard Lady
+Jemima say to my Lady:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Sister Elizabeth, what think you of the storm your immaculate
+Mrs. Merton has raised? Is she not a fit person, to have charge of your
+daughter's education?"</p>
+
+<p>She spoke in the tone of sarcastic contempt, which she always uses to
+or about me.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady answered more sharply than I ever heard her speak:</p>
+
+<p>"It was yourself, Jemima, who raised the storm, as most storms in this
+house are raised, by your impertinent meddling. Margaret would not have
+spoken but for your drawing my Lord's attention upon her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, of course, it was all my fault," Lady Jemima began, but my Lady
+interrupted her:</p>
+
+<p>"It 'was' all your fault! You are constantly tormenting the child for
+no other reason than because she dares to have a mind of her own. But
+I have had enough of it; and have long borne with your impertinent
+interference in household affairs, your contradicting of my orders,
+upsetting my arrangements, and taking the words out of my mouth at mine
+own table: but I will have it no longer. The next time you make such a
+piece of mischief, you leave the house, or I do!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I must say!" Lady Jemima began.</p>
+
+<p>But my Lady cut her short: "I will hear no more!" said she, sharply. "I
+am wearied and fretted to death now. Margaret, why do you not go to the
+nursery?"</p>
+
+<p>I might have said that I was only waiting for her to give me room to
+pass, but I saw well that my Lady was driven past her patience, and no
+wonder: so I courtesied and made my escape by the way of Mrs. Judith's
+room.</p>
+
+<p>I did not know what to do, for my Lord had bid me quit the house the
+next day, and I had nowhere to go. I had money enough owing me to take
+me home, but I knew not how to get there, and I had no friend to whom I
+could apply, unless it were the Bishop.</p>
+
+<p>I could hardly calm myself to think of anything for a time, but at
+last, by dint of walking in the gallery, which I did for an hour,
+and by schooling myself to do my usual reading, I found myself in a
+condition to consider matters quietly. I never felt any more unhappy
+in my life, and regretted twenty times that I had not stayed in the
+nursery with my child, but there was no use in that. Besides the
+disgrace which had been put upon me, and the triumph which that
+disgrace would afford to mine enemies, my heart was broken at the
+thought that I must leave my child to a stranger, just at the time when
+she was like to need me most, and have all my work for her undone.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima is mine enemy, though I know she would not own herself so.
+She persecutes me, as my Lady says, because I think for myself instead
+of following her. As for my Lord, I care not so much for him.</p>
+
+<p>Well, I could do nothing that night—so much was plain—and the next day
+might bring cooler councils. So I looked in upon my child, as I usually
+do the last thing, and then said my prayers. I know not whether I did
+entirely forgive Lady Jemima, but I know I tried faithfully to do so.
+I confess I cried myself to sleep, but I did go to sleep at last, and
+slept well, with sweet dreams of walking in pleasant green fields, in
+good company. Methought that a deep river seemed to divide us for a
+time, which I could not cross because of the child who was with me, but
+at last, I know not how, my Lady brought us together again, and then,
+taking Betty by her hand, she smiled lovingly upon us and seemed to
+float away. I awoke not a little comforted, though 'twas but a dream.</p>
+
+<p>I thought I would do nothing good or bad till I saw my Lady, so I
+dressed Lady Betty, as usual, (though she has learned to help herself
+a great deal,) heard her say her prayers, and gave her her breakfast.
+I then went to my room for my workbasket, where I met my Lady. She
+looked pale and tired, but greeted me kindly, as usual, and asked me
+some questions about Betty's lessons. I answered her, and added that I
+had thought it best to go on as usual till I saw her and received her
+commands.</p>
+
+<p>"You have said nothing to Betty, I hope?" said my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>I told her I had not.</p>
+
+<p>"That is well!" said she. "Margaret, have you the patience to let
+matters stand as they are for a few days, and do nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, my Lady, if you desire it," I answered. "I would do more than
+that for you."</p>
+
+<p>"I know I ask a good deal," she continued. "I know the position is a
+painful one, but I hope things may be mended."</p>
+
+<p>"My Lady," said I, thinking it was time for me to speak, "I can bear
+all things for your sake and for Lady Betty's. I have been turning the
+matter over in my own mind—I mean what chanced last night—and truly I
+see not what I could have done differently from that I did. Mr. Prynne
+is my kinsman, and, as I said, he has been kind to us; and had my dear
+father taken his advice, it would have fared the better with us at this
+time. I would not have spoken unless I had been called upon, but being
+so called upon, it does seem to me that I should have been base and
+ungrateful not to speak up for my cousin."</p>
+
+<p>My Lady sighed. "I know, Margaret. I do not blame you. I know my Lord
+was somewhat hot and hasty, and he was provoked with Mr. Penrose for
+his uncalled-for words."</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat hot and hasty, indeed! But he is her husband, and, as I once
+heard dear father say, a woman must be somewhat more than an angel to
+be just where her husband is concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"But rest you quiet, sweetheart!" continued my Lady. "Let the storm
+go by! At the worst, I will see that you are taken good care of,
+but I trust not to lose you. It will be my great comfort, under my
+approaching trial, to know that Betty is in such good hands."</p>
+
+<p>After such words from my Lady, I could not doubt what my duty was. So
+I said I would go on just as usual, only praying her leave to absent
+myself from table, which she granted, saying that Betty and I might
+dine either by ourselves or with Mrs. Judith. I know Betty would choose
+the latter, and said so; whereat she bade me inform Mrs. Judith of the
+arrangement.</p>
+
+<p>I went to her room for the purpose, and found her busy blanching and
+shredding almonds, stoning dates and raisins, and so forth, for the
+dinner. She would not let me stay to help her, however, as I would have
+done, but saying that I looked pale, and the fresh air would do me
+good, she filled my pocket with spiced comfits and sent me away to walk.</p>
+
+<p>The day has passed quietly enough. I have been careful to keep out of
+my Lord's way, and also to keep Lady Betty out of his sight, for 'tis
+the way of grand and magnanimous natures like his to revenge their
+humors on little and weak creatures. Marry, they now and then find
+themselves mistaken, as my Lord did with Mr. Penrose last night. How
+grand and dignified the little man was! My Lord has gotten himself into
+a scrape there, and I am wicked enough to be glad of it. It seems that
+the presentation to the living belongs to both houses in such wise that
+my Lord has it one time and Mr. Corbet the next. So by Mr. Penrose's
+resignation last night the next presentation is Mr. Corbet's. I do hope
+he will reinstate Mr. Penrose, and I think he will, for he was clearly
+pleased last night.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 20.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Things still go on quietly enough in the family. My Lord has said
+nothing to me, good or bad, but I fancy he hath made some sort of
+apology to Mr. Penrose, from something I saw passing between them
+in the garden this morning, and from the fact that Mr. Penrose read
+prayers in the chapel this evening. He made a short but earnest lecture
+on the text, "The temple of God is holy, which temple ye are;" and
+spoke most forcibly and beautifully on the point of purity, not only
+of life but of mind, carrying out the figure, and likening the man who
+entertained unclean and impure thoughts in his mind, to one who should
+feast boon companions in the sanctuary of the church, and make the
+sacred vessels themselves the instruments of his debauchery.</p>
+
+<p>Methought my Lord looked a little uneasy, but Lord Saville kept his
+usual sneering composure. The latter gallant favored me with a low
+reverence—I suppose in the usual Court mode, but I would not so much
+as let him know that I saw him. His very look is an insult. I made my
+reverence to Lady Jemima, in passing, but did not speak to her, nor she
+to me. I have tried hard to forgive her, and I hope I have done so, in
+some measure, for I would not, as Mr. Penrose would say, bring sword
+and dagger into God's sanctuary.</p>
+
+<p>I thought of the sermon all the evening. Surely if a very awful, 'tis
+also a marvellous comforting thought—that abiding of the Spirit in our
+hearts!</p>
+
+<p>Mistress Parnell walked up with Mr. Penrose, and was loud in his
+praises afterwards, when we were at supper together in Mrs. Judith's
+room, saying, with tears, that he was like a son or younger brother to
+her, constantly seeking what he may do to please her, and studying her
+comfort in every way.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Margaret, Margaret!" said the old lady. "I doubt you are throwing
+away what can never be gotten back again."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know but I am, but there is no help for it." If I had never
+seen anybody else—but that 'if' is as wide as the ocean. There is no
+ship to cross it.</p>
+
+<p>Betty, dear child, is as good and loving as a child can be. She has
+taken double pains with her learning of late, and makes wonderful
+progress. This day, after sitting long and silent over her sewing—she
+is making an apron for Goody Yoe—she said to me:</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, you know Latin, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>I told her I did know some Latin, and one day I would read her some
+pretty tales out of Virgil, his "Aeneid."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you teach me Latin?" she asked, wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"That must be as my Lady says," I answered. "But, my love, why do you
+wish to learn Latin?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because," said she, "My little brother will have to learn it some day,
+I suppose, and if I know it, I can teach it to him."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose your little brother should turn out a little sister?" said I,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but I hope he will not!" she answered. "You know papa likes boys
+best!"</p>
+
+<p>Betty rarely shows a spark of her old heat or perverseness, and if she
+does, it makes her very unhappy, and she will not rest until she has
+asked and received forgiveness. I sometimes think her character is
+ripening too fast, and that such deep feelings in a child forebode an
+early death. And yet, why should I say fear? 'Twould be a blessed thing
+for her. Her life is not like to be a happy one.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 21.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Another explosion, and by my means, though not by my fault. I only wish
+all the consequences had fallen on myself. I should find it easier to
+forgive the author than I do now.</p>
+
+<p>It chanced on this wise. I have kept Betty out of the way as much as
+possible, but the morning was so fine that I could not resist her
+entreaties for a ride, and we went as far as the Abbey ruin, which
+Betty has always wished to see, and which, from its stillness and
+loneliness, hath been a favorite haunt of mine own. I had no thought of
+meeting any one, for none of the family ever came thither.</p>
+
+<p>So we let the donkey graze at his will while we wandered about and
+spelled out the inscriptions on the stones, I translating the Latin for
+Lady Betty's benefit. There was no danger of Jack's straying far, for
+he loves Betty with all the force of his donkeyish nature, and will
+come prancing and flinging in most ludicrous sort to meet her, whenever
+she comes near.</p>
+
+<p>Well, as I said, we were spelling out the inscriptions, and Betty was
+much interested in the tomb of Abbot Ignatius, when we heard my Lord's
+voice, and presently he and Lord Saville came from behind the wall
+of the ruined refectory. Now, Betty loves her father's very shadow,
+and before I could hinder her, she had run to meet him, with a cry of
+delight.</p>
+
+<p>"Hallo!" exclaimed my Lord Saville. "What little 'mundrake' have we
+here? Are your grounds haunted with dwarfs and pixies, my Lord?"</p>
+
+<p>My Lord's brow turned black as thunder.</p>
+
+<p>"This is my daughter, my Lord!" said he, in a lofty tone: but Lord
+Saville was by no means overawed.</p>
+
+<p>"I crave your pardon!" said he, carelessly: "I knew you had a daughter,
+but I thought her to have died long since." And with that, he turned
+away.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing here, Bess?" asked my Lord, harshly.</p>
+
+<p>"I-I-only came—I don't know!" answered Betty, flushing and stammering,
+as she is apt to do when startled.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Merton, since you pretend to have the government of the child,
+methinks you might at least keep her out of sight!" said my Lord,
+turning the vials of his wrath on me. "'Tis surely misfortune enough to
+be the father of such a changeling, without having her paraded to shame
+me at every turn! I think the devil himself served her alive, to vex
+me. I would she had died at her birth, like her brothers yonder," he
+added, muttering between his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>I don't suppose he meant she should hear him, but she did. She drew
+herself up as I should not have supposed possible, and looking her
+father in the face with her flashing black eyes, she said:</p>
+
+<p>"God made me, my Lord!" Then turning to me, she said, with as much
+dignity as ever I saw, "Margaret, we will go home!"</p>
+
+<p>Felicia used to say sometimes that if I could command the lightning,
+her life would not be safe. I am sure my Lord's would not have been
+at that moment. I am ashamed to write it, but I do think I could have
+killed him. I could not trust myself to speak to him.</p>
+
+<p>To make the matter worse, Betty's little dog ran between his legs and
+nearly upset him. With a curse, he kicked the poor beast violently out
+of his way, and against a stone, where he lay stunned for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>This was too much, and Betty burst into passionate tears and
+lamentations. "Oh, my dear dog! Oh, what shall I do!"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, hush!" said I. "The dog is not dead! See, he moves now!"</p>
+
+<p>I set her on her donkey, and put into her arms poor Gill, who was
+beginning to make a feeble whining, and so we went away, leaving my
+Lord looking foolish enough.</p>
+
+<p>I thought all day the poor beast would die, but he is better to-night.
+Betty never said one word all the way home, and she has moped all day.
+I have not told my Lady, and shall not.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord met me in the hall to-night, and said something about a game
+of backgammon, but I would not understand, and passed him with only a
+reverence. Maybe I am wrong, but I dared not trust myself with him.
+Since we are to order ourselves reverently to our betters, 'tis to be
+wished that our betters were a little better!</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>August 23.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>The poor little dog is dead! We nursed it up as well as we could, and
+I hoped it would get well, but it died last night, after two or three
+hours of great suffering. It was pitiful to see the poor little wretch,
+how in its greatest agonies it would look up in answer to Betty's
+voice, and make a feeble effort to wag its tail. The poor child was
+broken-hearted, and no wonder. I thought to have a sad time with her;
+and so indeed I did, but not as I expected. There was no screaming,
+none of the violence she has shown heretofore, but deep, distressful
+sobbing, which seemed to shake her poor thin frame all to pieces. It
+was not only the loss of the dog, her only playfellow, though that was
+enough, but that "papa" should have done it. I had at last to come to
+my final argument, which I keep in reserve when all else fails to quiet
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"My love, you will make yourself sick!" I said. "And that will distress
+my Lady, and perhaps make her sick as well."</p>
+
+<p>"I 'am' sick!" said the poor thing, sobbing. "I am sick of 'being' at
+all. Everything is so hard for me. I wish I had never been made! Oh,
+Margaret, why do you suppose that I was made?"</p>
+
+<p>"To be happy in heaven forever!" I said. "That is what we were all made
+for."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I wish I had gone there when I was born!" said she. "I think it
+is a very hard road to get there!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is a hard road to many beside you, my dear one," I answered. "Think
+how hard it was made to the poor men Mr. Corbet told us of, who were
+shut up for years and years in the dungeons of the Inquisition, only to
+be burned at last, because they would not deny the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"But why should it be so?" asked Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"That I cannot tell you," I answered. "But, Betty, don't think all the
+time of the hardness of the road. Think of what is at the end thereof,
+and how you may help those who are going the same way; and perhaps turn
+some back who are travelling in the opposite direction. If you live
+and grow up, you will have a great many chances of doing good, both to
+men's souls and their bodies. There are your little god-daughters down
+at the Cove, and the children in the school, and as you grow older,
+more people still."</p>
+
+<p>She seemed a little comforted, and to divert her still farther, I told
+her of Goody Yeo's granddaughter, who needed a petticoat, which she
+might make for her.</p>
+
+<p>At last, she ceased crying, and allowed me to loosen her dress and lay
+her down to rest. I thought she was asleep, when she roused herself and
+asked me:</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, what sort of a man was your father?"</p>
+
+<p>I told her he was a good man, and much beloved by all who knew him.</p>
+
+<p>"If you had had a little dog, he would not have killed it," said she.
+"If you had been crooked and sickly, he would not have wished you were
+dead!"</p>
+
+<p>"My love," said I, "you think too hardly of your father. He did not
+mean to kill the dog."</p>
+
+<p>"He did not mean to break my heart, either," said this strange child;
+"and yet he has done both, and they can't be cured because he did not
+mean to do it. It was not the saying so—it was the thinking so."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he meant it, either," I answered. "People often say a
+great deal more than they mean. The other day, when Mary broke your
+china image by accident, you told her that she was an awkward clod, and
+you wished she was a thousand miles off. Yet I am sure you would be
+very sorry to have her go even ten miles away, would you not?"</p>
+
+<p>She was silent at this, and seemed to be turning the matter over in her
+mind. When Mary came in, shortly after, Betty roused up and called her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary," said she, "I am very sorry that I was so cross with you about
+breaking the china image. I said I wished you a thousand miles away,
+and it was not true. I would not have you go away for anything, and I
+will never say such wicked things again."</p>
+
+<p>"Bless your dear, tender heart!" said Mary, kissing the hand Betty held
+out to her. "I thought nothing of it, my lambkin. I knew you were only
+angry, and we all say more than we mean at such times."</p>
+
+<p>"I will try never to be angry again," said Betty. "Margaret, will you
+ask Thomas to bury my poor dog near to our seat in the wood, and to
+mark the place? I should like to have Thomas do it, because he was
+always fond of poor Gill."</p>
+
+<p>I promised that it should be done as she desired, and leaving her with
+Mary, with a charge not to talk, but to lie still and try to sleep, I
+carried the poor little beast down to the stable, and asked Thomas to
+bury him. As he was smoothing the turf over the little grave, my Lord
+came along.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, what are you doing here?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Burying my little lady's dog," answered Thomas, shortly. He hath been
+here since the time of my Lord's father, and is apt to say his say to
+every one about the place, my Lord included.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what ailed the dog?" asked my Lord.</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to know, if anybody did, I should say," was the surly
+answer. "The poor whelp had half his ribs broken. More shame for them
+as used a dumb beast so—or a Christian either," he muttered to himself.
+"There, Mistress Merton, that is done as well as if old Sexton himself
+had had the job; and I'll beg Dick Gardener for some of his double
+'vilets,' to plant over him." So saying, he shouldered his spade and
+stalked off.</p>
+
+<p>To do my Lord justice, he did look heartily ashamed and sorry.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said he. "I never meant to hurt the dog, I am sure. I
+suppose Bess is screaming herself into fits about it."</p>
+
+<p>I told him Lady Betty was very unhappy, but that she had not screamed
+at all, only cried bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, I am sorry," he said again. "Give my love to Bess, and
+tell her I did not mean to kill him. I will get her another, if I have
+to search the country for it."</p>
+
+<p>I was glad to hear him say so, and gave his message to Betty, though I
+did not say he meant to get her another dog. I knew she would not take
+kindly to the notion just yet, and, besides, it might be only another
+disappointment. She was very much comforted, and is beginning to be
+quite cheerful again, though I hear a deep sigh now and then.</p>
+
+<p>And here I must say that I am conscious of never having done justice to
+my dear father so long as he lived. He had his faults, no doubt, the
+chief of which were an over-sanguine disposition, which made every new
+scheme look absolutely desirable and feasible, and a too lavish use of
+money while he had it, but never was a pleasanter man to live with. He
+was always so genial and kindly: so sunny and cheerful, not by fits and
+starts, but steadily, and at all times. If mother were disappointed
+in her calculations—if some favorite dish were spoiled, or some book
+or paper mislaid, he was always the one to laugh it off and make
+everything pleasant again.</p>
+
+<p>Dear mother had her sorrows and cares, 'tis true, but I think she was
+a happy woman, after all. Father was such a help to her, and he was
+such a "safe" man to live with. It was like walking on the firm, solid
+ground, instead of upon treacherous ice, or over a mine; like sailing
+on the open sea instead of among rocks and quicksands, where one must
+be all the time on the lookout, and after all some sudden gust or
+unsuspected current may make all one's caution of no avail.</p>
+
+<p>I fancy it is this constant observing of her husband's humors which has
+made my Lady so silent and self-restrained in company, even at her own
+table, and which makes many people think her stiff and cold. She is
+like another person here in the nursery, or with Mrs. Corbet.</p>
+
+<p>And yet my Lord hath many excellent qualities. He is generous to a
+fault, and I am sure he would spare neither time nor gold to procure
+for my Lady anything he thought she would like. He is brave too, and
+would venture his life without a thought, if even the poorest fisher
+lad were in danger; as he did, they tell me, in the storm last winter.
+I am the last one to judge him hardly, for I know my own failings in
+that line, and how often I have said or done in a minute of provocation
+what I would have given a great deal to undo again. I am sure my Lord
+is not malicious. He would never lay such a trap for any one as Lady
+Jemima did for me the other day, nor would he persevere in a course
+of tormenting, day after day, or take advantage of a time when one
+was feeling unhappy or annoyed about something else, to say the most
+aggravating thing he could think of. But there! I said I would never
+think of Felicia if I could help it.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image019" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image019.jpg" alt="image019"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image020" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image020.jpg" alt="image020"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_8">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>MORE THAN A FRIEND.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>September 3.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>SOMETHING has happened since I wrote last, which, though it makes no
+seeming change in my outward circumstances, has changed my whole life,
+so that I seem to myself to be living in another world. Mr. Corbet hath
+asked me to be his wife.</p>
+
+<p>It chanced on this wise. I had been down to see Goody Yeo and carry her
+the petticoat Betty had been making for her grandchild. Betty was to
+have gone herself, but the day was damp, and I thought it not safe for
+her to go out. I would have kept the petticoat till next day, but Betty
+would not hear of that, so I wrapped myself in my cloak and went down
+to the village. It cleared up before my return, and I thought I would
+come back by the ravine, which is ever a favorite walk of mind, from
+its lonely stillness. The servants rarely use the path, from I know not
+what superstition of a ghost which haunts it. There is a ghost, or a
+dobby, or a pixy, or some such creature in every corner of the place,
+it seems to me.</p>
+
+<p>Well, as I was lingering a little by the spring, and looking into its
+clear depths, where the water boils up from a large and seemingly
+deep cleft in the rocks, I was startled by a voice, and looking up, I
+beheld Lord Saville. I have hated the man since the first time I ever
+saw him. His very look is an insult: especially when he tries to look
+fascinating and amiable.</p>
+
+<p>"So the fair Margaret is admiring her own beauty in the mirror of the
+spring!" said he. "Are you not afraid of exciting the jealousy of the
+naiad of the fountain? Nay, be not in such haste—" for I would have
+passed him, with only a greeting, but he stopped into the narrow path
+and would not let me go by. "Surely you will not be so cruel as not to
+vouchsafe one word to your most humble admirer!"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand no court compliments, my Lord!" said I, trying to speak
+coldly and calmly, though I was in a fever of indignation. "I am but a
+simple country maid. I pray you to let me pass!"</p>
+
+<p>He would not, however, but went on in the same strain of fulsome
+flattery, and said things which I will not write here. Seeing that I
+could not pass him, I turned to go back to the village, but a single
+stride brought him to my side.</p>
+
+<p>"Not so fast, fair lady!" said he. "You are the rightful captive of
+my bow and spear, and do not escape so easily. What! It was another
+cavalier you were waiting for!"</p>
+
+<p>"I was waiting for nobody!" said I. "I was on my way home about my own
+business and my Lady's."</p>
+
+<p>He laughed in his impudent, jeering fashion, and saying something about
+pretty Puritan airs and graces, attempted to put his arm round my
+waist. Then all the old Merton temper flashed up in me in an instant,
+and I am ashamed to say, I turned upon him and slapped his face so
+soundly as to leave the prints of my fingers on his pink cheeks. Nay,
+I verily believe I made his nose bleed. I am sure my own palm smarted
+for an hour after. He withdrew his arm with an oath, which sounded much
+more genuine than his compliments, and clapped his hand to his face. I
+burst from him, and running down the path, half blind with shame and
+anger, I ran right into Mr. Corbet's arms, who was coming up the coomb,
+followed by his dogs.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret!" he exclaimed, in amazement, and well he might, for my dress
+was disordered, and I dare say I looked like a fury. "What is the
+matter? What has so discomposed you?"</p>
+
+<p>For the moment I saw him, I felt myself safe, and, like a fool, I burst
+into tears, and cried as Betty herself might have done. In the midst of
+my distress, and while he was trying to soothe me, and get some sense
+out of me, Lord Saville made his appearance.</p>
+
+<p>"So!" said he. "Oriana hath found her Amadis, it seems. Doubtless
+the fair dame knew her knight was in hearing when she resisted with
+such ferocious virtue. 'Tis an old trick, but it may do for the west
+country."</p>
+
+<p>"My Lord!" said Walter—I may call him so here—"If you say another word
+or offer another affront to this lady, I will put you over the cliff
+yonder, and give you a worse wetting than old Norman Leslie did in
+Paris, when he laid your face downward in the gutter for sneering at
+his Scotch accent."</p>
+
+<p>Lord Saville grew pale with rage. "You shall answer this!" said he.
+"You shall give me the satisfaction of a gentleman!"</p>
+
+<p>"The satisfaction of a gentleman is due to gentlemen!" answered Walter.
+"Nay, never grind your teeth at me, I know you well!" And with that, he
+said some words in Italian, at which Lord Saville blenched as if he had
+been struck.</p>
+
+<p>"Allow me to see you home, Mistress Merton!" said Walter. And putting
+the courtier aside, as if he had been an intrusive dog, he passed him
+and led me toward home.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down a moment," said he, kindly, seeing that I trembled so that I
+could hardly stand. "You are quite overcome."</p>
+
+<p>"I am very silly," I stammered, "but oh, nobody ever spoke so to me
+before."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis not worth minding," said Mr. Corbet. "How did it chance?"</p>
+
+<p>I told him, as well as I could, though I would not repeat all that Lord
+Saville said to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, he is a fine specimen of a Court gallant," said Mr. Corbet,
+bitterly. "'Tis such as he, ruffling in his fine clothes and spending
+money and compliments, that are alienating men's hearts from the king,
+and raising among sober, hard-working people in London, such hatred
+toward the Court party, as I fear will bear bloody fruit ere long."</p>
+
+<p>"But surely," said I, "the King cannot approve him?"</p>
+
+<p>"The King, sweetheart, sees with his wife's eyes, and hears with her
+ears: and Lord Saville is mighty great with the Queen and her party.
+But are you enough recovered to go home? I was on my way to my Lady
+with a message from my mother, which concerns you. I am obliged to go
+to Bristol for a week, on public business, and my mother means to beg
+you and Betty to keep her company for the time. It will be a change for
+the child, and for you also, and my mother will be much pleased."</p>
+
+<p>I was glad of the chance for such a change of air and scene for Betty,
+who was still rather drooping, and not sorry for my own sake to go away
+for a little time.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you will find our old house a pleasant one, though it is
+nothing so grand as the Court," continued Walter. "I want you to learn
+to love it, for my sake."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps he might have said more, but at that moment, he met Mrs.
+Priscilla Fulton, who has been staying in the house: so leaving me with
+her, Walter went straight to my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been looking for you," said Mrs. Fulton, who is always very
+gracious to me and everybody: "my Lady says you are a famous knitter,
+and I want you to teach me the stitches. Is that asking too much of
+your good nature Mrs. Merton?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely not, madam," I answered. "I will do so with pleasure."</p>
+
+<p>So we went up to the nursery, and really had a very nice time over our
+knitting. She is a very pleasant young lady.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst thereof came my Lady with a note in her hand, and calling
+me out of the room, she imparted its contents to me, and asked me how I
+should like to make a visit to Corby-End? I told her that I should like
+it very well, and that I thought the change would do Betty good. So it
+was settled.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet went to Bristol next day, and Betty and I to Corby-End,
+where we are now. 'Tis beautiful old house—far more to my mind than
+Stanton Court, with all its grandeur. Betty is delighted, though she
+was a little homesick the first night, and cried for her mother. She
+goes with Madam to see and feed the fowls and calves, and seems to be
+gaining strength every day.</p>
+
+<p>But I am a long time coming to the gist of my story. Only three days
+after Walter went away, we were sitting by the fire late one evening,
+after Betty had gone to bed (for Madam uses a little fire now the
+evenings are growing cool and damp), when we heard some one ride up the
+road, and presently Walter entered in his riding suit, splashed with
+mud, and looking so distressed that his mother started up in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>"Walter, my son, what brings you back so soon? And surely you have
+heard some bad news?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, that have I, mother—evil and bitter news," said he, gravely.
+"Mother, Sir John Elliot is dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Alas! Alas! Is he gone, the good and brave man?" said Mrs. Corbet.
+"Did he die at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so! He died in prison—in the Tower, whence he had vainly prayed
+to be removed. The King hath even refused to his orphan children the
+poor comfort of paying the last rites to their father's body, which is
+thrust into a hole, like a dog's. The brave good man hath been denied
+that mercy he ever showed, even to his enemies. Alas, my brother!" And
+with that he covered his face and wept like a child. 'Tis a terrible
+thing to see a strong, self-restrained man weep. He controlled himself
+in a moment, however, and sat silently looking at the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"But how did you hear?" asked his mother, presently.</p>
+
+<p>He told her that he had met in Exeter a messenger with letters from
+London, and that he must himself go up to town next day but one. "I
+must see what can be done for those children. Maybe something can be
+saved for them," said he; "and I must see and consult with our friends.
+I think the King is utterly mad. At the rate things are going, the
+Court will leave us neither King nor Church before another five years.
+We are fallen on evil days, and the worst is, one knows not which side
+to take."</p>
+
+<p>"If only one need take neither side," said Madam, sighing. "But I well
+know that cannot be. 'Tis a woeful thing that the King should be so
+ill-advised. But are you sure that Sir John's body was refused to his
+family? I can scarce believe it." *</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<br>
+* I here take a slight liberty with history. Sir John Elliot died in
+1632. The circumstances were as related above.<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"So Mr. Hampden writes me," returned Walter, taking a letter from his
+pocket; "and he is not a man to speak at random. Here is what he says:</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"'Sir John petitioned again and again that he might be set at liberty,
+to regain his health, injured by the close and bad air of his prison,
+but the King's only answer was that the petition was not humble enough.
+At last he died, and his son begged most humbly that he might have
+liberty to carry his father's body into Cornwall, there to be buried
+with his ancestors. His Majesty wrote at the foot of the petition:<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"'"Let Sir John Elliot's body be buried in the church of the parish
+where he died," and accordingly our friend's corpse was thrust into an
+obscure corner of the Tower church. This is the end of an honorable and
+just man, after ten years' languishing in prison, and that for no fault
+save that of upholding valiantly the constitutional liberties of the
+House of Commons. The Court party make no secret of their exultation,
+but the King's real friends are in great dismay; and for mine own part
+I see not any good end possible.'"<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hampden writes very moderately," remarked Madam.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis ever his way to say less than he feels," replied Walter. "The
+others are hot enough. But I am forgetting my trust," he added, turning
+to me with a grave smile. "My grief makes me but a faithless messenger.
+I have letters for you, Mrs. Merton, which Mrs. Carey received in a
+packet from her son, and prayed me to deliver."</p>
+
+<p>So saying he took out a packet and put it into my hands.</p>
+
+<p>"And I am forgetting, too," said his mother; "you have had no supper."</p>
+
+<p>"I have tasted nothing since morning, save a cold morsel at Dame
+Howell's, where we stopped to feed the horses," replied Walter.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, will you order supper?" asked Madam. "You see," she added,
+smiling, as I rose to obey, "I treat you as a daughter."</p>
+
+<p>I could have boxed my own ears worse than I did my Lord Saville's for
+the burning blush which mantled my face at these simple words.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Corbet smiled in his sudden fashion, which makes me always think
+of the shining out of the sun from behind a cloud, and repeated some
+lines of poetry in Italian, for which I was none the wiser. I ordered
+his supper (and I might have spared the pains, for old Mrs. Prudence
+had it already prepared, and was nowise pleased, I could see, at my
+interference), and then escaped to my room to read my letters.</p>
+
+<p>They were both pleasant and painful. Mother and the children are well,
+and everything goes on comfortably at home. Mother says that many of
+the farmers and neighboring gentry have sent her presents of fruit,
+honey, and the like, as they used to do when my father was alive; and
+she hath wool and flax enough to keep her wheel going in all her spare
+minutes. Eunice hath learned to spin flax, and sends me a sample of her
+thread, which is very fair, but Lois cannot manage it. However, she
+hath learned to write nicely, and my mother says Jacky is growing a
+good boy, and a great help to her, and does well at his books. Richard
+has an increase of wages, and is in great liking with his master. The
+disagreeable part is that Felicia has written to mother, saying she has
+heard a very bad account of me from one of the ladies of the family,
+and begs mother to advise me to hold my tongue and keep to my own
+place, with other such matters. Mother says she does not regard the
+news, knowing so well the quarter from whence it comes, but I can see
+that it troubles her.</p>
+
+<p>The next day we were all busy in preparing for Walter's journey to
+London. Betty was made happy by being allowed to help make some
+gingerbread and biscuits. The servants all pet her and make much of
+her, and she goes about the house freely wherever she likes, and is as
+one of the family, which is a great deal better than being confined to
+one room. I fear she will feel the change greatly when she goes home
+again.</p>
+
+<p>A little before sunset I was in the garden, whither Madam had sent me
+to gather some early apples for supper when Walter joined me.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear my mother lays too much upon you," said he, bending down with
+his strong arm the bough I was striving to reach.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," I answered. "It makes me feel happy to be going freely
+about house again, and helping in household matters. If I only had my
+wheel, I should feel myself quite at home."</p>
+
+<p>"So would I have you feel," said Walter, earnestly. "I would have you
+look upon this house as your home, and my mother as your mother. All
+that I have to give is yours if you will but take it. Margaret, will
+you be my wife, and a daughter to my mother?"</p>
+
+<p>I hardly know what I said, but he went on speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not a fit mate for you in many respects," said he. "You are a
+fresh young maid, and I am a middle-aged man, worn and browned by much
+travel, and many wars by sea and land—too grave and sober, mayhap, to
+please a maiden's fancy, but I love you, and I believe, with God's
+blessing, I can make you happy!"</p>
+
+<p>"And your mother—and your friends—and my Lord!" I stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"My mother will be well-pleased with what pleases me, and she also
+loves you for your own sake," he rejoined. "As for my Lord, it is no
+concern of his that I know of!"</p>
+
+<p>"But as the head of your house and family," I said.</p>
+
+<p>"He is no more the head of my family than I am of his!" was Mr.
+Corbet's reply. "For the matter of that, the house of Corbet is older
+than that of Stanton, and lived on their own lands when the Stantons
+were unheard of. Don't you know the rhyme:</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"'Corby of Corby sat at home,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;When Stanton of Stanton hither did come.'<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis true, I am the next heir to the title at present, but I covet
+it not, and should rejoice heartily if my Lady had half a dozen boys
+to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"So would not I," I could not help saying. "One would be quite enough!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, perhaps so. But, at all events, Margaret, I owe no duty to my
+Lord, in that respect."</p>
+
+<p>I cannot tell all he said, but at last he made me confess that I loved
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said he, kissing my hand. "That is all I ask or need. And now,
+when shall we be married?"</p>
+
+<p>I felt my face flush like fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Not for a long time yet!" I answered him: "I have solemnly promised
+my dear Lady to stay with Lady Betty for at least a year, unless I am
+turned away, and I do not think that will happen, for from something my
+Lord let fall, I know he has promised my Lady not to interfere."</p>
+
+<p>Walter looked annoyed, and his brow darkened. "When was this promise
+made?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>I told him it was at the time of the affair with Mr. Penrose.</p>
+
+<p>"But my cousin would surely release you in such a case as this!" said
+Walter. "She is the most unselfish of mortals."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose she would, and therefore she must not ever be asked to do
+so," I replied. "I know well my duty to her and to Betty, and I should
+feel that I was making an ill-beginning, should I fail in that regard."</p>
+
+<p>"But do you not also owe something to me?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Much!" I answered. "So much, that were it to do again, I should not
+make such a promise. But having made it, when I had everything to gain
+thereby, I dare not break it, now that such a course would be to my
+advantage. I would not have the matter even mentioned, till the trying
+time is past. There is sure to be a storm, and such a scene as that of
+the other night is as much as her life is worth."</p>
+
+<p>I cannot write all the arguments he used. We talked till Madam herself
+sent to call us in to supper.</p>
+
+<p>"I bring you a daughter, mother!" said Walter, as we went into Madam's
+room, where she sat alone. "A dutiful daughter, but also an obstinate
+one. I trust to you to bring her to reason."</p>
+
+<p>Madam folded me in her arms, and gave me her blessing most heartily.
+But when she heard the matter in dispute, she took my part, and said I
+was right. And after a time, Walter yielded so far as to consent that
+the matter should rest till after Hallowmass, by which time we hoped
+all would be happily over.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret must have the approval of her own mother and brother, as well
+as my Lady's, under whose care and authority she is at present," said
+Madam: "and though, as my son says, he owes no obedience to my Lord
+in this or any other matter, yet, for Margaret's sake, as well as our
+own, I would have no broils or disagreements. In these troublous times,
+family bonds should be drawn as closely as may be. Let matters rest as
+they are till Walter's return."</p>
+
+<p>So it was all settled. I called Betty, who was helping Mrs. Prudence in
+the still-room, and we sat down quietly to supper. Afterward, and when
+Betty was gone to bed, Walter and I sat over the fire, talking for a
+long time, Madam being in her chamber.</p>
+
+<p>"You will go and see my Aunt Willson in London, will you not?" I
+asked. "She is a good woman, though somewhat rough in her manners, and
+hath been very kind to me." And then, suddenly remembering Felicia, I
+checked myself and wished I had not spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"You have another kinswoman staying with her, have you not?" he asked.
+"A young lady who is very much engaged in Lady Jemima's scheme of the
+nunnery?"</p>
+
+<p>That was news to me, but I said yes, my father's sister lived with Mrs.
+Willson.</p>
+
+<p>"I heard of her from Lady Jemima," continued Walter: "you are not in my
+Lady Abbess' good books, Margaret, I can tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"I know that, only too well," said I. "She has been prejudiced against
+me, and nothing I can do or say pleases her. I am very sorry, for I was
+fond of her, and she began by being very kind to me in her way."</p>
+
+<p>"She has a great deal of good in her," remarked Walter, "but she is
+wholly governed by her imagination, and she can see no good in anybody
+who differs from her. After all, I think the root of her fault lies in
+her overweening estimate of herself, which makes it a crime in her eyes
+for any one to cross or oppose her."</p>
+
+<p>So we talked till Madam herself sent us to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Walter went away early next morning, promising to write me under cover
+to his mother. The day after to-morrow Betty and I return home. I must
+say I dread it. My life here has been so pleasant and homelike; so free
+from any dread of giving offence, so full of quiet and homely pleasures.</p>
+
+<p>I have been to church, and so has Betty, and she has also had the
+supreme pleasure of visiting the school, and distributing to the
+girls with her own hands the buns she helped to make. The school is
+wonderfully effective, Madam tells me, and has been the greatest
+blessing to the children of the village.</p>
+
+<p>Mistress Ellenwood has been here many years, and is now teaching the
+children of those who were her pupils when she first came hither. I
+have also been down to the Cove, where I heard the tale of Madam's
+persecutions, as a witch, many years ago, and made the acquaintance of
+Uncle Jan Lee, the fisherman, who had the chief hand in rescuing her
+from the mob. He seldom goes out now, and has no need to do so, for his
+son and nephew (who is also his son-in-law) provide for him handsomely.
+The latter, Will Atkins by name, is an officer on board the same ship
+as Walter, and much honored for his bravery and seamanship.</p>
+
+<p>Aside from the great happiness it has brought me, I am heartily glad,
+for Betty's sake, that we made this visit. She has had her little world
+wonderfully enlarged thereby. She has been into the cottages and seen
+how the poor folks live: she has actually taken a little month old babe
+on her lap, and seen it dressed and suckled; she has seen cows milked
+and poultry fed.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord met us one day as we were coming from Goody Yeo's cottage. I
+knew not what would happen, but he only asked where we had been, and
+when he heard, laughed and patted her cheek, and called her "Little
+Dame Bountiful." And then, putting his hand in his pocket, gave her a
+handful of pence to bestow on her pets. It is a pity he will ever give
+place to the evil spirit, as he does at times. He is so very gracious
+and pleasant when he is his better self.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>September 7.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>We are at home again, and have fallen quite back into our old ways.
+Not quite, either. Betty is much more active, goes about the house
+and grounds, and has persuaded Mrs. Judith to give her some share in
+feeding the poultry.</p>
+
+<p>We found a pleasant surprise awaiting us at our return. Betty's room
+had been cleaned, and all new hung with fresh, pretty tapestry,
+representing scenes from the Morte d' Arthur, and a little room next,
+hitherto used as a lumber-room, hath been cleared out and fitted up
+as a sitting-room for her and myself. Here I found standing a pretty
+carved spinning-wheel and a basket of fine flax, and Betty a still
+greater surprise—a beautiful little dog, as like poor Gill as two peas,
+which at our approach sprang from his cushion, and began fawning around
+her feet, and looking up in her face as though he would entreat her
+favor. Betty looked at him and then at me, and then stooping down to
+pat him, she burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"See how kind my Lord has been!" said I. "He told me he would get you
+another dog, if one could be found."</p>
+
+<p>"It was very good in papa, and it is a very pretty dog," said Betty,
+sobbing, "but I shall never love him as I did poor Gill."</p>
+
+<p>I did not think it worth while to argue that point, knowing that the
+dog would make his own way, but told her she should write a letter of
+thanks to my Lord.</p>
+
+<p>She took to the notion at once, and after some trouble made a very fair
+copy of a note of thanks, which I carried to my Lord at supper time. He
+was pleased, and said 'twas very well done, and a credit both to Bess
+and to me.</p>
+
+<p>"But did she really write it herself?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," interrupted Lady Jemima. "I wonder you cannot see that
+'tis all Mrs. Merton's own work, from first to last."</p>
+
+<p>"You are mistaken, madam," I answered. "I did indeed put the idea into
+Lady Betty's mind, but both words and handwriting are all her own. I
+never gave her any help, save to tell her how to spell the words."</p>
+
+<p>"And very well done it is," said my Lord; "and you may tell Bess I am
+heartily glad she likes the dog. And I thank you too, Mrs. Margaret,
+for taking so much pains with the child, as I believe you do. You must
+not mind if I am hasty now and then. 'Tis only my way."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder you can be so deceived, brother!" said Lady Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>"Tut, tut!" he answered, more gravely than he is wont to speak. "I have
+eyes in my head, I warrant you. See you not that the words and the
+writing are all those of a child? But never mind her, Margaret," he
+added, relapsing into his usual careless tone. "She is in an ill-humor.
+She has dismissed her fine court suitor with a flea in his ear, and
+now she is sorry, as all women are when a lover takes them at their
+word—eh, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>From which words of my Lord's, and from what Mrs. Judith told me, I
+learned that Lord Saville was a suitor for the hand of Lady Jemima. It
+seems she has a good fortune of her own, and though she must be older
+than Lord Saville, she is a handsome woman still, or would be, if she
+dressed like other women of quality. But I am glad to say she would
+none of him, but sent him packing with but little ceremony. She is full
+of her notion of a kind of nunnery, which she means to establish at a
+house she has near Exeter, and has engaged several ladies to join with
+her, one of which, it seems, is Felicia. They will have a peaceful
+household, no doubt. She is very earnest with Mrs. Priscilla Fulton to
+join her also, but it seems the latter is not yet decided.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot feel right about keeping this matter secret from my Lady. She
+stands, as Madam said, in the place of a mother to me, and she has been
+so very kind. I think I must tell her all about it, happen what may. I
+told Madam Corbet so this afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled, and said:</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it would come to that, dear heart, and I think you are right.
+She may, perhaps, be ill-pleased at first, but she is the most
+reasonable of creatures. But, now, suppose I undertake the commission
+for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I should be so thankful!" I exclaimed. "Surely no poor girl was
+ever so blessed with kind friends as I am."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well! I hope you will never want them, my love," said Madam,
+kissing me. "But, Margaret, I think we will confine our confidence to
+my Lady. It need go no farther, at present. Not that I am ashamed or
+unwilling to let the whole world know what wife my son hath chosen, but
+coming events may change the aspect of matters, and for all our sakes,
+but especially for Elizabeth's, I would fain avoid a storm. Are you
+still resolved to abide your year's waiting?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am, unless matters should greatly change," said I. "It seems to me
+one of the cases where a man sweareth to his neighbor and disappointeth
+him not, though it were to his own hindrance. I promised my Lady in the
+most solemn manner not to leave Lady Betty for at least a year, and
+I do not think that I have any right to break that promise, because
+it would be greatly to my advantage to do so. It does seem to me that
+the first thing to be thought of is our duty. The rest is of little
+consequence in comparison to that."</p>
+
+<p>This little conversation took place in our sitting-room, Betty being
+out with Mrs. Judith feeding the fowls, in which they both take as much
+interest as though they were human beings. (I often wonder that Mrs.
+Judith can allow any of her subjects to be killed, she thinks so much
+of them. I believe she feels it a great hardship that they cannot have
+the freedom of the place, and she can hardly forgive Dick Gardener for
+stoning an old hen out of the garden, where she was making herself much
+at home among his gillyflowers. Richard used to say at home it was
+father's and my maxim that "A cat could do no wrong;" and I believe
+Mrs. Judith applies the same to her hens. Thus much, by the way.)</p>
+
+<p>We were interrupted by Mrs. Fulton coming in with her knitting, about
+which she is much engaged. She had gotten into difficulties, and I
+asked her to sit down by me and do several rows, that I might overlook
+her. This same knitting of Mrs. Priscy's has made us well acquainted,
+and her visits are ever a pleasure both to Betty and me, but I don't
+think Lady Jemima is at all pleased with them.</p>
+
+<p>After the knitting was rectified and going on well again, Mrs. Priscy
+began talking about Lady Jemima's nunnery, which is no longer any
+secret. She was quite full of enthusiasm about the matter, and thought
+it such a beautiful fancy for women to vow themselves to God's service,
+retire from the world, and occupy themselves with good works, such as
+nursing the sick and bringing up children.</p>
+
+<p>Madam Corbet smiled. "But, dear heart, why should one retire from the
+world to do all these things? Tell me, Priscilla, how many children
+hath your own good mother brought up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sixteen," answered Mrs. Priscy, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"And, withal, she hath done not a little nursing, hath she not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed she hath!" answered Mrs. Priscy, with animation. "You know,
+Madam, my Gaffer, my father's father, was with us all the latter years
+of his life, when he was very feeble both in mind and body, and needed
+as much care as a babe and then there was poor little Amy, and my
+brother, who was wounded at Rochelle, and lingered on a year, besides
+the care of the little ones. Yes, indeed, my mother has had her share
+of nursing."</p>
+
+<p>"And, with all that, she has found time not only to read the Scriptures
+and other good books herself, but to instruct her children in the
+same," continued Madam. "Moreover she has done what lay in her power to
+promote the innocent happiness of all about her."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed she has," answered Mrs. Priscilla, with tears in her eyes,
+and a rising color, which made her, methought, prettier than ever. "Oh,
+Madam, nobody knows nor ever will know how much good my dear honored
+mother hath done in the world!"</p>
+
+<p>"And all this without any ostentatious retirement from the world—any
+conventual robes, to say to every one, 'See how much better I am than
+you!'—any vows but those of her baptism," said Mrs. Corbet, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Priscilla smiled and blushed in her turn. "That is true!" said
+she. "I am sure no nun ever did any more; but yet—"</p>
+
+<p>"But yet all this was done in the station wherein she was placed by
+God, and following out the duty to which God hath called her, instead
+of placing herself in one which He hath never appointed, and for
+which He hath given no directions!" said Mrs. Corbet. "In His word we
+find abundance of councils and commands to wives, husbands, widows,
+servants, and children, and the like, but not one that I can remember
+to nuns!"</p>
+
+<p>"And to bishops and ministers," said Mrs. Priscy.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—that they should be the husband of one wife!" I could not help
+saying, whereat they both laughed, and Mrs. Priscy blushed. (I think
+she hath a fancy for Mr. Penrose. I wish he would take a liking to her.
+I am sure she would make him an excellent wife.)</p>
+
+<p>"But all women do not wish to marry, or have not the chance to do so,"
+said Mrs. Priscilla. "What would you have them do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever Providence brings in their way," answered Mrs. Corbet. "If
+they are in earnest about wishing to serve Him, they are not like
+to go begging for work. Look at Mistress Ellenwood, our excellent
+schoolmistress. Where will you find a life more useful and devoted than
+hers?"</p>
+
+<p>"But still there seems something so noble in devoting oneself, body and
+soul, to His service!" remarked Mrs. Priscilla. "In vowing all one's
+energies to His work!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear one, have you not already vowed as much at your
+baptism?" asked Madam. "Tell me, now, what were those things which your
+sponsors then promised for you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Priscy repeated according to the Catechism:</p>
+
+<p>"'First, that I should renounce the devil and all his works, the vain
+pomp and glory of the world, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh:
+secondly, that I should believe all the articles of the Christian
+faith: thirdly, that I should keep God's holy will and commandments,
+and walk in the same all the days of my life.'"</p>
+
+<p>"You see these promises cover a great deal of ground," said Mrs.
+Corbet. "You engage nothing less than absolute obedience and giving up
+of yourself to God all your life-long. Now tell me, having promised all
+to begin with, what can any other vows add to the force of these?"</p>
+
+<p>"But it seems as though it would be so much easier," said Mrs.
+Priscilla—"so much easier, I mean, to serve Him in retirement, away
+from the distractions of the world and all the temptations and
+interruptions of every-day life."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it seems it is your own ease you are seeking, after all!" said
+Madam, with a penetrating look.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Priscy blushed, but made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe, however, that you make a great mistake in thinking so!"
+continued Madam. "I believe you would find that you had only exchanged
+the great world for a very narrow one, with which the flesh and the
+devil have as much commerce as with the other. I have heard in years
+past a great deal about convent life from my grandame, who brought me
+up, and who was herself bred in one of the best religious houses of
+this country, and I do not believe that life within the convent walls
+is, as a general thing, either holier or happier than ordinary family
+life."</p>
+
+<p>The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Betty, in a
+state of great excitement, with a red-breast, which she had found lying
+on the ground with a broken wing. Launce (so she hath called her new
+dog, being short for Launcelot in the Morte d' Arthur) was as much
+excited as herself, and the small tempest diverted and broke up the
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>After the red-breast was comfortably accommodated in a cage which I
+found for him, and Betty had gone to put her dress to rights and wash
+her face, Madam rose and said she would go see her cousin, anal Lady
+Jemima came to seek Mrs. Priscilla.</p>
+
+<p>I called Betty to her lessons, which she now does regularly every day,
+but I am afraid I was rather absent-minded and distracted; for while
+Betty was repeating the verses I had set her to learn, she stopped, and
+said, rather sharply, "Margaret, you are not paying attention. I have
+said it wrong twice, and you have taken no notice at all!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then if you have said it wrong twice, you had better take the book
+and learn it over!" I answered her gravely, handing her back the book.
+Whereat she looked so blank that I could not forbear laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Come!" said I. "Begin again, and we will both try to do better."</p>
+
+<p>So I compelled myself to attend, and we finished the lessons
+prosperously.</p>
+
+<p>At night, after Betty had gone to bed, my Lady sent for me to come
+to her room. I did so, I must confess, with fear and trembling, for
+though I knew not that I had done anything wrong, I could not tell how
+my Lady might take the matter. And, for all she is so gentle and kind,
+or perhaps I should say because she is so gentle and kind, I dread her
+anger far more than I do my Lord's tantrums.</p>
+
+<p>I found her alone, sitting in her great chair, and looking thoughtfully
+at the fire on the hearth. My Lady, like Madam, will have a fire when
+she pleases, without waiting till Michaelmas, according to the old
+rule; and, indeed, I can see no sense in going cold because it is one
+time of the year rather than another. So there was a little fire of
+pine cones and sticks blazing on the hearth, and my Lady sat before
+it. She beckoned me to take a low seat by her side, and I did so, in
+silence, waiting for her to begin.</p>
+
+<p>"So," said she, presently: "I have been hearing of fine doings between
+you and grave Cousin Walter, whom every one thought to have a head too
+full of public matters to meddle in love-making. What think you I shall
+say to you, maiden?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure you will say nothing but what is right and kind, my Lady,"
+I answered, taking courage from her tone. "I begged Madam to tell you,
+because I felt that I ought not to have any secrets from you."</p>
+
+<p>"So my cousin said, and so far it was well done but, Margaret, ought
+you to have promised yourself to any man, much more a member of mine
+own family, without asking me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did not, my Lady," I answered her, eagerly. "I told Mr. Corbet I was
+bound to be ruled by you, and I could not marry without your consent:
+and I said I would not leave you for a year, at all events, because I
+had promised to abide with Lady Betty for that space of time, whatever
+might happen."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that was well," said my Lady, "but, sweetheart, a year is a
+long time. I fear you are laying out for yourself a hard piece of
+work—harder than you will have strength to perform."</p>
+
+<p>"I think not, my Lady," I said. "It is my duty to be faithful to my
+word and to you, and I am sure that I shall have strength given me to
+do it. Beside that, I do not think it will be as hard now as it has
+been heretofore."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it was this same regard for Master Walter, which so hardened
+your heart against poor Mr. Penrose," said my Lady, after a little
+silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I think not, altogether, my Lady," I answered. "I don't think I should
+have cared to marry Mr. Penrose, even though I had never seen Mr.
+Corbet; though, I confess, I never knew what Mr. Corbet was to me till
+then."</p>
+
+<p>"So Jemima was right, after all," continued my Lady: "right, I mean,
+in thinking that your mind was fixed elsewhere. Not that I accuse you
+of using any art or coquetry, so you need not flush so angrily," she
+added, patting my cheek. "Marry, it needs no coquetry in the candle,
+to make the moths fly into it. Well, Margaret, I know not what to say
+to this matter. My cousin hath a right to please himself; and though
+you are somewhat too young for him, I believe he hath chosen wisely.
+His mother, I can see, is well-pleased, and I suppose yours will hardly
+make any objection. Walter is a good man, though grave and sombre at
+times, but I believe he will make you a good husband. I think you, too,
+have made a wise choice."</p>
+
+<p>"If it please you, my Lady, I do not feel as if I had made any choice,"
+said I. "I cannot think that one goes to work to choose a husband or
+wife as one does a horse or a new gown. It seems to me as if those
+things should be ordered by Providence. I am sure I never chose to care
+for Mr. Corbet. It came upon me unawares, and I was as much surprised
+when I found it out as any one could be."</p>
+
+<p>"And suppose Mr. Corbet had not cared for you, what then?" asked my
+Lady. "Would you then have gone on mourning all your days, or would you
+have turned your affections on another object?"</p>
+
+<p>"Neither, I think, my Lady," I answered. "I do not think a woman is to
+throw away her life, because she cannot have her own way, and marry
+the man she loves, like a petted child, which flings away its bread,
+because it cannot have sweetmeat thereon. And I think to marry the man
+one did not love to spite the man one did love, would be more foolish
+still. I think, in such a case, I should try to take up my cross and
+bear it as long as God saw fit, and seek to find my comfort in helping
+and comforting others, and in doing, as best I could, the work which
+was given me to do—in doing my duty in that state to which He was
+pleased to call me."</p>
+
+<p>"You are wondrous fond of that word 'duty,'" said my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"I am," I answered. "It seems to me the bravest and best word in the
+world. Our feelings change with every wind that blows, and we are
+wondrous apt to be mistaken about them; but one's duty is usually
+plain, if not always easy."</p>
+
+<p>"You are a wondrous sensible girl for your age, Margaret," said my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"I will write to them at home that you say so, my Lady!" I answered,
+laughing. "'Twill be greater news than the other."</p>
+
+<p>"But the grand difficulty is to come," said my Lady. "What think you my
+Lord will say? You know that Walter is the heir, and is like to succeed
+to title and all, as things stand at present. Then, should ought
+miscarry with me, or should my Lord die without male issue, you would
+stand in my shoes and be Lady Stanton."</p>
+
+<p>"God forbid!" said I, as fervently as I felt. "We both hope that may be
+changed after Michaelmas, and I thought matters might rest till then."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps that will be the best way," said my Lady, after some
+consideration, "though I love not secrets in the house. But, Margaret,
+bethink you whether with that matter on your mind, you will be able
+to do your duty by my child? Will not her interests suffer? And will
+you be content to meet Walter as a stranger, or only as you have done
+heretofore?"</p>
+
+<p>"As to Lady Betty, I believe I have never yet neglected her, even when
+I have had the most on my mind," said I. "You are the best judge of
+that, my Lady. Have you seen any reason to be dissatisfied with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely not, sweetheart, but quite the contrary," said my Lady,
+kindly. "The child is wonderfully improved, and seems to gain health
+and strength every day. You would be like to hear of it, if I saw any
+fault."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so," said I: "and as to the rest, it must be as it happens. Mr.
+Corbet will be away in London for a month or more, and by that time we
+shall see what will be the state of things."</p>
+
+<p>My Lady kissed me at parting, and so the matter ended. I do not believe
+I shall neglect my duty to Betty. I love the child more and more every
+day.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>September 14.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Madam Corbet has given me a beautiful present—namely, a gold locket
+containing a fair likeness of her son, which he had painted when he was
+abroad in the Low Countries. It has a gold chain attached, and I wear
+it round my neck under my kerchief.</p>
+
+<p>Having a chance to send to Exeter this day by Mr. Penrose, I have
+written a long letter to mother, for Mrs. Carey to send with her own to
+her son. But this writing is cold work. I would I could kneel down by
+her and tell her all.</p>
+
+<p>The sick robin is getting well, and is very tame and playful, perching
+on Launce's back and plucking at his ears, to Betty's great delight,
+more than to the poor dog's, but he takes all patiently, as he would
+anything which pleased his mistress. He has fairly made good his
+entrance into her heart, and I believe she loves him quite as well as
+ever she did Gill, though she will not own as much. I can see that her
+father's hasty words still rankle in her heart, though she never speaks
+of them directly.</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday eve, going down into the kitchen, I found all the servants
+looking on with great interest at a charm old Dame Penberthy was
+preparing, to learn whether the new-comer was to be boy or girl. She
+had found a stone with a hole therein, which she was suspending by a
+string, and with many ceremonies, over the door; and the first person
+who enters in the morning, whether man or woman, tells the sex of the
+babe. I told her of our old country charm to the same effect, made by
+burning a blade bone of mutton; and as they had one for supper, she
+must needs try that also. The maids would have had her hang her charms
+over some other door, because they said Peggy the milkwoman was always
+the first one to enter the kitchen, but she said no, it must needs be
+the kitchen door, and no other.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the use of the pebble with a hole in it?" asked Thomas, who is
+an old soldier, and a bit of a Sadducee, I should fancy. "Why would not
+any other stone do as well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because it wont!" answered the dame, shortly. "How can I tell why, any
+more than why one who finds four-leaved clovers should always be lucky?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then should I be the luckiest person in the world!" said I. "For I am
+always finding them."</p>
+
+<p>"And so you are, and will be!" answered the old dame, looking earnestly
+in my face. "'Tis written on your very forehead. Any one may see that
+you have brought luck to this house, and so you will to any house you
+enter."</p>
+
+<p>"Many thanks, dame, for the prediction!" said I. "Methinks I
+shall never want happiness myself, in that case. But now I want
+to ask a favor of you. I know there is no hand equal to yours in
+clear-starching, and I want you to wash and do up for me the robe I
+have been working for my Lady."</p>
+
+<p>"That I will—that I will, dear heart!" said the old woman. "And I hope
+I may live to do as much for yourself, on the like joyful occasion!"</p>
+
+<p>I made my escape at this, but as I left the room, I heard Anne say,
+"That will you not, dame. Mrs. Margaret scorns her suitor, and will
+have none of him, though 'twould be a fine match for her."</p>
+
+<p>"When the right one comes, she will not scorn him!" Dame Penberthy
+answered. "She is no common maid to snap at a lover like a trout at a
+fly. She will marry well, I promise you, though she will see trouble
+first."</p>
+
+<p>This morning Mary told me, with great glee, that the first person who
+came into the kitchen was Roger, my Lord's groom; and I was silly
+enough to be pleased likewise. But Mrs. Brewster was vexed, and said
+that trying such spells was unlucky, and would bring ill-hap on child
+and mother. I am sure I hope not.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image021" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image021.jpg" alt="image021"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image022" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image022.jpg" alt="image022"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_9">CHAPTER IX.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>TRAVELLING MERCHANTS.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>September 15.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>WE have heard nothing from Walter yet, though it is full time. I cannot
+help feeling uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday we had a visit from a travelling bookseller, well-known,
+as I learn, in these parts. He seemed a man of more than ordinary
+intelligence, and much gravity, and even austerity of deportment.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Master Blanchard," said my Lord, greeting him heartily; "what
+now play-books or romances have you brought us this time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Truly, but few new ones, my Lord," answered Master Blanchard. "I like
+not the books of that kind lately printed, so well as to make myself
+very busy in spreading them abroad."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought the Archbishop very careful in the matter of licensing
+books," remarked my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"He is," answered the old man, dryly. "He hath forbid the reprinting of
+'Foxe, his Book of Martyrs,' and of the works of Bishop Jewell, as well
+as of the 'Practise of Piety,' a book which has gone through no less
+than thirty-six editions!"</p>
+
+<p>"By my faith that is being particular with a vengeance!" exclaimed my
+Lord. "Methinks if all we hear be true, his grace might find other
+things to forbid than the 'Practise of Piety.' Why, my own mother used
+and loved that book next to her Bible. I believe between the Papists
+and the Puritans, the world hath gone stark mad."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be madder yet, or I am much mistaken," said Master Blanchard.
+"I have good store of paper and blank books, if you need them, my Lord,
+and some new music-books, and cards of patterns, and the like, for the
+ladies."</p>
+
+<p>We were all purchasers. I bought a new blank book and some paper, and
+my Lady gave me a silver pen and a pretty fashioned inkstand. Betty
+would needs buy a Bible and Prayer-book, as christening gifts for her
+god-child. Lady Jemima turned over the books of devotion and selected
+two or three, though she made a very disapproving face over some that
+she found there.</p>
+
+<p>"But I cannot but think you are misinformed, Master Blanchard," said my
+Lady. "Why should the Archbishop forbid the printing of the 'Book of
+Martyrs'?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is a question asked by many people, my Lady," answered the old
+merchant. "I only know the fact in the case. 'Tis certain the books are
+to be printed no more, and they have risen in price in consequence.
+Folks say it is all the Queen's doing, but of that I know nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"It was an evil chance that gave us a Papist Queen!" said my Lord. "I
+say nothing against the Lady herself, but 'twas a great pity."</p>
+
+<p>"It gives the Papists great confidence," said Master Blanchard. "They
+are holding up their heads everywhere, and boasting of their favor with
+the King, and of the great things they will do hereafter. For mine own
+part I would as soon have an Italian Pope as an English. But least
+said soonest mended. I have Master Shakespeare's Plays and some of Ben
+Johnson's, my Lord, if you choose any of them."</p>
+
+<p>I shall value my "Practise of Piety" more than ever, now I know that
+the printing thereof is forbidden. I have begun to read it over again
+this very night.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>September 18.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>We have had another travelling merchant, but of quite a different sort
+from Master Blanchard. This was a sharp, alert, and withal somewhat
+sly-looking little man, profuse of his bows and compliments, who
+brought ribbons, laces, and all sorts of trinkets and perfumes. My
+Lord, who is in high good humor about these days, would buy us each a
+fairing, and he gave me a little ivory and gilt box for sweetmeats—a
+pretty and convenient toy.</p>
+
+<p>"Now must you have it filled," said the pedler, and taking it from
+my hand, and first laying in the bottom a piece of white paper, as
+it seemed, he poured the box full of colored and perfumed comfits;
+and then closing the lid, he put it back into my hand with a look of
+intelligence which I did not at all understand.</p>
+
+<p>The mystery has explained itself since, in a very disagreeable manner.
+I was going down to see a little lame girl in the village, and thinking
+to please the child, I poured all the comfits out of my box on the
+table, and was about to take the paper in the bottom to wrap some of
+them in, when looking at it, I discovered that it was a letter, and
+addressed to myself. Very much astonished, I opened it, and found it
+to be a regular love-letter, written in the most ornate and flowing
+style, and treating of broken hearts, flames, Cupid's arrows, and the
+like, bewailing my cruelty to the sender, and promising, if I would
+reconsider the matter, to make it more to my advantage than anything
+that had ever happened to me. Should I consent, I was to send my answer
+by the bearer, who was in the secret, and all should be managed with
+the greatest discretion. This precious epistle was signed "E. S."</p>
+
+<p>I was absolutely stunned for the moment, and knew not what to do, but
+presently resolving, I carried the letter directly to my Lady, in her
+own room, and begged her to read it, telling her at the same time how
+it had come into my hands.</p>
+
+<p>"This is very strange," said my Lady, her cheek flushing as it does
+when she is displeased. "Have you any idea as to the writer?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have," said I, "but as I do not know for certain, and have moreover
+no wish to know, perhaps I had better not mention him."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean Lord Saville?" asked my Lady, and as I assented; "why
+should you think of him? Had he ought to say to you when he was here?"</p>
+
+<p>I told her what had chanced at the spring.</p>
+
+<p>"And what did you say to him?" asked my Lady, something sharply. "I
+fear you must have given him some encouragement, or he would not have
+ventured to write."</p>
+
+<p>"I boxed his ears soundly, if that be any encouragement," I answered,
+forgetting, I am afraid, the respect due to my Lady in my vexation: "I
+only wish I had boxed them harder still."</p>
+
+<p>"So that was the history of his swollen cheek," said my Lady, much
+amused. "Truly I think you left not much to be desired in that way. And
+how did you escape from this modern Amadis?"</p>
+
+<p>I told her the farther history of the encounter, adding that I should
+have spoken to her before, only that I did not like to annoy her.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well I see no fault to find with your conduct, on the whole,"
+said my Lady: "though 'twas rather a rustical way of defending
+yourself. However, I hardly know what you could have done. I am
+heartily sorry for the whole matter—sorry that you should have been
+annoyed—that my kinsman should have no more respect for me than to
+attempt an intrigue with one of my family, and specially sorry, that
+Walter should have made an enemy of him. Despite his gay and careless
+manner, he hath a sullen and revengeful temper, and is like to be a
+dangerous foe. I think you had best keep quiet at home, Margaret, till
+this man leaves the neighborhood. As for this precious missive, we will
+give it to the flames. You will make a good wife, sweetheart, if you
+are as frank and open with your husband as you have ever been with me."</p>
+
+<p>So I have kept close house over since, having a good excuse in the
+great rains. I am confident I saw the pedler in the avenue last night,
+and as I was going to bed, a pebble rattled against my casement more
+than once.</p>
+
+<p>I would not go near it, and Ban, the great mastiff, scenting some
+disturbance, came barking and baying round the corner in such savage
+sort, that the intruder, whoever he was, beat a hasty retreat. I begged
+of the cook a good bone for the old dog this morning, and carried it to
+him with my own hands.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>September 19.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I ventured this morning to go down and see Jenny Lee; and walking on
+to Corby-End, whom should I meet in the wood near the wicket-gate, but
+this same pedler. I would not stop, however, though he called to me,
+and even followed me on the path, asking me in a fawning tone whether I
+had no word for him.</p>
+
+<p>"You are turning your back on your own good fortune, my pretty lady,"
+he said. "Could you but see the lodging and apparel that awaits you,
+you would change your tone. I pray you give me a word for my master."</p>
+
+<p>"I will give you this word, not for your master, but yourself," said I,
+at last. "If you ever dare to accost me again, I will tell my Lord and
+Mr. Penrose of your practises, and have you set in the village stocks
+for a vagrant and mischief-maker, as you are."</p>
+
+<p>The fellow was silent, and slunk out of sight. As soon as I got home,
+I threw all his comfits in the fire, not knowing what charms might be
+contained in them, though, I believe, a pure loving heart that trusts
+in God, may set all charms and enchantments at defiance.</p>
+
+<p>It is very strange that we hear nothing from Walter.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>September 28.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I must write, if I cannot speak. Oh that I dared tell the whole to my
+Lady, or to Madam Corbet, my second mother!</p>
+
+<p>This morning I went down to the Cove to carry some comforts to a sick
+woman Mr. Penrose had been telling my Lady of, and after I had finished
+my visit to her, I turned into Jan Lee's cottage. I knocked, and the
+door was opened to me by Will Atkins, who greeted me with such a
+perturbed and anxious countenance as made me exclaim at once:</p>
+
+<p>"O Will, have you any news of Walter,—of Mr. Corbet?"</p>
+
+<p>"In sooth, I fear so, and that none of the best, madam," answered Will.
+"Come in, if you please, and give us your advice how we shall deal with
+the matter."</p>
+
+<p>He gave me a chair as he spoke, and I sat down, with a curious feeling
+of being in a kind of dream.</p>
+
+<p>"I was over at Exeter yesterday," said Will, "and there whom should I
+meet but Tom Andrews, who you remember went away with Mr. Corbet. At
+first, I could get naught out of him, save that some great misfortune
+had happened to Walter; so dazed and muddled was he. But by questioning
+him, I at last made out that his master had been set upon one night,
+as he drew near to Salisbury, by a party of highwaymen, and, as he
+believed, murdered."</p>
+
+<p>"You are too hasty, son Will!" exclaimed old Jan, rising from his seat.
+"The young lady is fainting."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" I exclaimed, putting him back with my hand. "I am not
+fainting. Let me hear all, I beseech you! No one has a better right
+than I."</p>
+
+<p>Will then went on with his tale. He said he had questioned and
+cross-questioned the man, and had at last discovered that Tom did not
+stay to see the end of the fray, but had hastened to save his own neck,
+and had then been ashamed to show himself. He told a great story of
+the number and strength of the assailants, and was quite sure that Mr.
+Corbet and John must have gone down among them.</p>
+
+<p>"And now the question is, what shall we do with this tale?" concluded
+Will. "I shall myself ride post at once toward London and try to
+discover the truth or falsehood of Tom's story, which I do not half
+believe. What shall we do in the mean time about Madam and my Lady?
+The story may not be true, and then they would have all the alarm and
+suspense for nothing, and it would be ill for my Lady."</p>
+
+<p>"You are right!" said I. "She must not know it—but how to keep it from
+her, and from his mother! Have you told any one here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody," answered Will. "I have but just now come home, and was
+consulting with my father as to the best way of dealing with the
+matter. He is disposed to treat the whole as an idle tale, made up by
+Tom to shield himself, and believes that Walter hath dismissed him for
+some misdemeanor."</p>
+
+<p>"Master Watty never should have taken him," said the old man, "and so I
+told him. 'Tis a poor rascal and comes of a poor stock, but Watty must
+needs try to make a man of him. 'Tis always his way, ever trying to
+make whistles out of pigs' tails!"</p>
+
+<p>"I will make him whistle to purpose, if he has put such a lie upon
+us," answered Will, grimly, "but I fear there is more in the matter
+than mere lying. That fine lord who was here last month was no friend
+to Walter. They have crossed each other's path more than once before
+this last time, and it would be quite in his way to hire bravos or
+highwaymen to execute the vengeance he dare not attempt himself. He
+hath lived in Italy long enough to learn all their tricks. But we lose
+time in talking."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean to do?" I asked, still with the same strange, dreamy
+feeling, as if the matter concerned somebody else and not myself.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall take horse at once, and ride toward Salisbury," answered Will
+Atkins. "I can easily find out by inquiring at the inns whether Mr.
+Corbet hath been there within a month. He is well-known on the road,
+and always uses the same houses."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will not go alone?" I said.</p>
+
+<p>"No, David Lee will ride with me, I am sure, and I must go to him for a
+horse."</p>
+
+<p>"And for money. Have you money enough?" I asked, putting my hand in my
+pocket. It is curious to me now to consider how cool I was. I seemed to
+think of everything at once.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a plenty for my purpose, Madam," answered Will. "But you look
+very pale, and your hand trembles," he added, as a blink of sun shone
+in on my face.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear the keeping this matter a secret, will be a task beyond your
+strength!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" I answered, hastily. "I can do whatever is necessary. I shall
+have help, I am sure."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, that she will!" said old Jan. "I can see it in her face. They
+call women the weaker vessels, but they ever seem to me the stronger,
+when there is anything to be borne. But 'tis hard the burden should be
+laid upon her, poor young maid!"</p>
+
+<p>Will looked at me with such a penetrating yet puzzled glance, that I
+thought best to tell him all, knowing that Walter hath no nearer or
+warmer friend than this his foster-brother and old playmate.</p>
+
+<p>"I am betrothed to Mr. Corbet," said I; "we do not make the matter
+public as yet, but his mother and my Lady are in the secret. You see, I
+have the best right to know everything, and to help—"</p>
+
+<p>But here, for the first time, I broke down, and sobbed hysterically.</p>
+
+<p>No woman could be more tender in her ministrations than the old sailor.
+And when I recovered myself, which I did presently, he opened some
+secret nook and brought out a bottle of wine, of which he would have me
+take a glass, and indeed I was glad to do so.</p>
+
+<p>"My Lord hath none such in his cellars," said he, with some pride.</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis Canary, which hath made the voyage to South America. Marry, the
+Bishop who carried it over to St. Jago for his own drinking, little
+guessed whose palate it would regale!"</p>
+
+<p>'Tis strange to myself how I remember and write down all these trifles.
+I seem to find therein a kind of comfort and relief.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady noticed my pale looks at supper, and asked me if my head ached
+again, for ever since the fall of the candlestick, I have been subject
+to hard headaches. I told her it did, which was true enough, and she
+bade me go to rest early, and not rise in the morning unless I felt
+able.</p>
+
+<p>But I cannot rest. Oh that I had some one to whom I could tell all!
+And so I have. Faithless that I am, is there not One who knows all,
+who has promised help and comfort according to our needs, and in whose
+all-powerful hands my Walter is, and must be safe, wherever he is. He
+cannot go out of God's sight. We are both His children, and love Him,
+and so all things must needs be well with him, however hard and bitter
+they may seem now. Oh, how thankful I am that I have learned before
+this great trouble came upon me to regard my Maker, no longer as a hard
+taskmaster, exacting so much for so much, but as a kind, tender, loving
+Father.</p>
+
+<p>"He that spared not His own Son—" His own Son!</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>Feast of St. Michael. September 29.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I have been to church to-day, and feel wondrously comforted and soothed
+thereby. It seemed at first as if I could not go—as if my service would
+be only a mockery, and a lip-service: but Betty wished to go, and I
+know what my duty was. She hath become very fond of going to church,
+and my Lord no longer puts any obstacle in the way.</p>
+
+<p>Her deformity is not nearly so noticeable now that she is stronger and
+sits up straighter, and she grows pretty every day, while her aptness
+and quick replies make her an amusing companion, even to her father.
+I think he will end with being very fond of her, unless some new
+influence should come in the way. I earnestly hope so, for the poor
+child loves him with an intensity painful to see, and far more than he
+deserves. It is a different kind of affection from the quiet, trustful
+love she bestows on her mother, and in a somewhat less degree, on me.
+Any chance careless word of his—and there are plenty of them—cuts her
+to the heart; and any instance of thoughtfulness or affection makes her
+happy for all day.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord is fond of chess; though, with reverence be it said, he is
+about the worst player I ever saw, and I have to play my best to ensure
+his beating me now and then: and I am teaching Betty to play. The more
+of a companion she can be to him, the better for her in the event of
+anything happening to my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>There was but a small congregation in church, as usually happens on
+a holiday. Lady Jemima was there, kneeling on the stone floor, and
+did not even look up as we came in. Madam Corbet was also present, as
+indeed she never misses a church service, and old Mistress Parnell.
+It was pretty to see Mr. Penrose hand the old lady to her place
+before going into the vestry. Mrs. Priscilla Fulton was present, and,
+methought, Mr. Penrose did send a glance in that direction.</p>
+
+<p>I found the service as ever, so now in my greatest need, wonderfully
+soothing and comforting. The words seemed just what I needed—more to
+the purpose than any words of mine own could be. They always seem to
+me to be hallowed, and as it were perfumed by the devotions of all the
+thousands who have used them in the ages past. I am sure no prayers
+composed on the spur of the moment, such as they say the Puritans are
+wont to use, would be as grateful to me as these. I could not be sure
+that another and a stranger would express my wants—nay, he might, even
+as poor Mr. Prynne used, I know—say what would seem to me downright
+irreverent and untrue. I should have to hear, and in a manner criticise
+every sentence, before joining in it. Of course this does not apply to
+private prayer, though even there I find myself constantly falling back
+on the well-known and familiar psalms and collects, especially when my
+feelings are most strongly excited. I must begin to teach Betty the
+collects.</p>
+
+<p>I could not forbear weeping during the prayers, but my tears were a
+relief, and I rose up feeling much more hopeful than when I went to
+church. Mr. Penrose read the whole of the invitation to the Communion,
+on Sunday. I wish it were old Doctor Parnell. Then indeed I could go to
+him and open my grief; but I cannot, for many reasons, make a confidant
+of Mr. Penrose. O that dear mother were within my reach! Sure 'tis a
+hard fate which sends a young maid away from her mother, at my age. And
+yet I ought not to say so, considering the many kind friends I have met
+here. Then, too, I should not have known Walter. However this matter
+may turn, I shall always rejoice and be thankful that we understood
+each other before he left home. How much worse would the suspense be
+to me now, if I did not feel sure that he loves me and thinks of me,
+wherever he is.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima never rose from her knees during the whole service; and
+just at the end she fainted and sunk down on the floor. We got her into
+the air, and by and by she revived, only to burst into hysterical tears
+and sobs. I was glad the rectory was close by, where she could take
+refuge from gazers. It turned out presently that she had eaten nothing
+since noon the day before. I would have had her ride home on Betty's
+donkey, but she refused, yet with more kindness than she hath lately
+shown me, saying that the walk would do her good.</p>
+
+<p>She appeared at supper, as usual, though she looked pale and worn.</p>
+
+<p>"Brother," said she, presently, "when do you mean to have a new
+chaplain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all, as I know of!" said my Lord: "Why should I? Penrose is a
+good fellow enough, for all his crotchets, and a gentleman beside. You
+thought there was nobody like him when he first came here."</p>
+
+<p>"He hath changed very much since he came here," answered Lady Jemima.
+"He is not the same man at all, and I have no trust in him. I want a
+spiritual guide and director—one in whom I can place confidence."</p>
+
+<p>"That is to say, you want a guide who will be guided by you!" said my
+Lord, shrewdly. "What is the use of a spiritual director if you only
+mean to be guided by him just so long as your notions happen to square
+with his own?</p>
+
+<p>"But if by a man in whom you can place confidence, you mean one who
+will not fall in love with Margaret, I had best look out for one
+who hath a handsome young wife of his own. Here hath been Basil
+Champernoun, with his grave face, asking me about the young lady's
+family, and so forth. I doubt he is looking out for a stepmother
+to those black girls of his, and I dare say Wat Corbet, with his
+Puritan ways, will be the next, if indeed he hath not fallen under the
+enchantment already!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima shot at me a glance of absolute fire, but did not speak,
+while my Lady said, gently:</p>
+
+<p>"It is hardly fair to put Margaret to the blush in this way, my Lord. I
+am sure nobody could be more circumspect than she, or take less pains
+to attract admiration."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she does not care!" answered my Lord, carelessly. "She knows my
+ways. Sure 'tis no shame for a maiden to have admirers, especially when
+she is, as you truly say, so circumspect and prudent as Margaret. I
+verily think she cares more for Betty's little finger than for all of
+them."</p>
+
+<p>So all ended well. But, as I recalled the look that Lady Jemima
+bestowed upon me, I cannot but wonder whether she herself hath any
+thought of Walter. I am sure she hath something on her mind which makes
+her very unhappy.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>October 1.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>My Lady sent me down early this morning to ask Mrs. Corbet for a
+pattern. I found her rejoicing over letters from Walter, sent from
+about Illchester, where he had stopped a day to see some friends of Sir
+John Elliott's and his own. They were gravely cheerful, as usual, and
+there was one for me, which I put in my bosom unread. I dared not trust
+myself to read it under his mother's eye when I thought it might be,
+perhaps, the last of him that I should ever see.</p>
+
+<p>She asked me kindly of my health, and on my telling her that my head
+troubled me again, she pressed on me a little flask of distilled and
+rectified vinegar, very pungent and refreshing, as well as a bottle of
+some strong sweet water, wherewith to bathe my temples and forehead. If
+she knew what I know—but I am glad she does not. I should suffer none
+the less because she suffered the more.</p>
+
+<p>Coming home, I found the church door open, so I went in and spent
+a few minutes quietly in prayer, and in reading the ninetieth and
+ninety-first psalms. I wish it were the custom here, as they say it
+is abroad, to keep the church always open. Surely many, especially of
+the poor, who have no place of retirement at home, would gladly resort
+thither now and then for devotion. Methinks there is something in the
+very air of the place which disposes one to a quiet and worshipping
+frame of mind.</p>
+
+<p>When I got home, and could be alone, I read my letter—a long one,
+full of goodness and love—how precious none can tell. Oh, could I but
+certainly know that he was safe and well!</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima met me in the gallery, and after passing me, she came back
+and said, abruptly enough:</p>
+
+<p>"You have been down to Corby-End, I hear. Have they any news of
+Walter—of Mr. Corbet?"</p>
+
+<p>"His mother had letters this morning, written at Illchester, my Lady,"
+I answered. "Mr. Corbet was well when he wrote, but the letters have
+been a long time on the way."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, no doubt you know all about the matter!" said she, with a kind of
+scornful bitterness. Then with a sudden change of tone, "Margaret, tell
+me what you do to make everybody like you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I do anything, madam," I answered: "and besides every
+one does not like me. You yourself are my enemy, though I know not
+why, for I have never willingly or knowingly injured you: yet you are
+ready to believe every evil report about me, and to put the worst
+construction on all I say or do—or have done, for that matter."</p>
+
+<p>She colored deeply. "You are too free!" said she, austerely. "You
+forget yourself very much when you speak thus to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, madam!" I answered. "I meant not to be so. You
+asked the question, and I answered it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, let it pass!" she said, impatiently. "What is this I hear
+from my brother about Mr. Champernoun and yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard nothing more about the matter," I replied. "I think it
+was only one of my Lord's jests. Mr. Champernoun hath never seen me
+except in church, and when the Bishop was here, and I have never so
+much as exchanged a word with him."</p>
+
+<p>"He is an excellent man, and it would be a match far above anything you
+have a right to expect," she continued: "and you might make yourself
+very useful as step dame to his little daughters. I advise you to
+accept his offer!"</p>
+
+<p>"Time enough for that when he makes it, my Lady!" I answered, laughing
+in spite of my vexation. "For me, I am quite content as I am for the
+present. I do not believe Mr. Champernoun ever thought of such a
+thing!" With which I made my escape.</p>
+
+<p>Betty's tame robin flew away this morning. She shed some tears at
+first, but finally said it was natural the poor bird should love the
+woods and fields best, adding, sadly enough, "I am sure I would fly
+away, if I could."</p>
+
+<p>"And leave me?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I would take you with me!" she said. "And I would not fly away to
+stay either, but would come back after a while—after I had seen the
+world."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps your bird may come back," said I.</p>
+
+<p>And sure enough, at sunset, the little creature came pecking at the
+casement, and being let in, flew to his favorite place on Betty's
+shoulder, and showed great joy at seeing her again. I was as
+well-pleased as the child to see the truant return. I believe I had
+made a kind of omen of it.</p>
+
+<p>I dreamed last night of a great fall of snow, and telling my dream to
+Dame Yeo, she tells me that snow out of season means trouble without
+reason, and shows that I am or soon shall be fretting myself about some
+matter without cause. I am sure I hope it is so, but I am no great
+believer in dreams.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>October 3.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>This day brought me two letters, or rather three—one from Dick
+enclosing a note from dear mother. They are all well at home, though
+mother says there is fever in the place, and that two have died out
+of Robert Smith's family. She also tells me, what I am sorry to hear,
+that Sir Peter Beaumont hath prosecuted John Edwards for holding a
+conventicle in his house.</p>
+
+<p>It seems several of the neighbors have been in the habit of assembling
+there to worship, at which time they prayed and spoke to each other
+on religious subjects, but all in a quiet way. Mr. Carey would have
+nothing to do with the matter, and was much vexed at Sir Peter's taking
+it up, saying that it was the next way to make the thing popular, to
+make martyrs of the promoters thereof: and sure enough the parish is
+in arms about it, some taking one side and some the other. I am very
+sorry. We were all so quiet and peaceable in my dear father's time.
+Methinks Sir Peter would better show his zeal for religion and the
+church, by leaving off drinking and swearing, and some other worse
+matters, than by hunting out prayer meetings and the like.</p>
+
+<p>I remember John Edwards was a very strict Calvinist, and he and my
+father used to have many arguments, but they always ended pleasantly,
+however much heat John Edwards might fall into.</p>
+
+<p>My father never lost his temper, which I fancy gave him somewhat the
+advantage. At any rate John Edwards was a good friend to us, and always
+remembered us when his Warden pears were gathered, we having none of
+that sort. I am heartily sorry for this trouble which hath befallen him.</p>
+
+<p>My other letter I did not at all understand, at the first. It purported
+to be from a lady of quality residing near Exeter, who said she had
+heard of me by Mrs. Carey, and wishing to engage me at a liberal
+salary—twice as much as I have here—to act as companion to herself and
+her daughter, promising to treat me in all respects as an equal. If I
+consented to come, she said, she desired I would not mention the affair
+to my Lady, between whom and the writer there was an old feud, arising
+out of family matters, and who would be sure to prejudice me against
+her; but I was to ask leave to go to Exeter on some errand of mine own,
+where I would be met and conducted to the gentlewoman's house.</p>
+
+<p>I thought this a very dishonorable way of proceeding, and what of
+itself would be enough to set me against the author of the letter, but
+I thought of nothing more till all at once it did seem to me that the
+writing was familiar. It happened that I had preserved the cover of
+Lord Saville's first letter to me, and on comparing the hands, they
+were clearly the same, though the last was a little disguised. Then I
+carried the letter at once to my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret," said she, after she had read it through, "this letter is
+not genuine. I know no such gentlewoman as the person signing it, nor
+do I think it to be in a woman's hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I, my Lady," said I, "for the best of reasons:" and with that I
+showed her the cover of the other letter. "I believe it to be a wicked
+trap, but it is very hard—" And then my voice failed me and I burst
+into tears. It did seem very hard that with all my other troubles, I
+should be so persecuted: and though sure of mine own innocence and
+right dealing, I could not but feel very much humbled and degraded in
+mine own eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"It 'is' very hard!" said my Lady. "And it must be stopped. I will
+myself write to my kinsman and see if this persecution cannot be put an
+end to at once. You have done well in showing me this letter, Margaret,
+and you will always do well so long as you are thus open and truthful."</p>
+
+<p>Then she asked me about my other letter, and was kindly interested, as
+usual, in my news from home: but seeing me still sad, she kissed me,
+and bade me not to fret over the other matter, saying that all would
+come right in time.</p>
+
+<p>"Unless I see you more cheerful," said she, smiling somewhat sadly, "I
+must perforce release you from your engagement and marry you and Walter
+out of hand so soon as he returns. I like not these long engagements."</p>
+
+<p>Oh, how my heart sank, as my dear Lady said these kind words.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not looking well yourself, my Lady," said I, feeling as if I
+must say something, and indeed she was not.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not well," she answered, wearily. "My head is heavy, and I have a
+sinking of the spirits, such as I never felt before in all my life. I
+do not sleep well, and I dream constantly of my mother and of my dead
+children. It is well that I have no real cause of trouble or anxiety,"
+she added. "I think I should sink under it, if I had."</p>
+
+<p>Oh, how glad I was that I had borne my burden myself alone. Hard as it
+has been, and is, I am thankful that I have had the strength to keep it
+all to myself. I believe the alarm and suspense might have made all the
+difference to my Lady. And 'tis certain I have been wonderfully helped.
+Never in all my life have I had such a sense of the nearness of God and
+of His goodness and love to me, as during this trouble. I have felt—I
+say it with all reverence—such a freedom with Him—such an ability to
+go to Him, not only with all my trouble and anxiety, but with all my
+fretfulness, and rebellion, and impatience, yea and faithlessness, for
+I have been very faithless at some times.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>October 6.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." For two
+or three days, life hath seemed to me merely an intolerable burden.
+It was as if I had carried my load till my strength was spent to the
+last ounce, and I must lay it down or die. I could scarce attend to my
+ordinary duties or collect myself enough to answer a simple question;
+and I felt so irritable and fretful that I longed to shut myself up and
+see or speak to no one. Doubtless it was well for me that I could not
+do so, but had my work to occupy me even more than usual; for Betty
+herself hath not been well, and hath shown more of her old exacting and
+fractious spirit than I have seen in a long time.</p>
+
+<p>Last night I said to her, "Lady Betty, cannot you help being so peevish
+and fretful? Do you know you almost wear me out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do I?" asked the child, as if surprised. "I did not know I was
+peevish, Margaret, but I feel so tired and uncomfortable."</p>
+
+<p>"And so do I feel tired and uncomfortable," I answered; "and I have a
+headache, beside, but you would not like me to be as unkind to you as
+you are to me. Such conduct does not make you feel any better, does it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," she said, pondering, instead of saying yes or no at
+once, as any other child would. "Sometimes I think it does. But then
+that would not be any excuse, would it, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think not," said I. "Beside that I don't believe it does you any
+good. The more you allow yourself to speak crossly and impatiently, the
+easier it is to be cross and impatient next time."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I will try to be good," she answered, drawing a long breath;
+"but oh, Margaret, you don't know how hard it is!"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I do, sweetheart!" I said, kissing her upturned face. "I'll
+tell you what, I don't believe it is one bit harder for you than it is
+for me."</p>
+
+<p>She seemed a little comforted at that, and presently went to sleep,
+and I escaped to my room, feeling almost desperate. I was ready to say
+with the wicked man in the Scripture, "What profit shall we have if
+we pray unto Him!" My prayers of late had seemed so destitute of any
+real devotion, and had seemed to bring me so little help. Still I knew
+it was not right to neglect them, however I might feel. So, it being
+Friday night, I said the Litany, as my custom is. At the prayer "for
+all who travel by land or water," I surprised myself by bursting into
+tears and weeping freely, and my heart seemed to be a little lightened
+of the intolerable weight which lay upon it.</p>
+
+<p>I slept well, and arose feeling somewhat refreshed in body, and under
+a strange calmness of spirit, such as I never felt under any trouble
+before. I seemed, without any effort of mine own, to be settled upon
+the ground of God's unchanging love, and to be made sure that all would
+be well, however He should see fit to order the matter.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast my Lady came in to stay with Betty, bringing her work,
+and telling me to go out for a long walk, to refresh myself. I was only
+too glad to do so, and bent my steps to Corby-End. As I entered Madam's
+room, I found her just opening a great packet of letters, while Will
+Atkins stood at the side of the fire. The first look at his face told
+me that he brought naught but good news, which Madam confirmed, looking
+up with her sweet smile at the moment of my entrance, and saying:</p>
+
+<p>"You see I am well employed, dear heart. I have at last news from
+London of my runaway boy!"</p>
+
+<p>The sudden relief overcame me, as the trouble had never done, and I
+sank down and swooned clear away—a thing I never did in all my life
+before. When I opened mine eyes again, I was lying on the couch, and
+Prudence was fussing over me with hartshorn and burnt feathers, and
+what not.</p>
+
+<p>"She is better now!" said Madam's tender voice. "Leave her to me, good
+Prudence, and by and by bring some little refreshment."</p>
+
+<p>When Prudence was gone, I raised my head, and said, dreamily enough,
+I believe, for I was still bewildered: "Did Will bring news from
+Walter—from London. Was he not killed, after all?"</p>
+
+<p>"Killed!" said Madam. "No, dear love! What put that fancy in your head?
+Walter is safe and well, and sends you a packet by Will. Come now, and
+be a brave maid, and we will see what he says."</p>
+
+<p>I gathered together my scattered senses at this, perceiving that Madam
+had not yet heard the story. After saying how glad he was to see Will,
+and to have his company to London, Walter went on to add:</p>
+
+<p>"But I am sorry he should have been so misled by that miserable coward,
+Tom Andrews, as to come on such a bootless errand; and sorry, above
+all, that my dearest Margaret should have had to bear such a burden of
+anxiety."</p>
+
+<p>"What means that?" said Madam, pausing, and looking perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps we shall see, if we read on," I answered. So she read on:</p>
+
+<p>"It was true, indeed, as Andrews told Will, that I was set upon near
+Salisbury by a party of villains, but as Andrews ran away at the very
+beginning of the fray, he had no chance to see how it ended. We were
+the better armed and mounted, and though they outnumbered us, we soon
+beat them off, with the gift to one of them, at least, of a broken arm.
+I would not say it publicly, but I verily believe the man I shot was
+the Italian who was lately in attendance on one who shall be nameless,
+at Stanton Court. However, I have spoiled his sport for one while, I
+fancy. Pray convey news to Margaret at once, my dear mother. Poor maid,
+how she hath been suffering all this time, though I doubt not her stout
+heart hath kept her up through all."</p>
+
+<p>"And so you have been going about all this time, bearing this heavy
+burden all alone!" said Madam: "And all to save me from bootless
+anxiety! Dear heart, how could you do so?"</p>
+
+<p>"It seemed my duty," I answered. "Your anxiety would not have relieved
+mine, and I feared the news reaching my Lady's ears. She is far from
+well, and a little matter might make a difference with her."</p>
+
+<p>"But all alone!" said Madam, again. "And a young maid like you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not quite alone," I answered, smiling. "Alone, I could never have
+endured it."</p>
+
+<p>She clasped me in her arms, kissing and weeping over me, and calling
+me her dear, brave maid, her dear stout-hearted, good daughter, with
+many other kind words, more than I deserved, but which made me very
+happy, nevertheless. Then we finished reading the letter, which was
+long and very interesting, containing much public news, and that not of
+a pleasant kind, but I could not let it make me unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>Madam would have me eat and drink before I left her, and I was glad
+to do so, for I had not broken my fast that day. I could not forbear
+opening my letter and glancing at it as I walked home, through the
+wood; and so doing, I ran against Mr. Penrose, who was coming down the
+path.</p>
+
+<p>"Good news wont keep, eh, Mrs. Margaret!" said he, smiling at my
+confusion. "I wish you joy of your letters from home!"</p>
+
+<p>He is much more free and brotherly with me than he used to be, for
+which I am very glad. I can't but think Priscilla Fulton hath something
+to do with this change. I did not think it needful to tell him that my
+letters were not from home.</p>
+
+<p>As I was going on, he called me back, much to my annoyance. 'Twas
+to ask me whether I had ever held any conversation with Dame Yeo on
+religious matters? I told him how I had read to her, and that we had
+talked over what I had read, adding, what was quite true that she had
+cheered me up, and done me a great deal of good.</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. "I know not what to say," said he. "I cannot but
+fear she is in a very dangerous way."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" I asked, surprised. "She always seemed to me one of the best
+Christians in the world."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear she is guilty of the sin of presumption!" said he. "She says
+she knows her sins are forgiven, and that she is accepted of God."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," I answered—"why not? Don't you read in the church every day
+that 'He pardoneth and absolveth all those who truly repent and
+unfeignedly believe His holy Gospel'? And does not our Lord say, 'He
+that believeth on me, hath everlasting life, and shall never come into
+condemnation'?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis true!" said he. "But yet—"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't stop to talk to you about it now," I said; "my Lady will be
+waiting for me. But, Mr. Penrose, I don't believe our Lord intends his
+dear children shall walk through the world with a rope round their
+necks, as it were. He tells us to rejoice evermore, and that because
+our names are written in heaven!"</p>
+
+<p>"You believe in the doctrine of final perseverance?" said he, turning
+back and walking with me.</p>
+
+<p>"I know naught of theological terms," I answered him. "But when I feel
+God's grace enough for me to-day, why should I distress myself for fear
+I should not have it to-morrow, or next week, or next year? We are
+taught to ask daily bread for daily needs, and why not daily grace? I
+see no presumption in taking our Lord at His word."</p>
+
+<p>"But how can you know that you love Him, or that your faith is
+sufficient?" he persisted, still going on by my side.</p>
+
+<p>"As I know anything else," I answered. "How do I know that I am glad to
+get my letter? I don't need any deep self-examination to find that out,
+I trow!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I!" said Mr. Penrose. "It needs only to look at your face. But we
+will talk of this matter again."</p>
+
+<p>And so, to my relief, he turned and left me, with a kind good morning.
+He is far more patient of contradiction or opposition than he used to
+be. He formerly seemed to resent my having any opinions of mine own in
+such matters. I hope he will not go teasing Dame Yeo with his notions,
+though, indeed, I believe the old woman is quite able to hold her own
+with him.</p>
+
+<p>I only glanced at my letter, reserving that and the contents of the
+package for the time when I should be alone. But though I knew my Lady
+was waiting, I did steal a few minutes for a fervent thanksgiving.</p>
+
+<p>When I went into the nursery, my Lady smiled, and said, in her usual
+kind way, but with a touch of gentle malice:</p>
+
+<p>"You must have found your walk pleasant, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fear I have been gone too long, my Lady," I answered. "I went to
+Corby-End, and Madam detained me a little."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said my Lady, significantly. "Well, what is the news at
+Corby-End? Hath my cousin any tidings of her son?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my Lady," I answered. "Will Atkins is returned, and has brought a
+great package of letters to Madam, and some to my Lord, I believe, as
+well."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said my Lady, again. "And doubtless Master Walter is well. When
+does he mean to return?"</p>
+
+<p>"In about a month," I told her.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish Walter would come home!" said Betty, a little plaintively. "It
+is not nearly so nice going out riding and walking, when I know he is
+not here, and there is no use in expecting him. We used to meet him so
+often, didn't we, Margaret? Mamma, what are you laughing at, and why
+does Margaret blush so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, Betty," answered my Lady, composing her face. "Little
+maidens should not ask too many questions."</p>
+
+<p>Betty looked far from satisfied, but she never disputes her mother's
+commands.</p>
+
+<p>When I had time to open Walter's package, I found it contained, among
+other keepsakes, a small thin volume of poems by Mr. John Milton, and a
+small but beautifully bound and printed prayer-book. "I know you have
+one already," Walter writes: "but it pleases my fancy to think of you
+using this book, which is besides of a convenient size for your pocket.
+I think you will like the poems. I hold not with Mr. Milton in all
+things, but he has more of the true poetic fire than any other man in
+this age."</p>
+
+<p>Walter says public affairs are very discouraging. The King, wholly
+governed by his wife and his own arbitrary temper, vexing and
+oppressing the subjects with monopolies, and all other little provoking
+exactions. The Archbishop punishing with the utmost rigor all
+"innovations," as he calls them, in religion, yet daily making more
+than any one else, and, as it is believed, urging on the king—Wentworth
+in Ireland pressing his scheme of "thorough," and as many think
+favoring the Papists against the Protestants.</p>
+
+<p>I can see that Walter feels greatly discouraged, and fears some great
+disasters both to Church and State. He says there is a new sort of
+people risen up, who call themselves "Independents," and believe in a
+toleration of all men, except it may be Papists—and that they have some
+strong men among them. He says he does not believe the Archbishop to
+be altogether a bad man, but that he is weak and arbitrary—two things
+which he believes often go together—and very narrow-minded; and he
+says, what I do believe to be true, that foolish people often do more
+harm in the world than downright wicked people.</p>
+
+<p>He says, also, that the Archbishop's innovations are not usually
+in matters of any great importance, only in vestments, postures,
+decorations, and the like, which makes it the more provoking that
+they should be so pressed upon people as matters of conscience and
+religion. The two things which have made him the most unpopular, Walter
+thinks, are the reviving and promoting the book of Sunday Sports, and
+the forbidding preachers to handle certain points of doctrine, as
+predestination and the like, on which the Calvinists lay great stress:
+and that these two have alienated the minds and hearts of many who were
+well affected, nay, deeply attached to the Church. Then the growing
+luxury and laxity of the Court—for though the King is a grave and
+religious prince himself, he does not scruple to employ and forward men
+of the most openly bad lives, and of course that has its influence; and
+because the Puritans practise great strictness and purity of morals,
+the younger men of the Court party affect just the opposite; so that it
+is coming to be the mark of a fine gentleman to swear, cast dice, and
+drink, not to speak of worse matters. Truly the nation is in evil case.</p>
+
+<p>Walter's letter was very long, and contained much beside politics.
+I must not forget to say that he sent me a watch—which is a toy I
+have always longed for. This one is incased in gold, and is smaller
+and prettier than any I have ever seen. Walter bought it of a French
+artisan, a very ingenious man, and one of the persecuted Protestants
+who came hither from France. It does seem cruel and shameful that they
+should not be allowed to find rest even here, but should have their
+worship and the education of their children interfered with.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>October 7.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Madam Corbet sent up the letters for my Lord yesterday, and last night
+at supper time he spoke of them peevishly enough, saying that the
+world had run mad, and there was no peace in it for any honest, quiet
+gentleman, who desires nothing but to live at home and mind his own
+business.</p>
+
+<p>"Here hath been Sir Thomas Fulton's chaplain telling me that David Lee
+holds a conventicle at his house, and urging me to prosecute him. But
+I wont do it!" said my Lord, with an oath, and striking the table with
+his hand, as his wont is when excited. "Old David is an honest fellow,
+and his family have been good friends to me and mine these hundreds of
+years, and I wont interfere with him for any parson of them all. Let
+him manage his family his own way—and sing psalms through his nose, if
+he likes. What do I care?"</p>
+
+<p>"But you ought to care, and to act too, so long as he breaks the laws,
+brother!" said Lady Jemima, sharply. "Why else are you a magistrate and
+Lord of the Manor, save to execute the laws?"</p>
+
+<p>"You think so, do you?" said my Lord, turning short round on her.
+"Suppose somebody chooses to bring up the laws, of which there are
+plenty, against Popish ornaments and books, and after spying into your
+closet, should come to me with a complaint against you. Should I be
+bound to execute the laws therein?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's a very different matter!" answered Lady Jemima, looking a good
+deal discomfited. "The Archbishop sanctions those things."</p>
+
+<p>"The Archbishop does a good many things which he would find it hard to
+answer, if he were brought before a court of law—as he may be, sometime
+or other," said my Lord. "Here is Walter writes me from London that the
+Puritan party is gaining strength every day, and the people cry out on
+all sides for a Parliament, and no wonder. It is twelve years since
+we had one, or nearly that. And, by the way, Wat himself had a narrow
+escape. He was set upon by highwaymen, not far from Salisbury, and came
+near coming by the worst. Had you heard of that, Margaret? You were
+down at Corby-End this morning, I think."</p>
+
+<p>I answered quietly that I had heard the story.</p>
+
+<p>"And why didn't you tell it, then?" demanded my Lord, with some
+impatience. "Think you nobody but yourself hath any right to news of
+Walter?"</p>
+
+<p>"My Lady was not well this morning," I answered. "I thought the news
+might perhaps disturb her."</p>
+
+<p>My Lord smoothed his brow. "You think of everything," said he. "You
+are a good girl, Margaret, and Wat might do worse, after all said and
+done," he added, as if speaking to himself.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know what I should have done, but that poor Lady Jemima made a
+diversion by fainting away, in her place, almost scaring my Lord out of
+his wits.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be nothing," I said, as I was loosing her boddice: "she is
+better already."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think it was the story about Wat that upset her?" asked my
+Lord, like a marplot, as he is.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," said I (I fear it was a fib on my part). "She hath had
+these fits more than once lately. I think they come from going too long
+without eating. See, her color is coming back already."</p>
+
+<p>The poor lady opened her eyes and gave me a look of gratitude and woe,
+which went to my heart. I do wish she would be friends with me. But in
+ten minutes she was as cold and austere as ever.</p>
+
+<p>As I arranged her dress for her, I saw that she wore sackcloth next her
+skin, and a cross with sharp edges turned inward, which had left their
+mark on her tender bosom. Alas! Poor lady, my heart bleeds for her!</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image023" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image023.jpg" alt="image023"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image024" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image024.jpg" alt="image024"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>A SON AND HEIR.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>November 9.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>SO many things have changed since I wrote last, that I hardly know
+where to begin. My Lady is safe, that is the great thing, and has a
+fine sturdy pair of twin boys, to every one's great delight. I think it
+is my luck to have to do with twins.</p>
+
+<p>Then my engagement with Walter is openly acknowledged and sanctioned,
+too, by everybody concerned, and I am now treated quite as a daughter
+of the house, though I go on mine old way with Betty.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima hath been very sick, but is, I hope, in a way to recover.
+And we are at last the best friends in the world.</p>
+
+<p>It all came about in this wise. My Lady had been ailing for a good many
+days, and kept her chamber for the most part. I had partly promised to
+ride to the revels at Langham with my Lord, Mr. Penrose and his sister,
+a very pretty and pleasant young lady, lately come out of Cornwall to
+visit him. I confess I looked forward to the jaunt with some pleasure,
+for I love seeing new places and people, and I have been very quiet
+since I came hither.</p>
+
+<p>But the evening before we were to set out, my Lady sent for me to her
+room. I found her lying on the couch, with no other light but that from
+the fire, and she beckoned me to a low seat by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret," said she, "is your heart very much set on going to these
+revels to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my Lady," I answered: "not set upon it at all, if you wish me to
+stay at home."</p>
+
+<p>"I fear I am very selfish in asking it," continued my dear Lady, taking
+my hand in hers, and stroking it with her slender fingers: "but,
+sweetheart, if the disappointment will not be too grievous, I should
+like to have you stay. I am not well, and I am very fanciful—and I have
+learned to depend very much upon you, my dear. Maybe I shall not ask
+much more of you in this world."</p>
+
+<p>"My dearest Lady, don't say so," said I, kissing her hand, and hardly
+able to speak as quietly as I know that I ought, for the lump that rose
+in my throat. "It will be no disappointment for me to stay at home,
+since you desire it. I shall be glad to do so."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Penrose will be ready to say hard things of me, I fear," said my
+Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he will mind," I answered. "They are to join the party
+from Fulton Manor, you know, so Mrs. Kitty will not want for company or
+countenance."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you really think he is looking in that direction?" asked my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"I told her that I did, and I was very glad, both for his sake and Mrs.
+Priscilla's."</p>
+
+<p>"'Tis just as well, as things have fallen out," said my lady, sighing a
+little, methought, "but I gave Mr. Penrose credit for more constancy.
+Then, my dear, I will break this matter to my Lord to-night, and save
+you any trouble about it.</p>
+
+<p>"And, Margaret, I have written a letter to my Lord in case of my death,
+in which I have explained your relations to Walter, and asked him,
+for my sake, to countenance them. I am sure he will do so in the end,
+but you know my Lord's hasty spirit, and you must not mind a little
+roughness just at first. 'Tis ever his way to say more than he means. I
+have also explained my wishes with regard to Betty, and have written a
+letter to her and one to Walter, which will all be found in my cabinet.
+And now, Margaret, if you can listen quietly, I want to speak to you of
+some other matters."</p>
+
+<p>"I will try, my Lady," said I.</p>
+
+<p>And so I did, while she went over various matters respecting her laying
+out and burial, and the disposal of her clothes, together with the
+provision she wished to have made of mourning for the school children,
+and the old folks at the almshouses.</p>
+
+<p>"I have tried to talk over those matters with my Cousin Judith,"
+concluded my Lady, "but she always breaks into tears, and that is ill
+for both of us. I have good hope that they will be unnecessary, but I
+shall not die the more for having them arranged and off my mind."</p>
+
+<p>"I think not, surely, my Lady," I answered, as she seemed to expect me
+to speak. "On the contrary, your mind will be the easier for having
+them all settled. I never could understand the feelings that people
+have about such matters—making wills and the like. A man is none the
+more likely to die for having made his will, and settled his affairs,
+and if he does receive a sudden call, what a comfort to him to think
+that he has left everything in order for those he must leave behind."</p>
+
+<p>By this time, I had talked away the lump in my throat, and felt quite
+calm and composed. So I said to my Lady that I thought I had best take
+notes of what she had told me, that there need be no mistake. She
+agreeing thereto, I got lights and paper, and wrote down her desires as
+she dictated them to me, and then read them over to her.</p>
+
+<p>"That is all clear and plain!" said my Lady. "And now for your own
+matters, Margaret. I believe I ought to release you from the promise
+you made to me, to remain with Betty for a year. As matters then were,
+it seemed best for both of you, but the case is altered."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't desire to be released, my Lady," I answered her. "I mean to
+keep my word with you. I have told Mr. Corbet so, and he agrees that I
+am right."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Corbet is the most reasonable of men, and will have the most
+reasonable of wives," said my Lady, smiling somewhat sadly: "but that
+is no argument for his being imposed upon, or you either."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, my Lady, I don't feel that I am being imposed upon," I said,
+eagerly. "I am very happy with you. I am very young to be married, and
+I am all the time learning what will make ma the more worthy of my new
+position."</p>
+
+<p>"Learning of Mrs. Judith to make tarts and conserves, and to order a
+household; and of Mrs. Brewster to clearstarch and work lace—and what
+of me, sweetheart?" asked my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"Everything good, madam," I said, kissing the hand she had laid on
+mine—"Truth, and kindness, and patience—" and here the lump came in my
+throat again, and I could say no more.</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, patience! Learn patience, maiden. It will stand thee in good
+stead," said my Lady, with something nearer to bitterness than ever I
+heard from her before, and then she murmured some lines, which, as I
+remember, ran thus:</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<br>
+"Bring me a woman constant to her husband,<br>
+&nbsp;One that ne'er dreamed a joy above his pleasure;<br>
+&nbsp;And to that woman, when she hath done most,<br>
+&nbsp;Yet will I add an honor—a great patience."<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know who writ those lines, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shakspeare, I should say, Madam, though I never read them," I answered.</p>
+
+<p>"You are right; they are Shakspeare's. No one else could so have
+expressed that character of Queen Catharine. People do not set much
+store by him nowadays, but I cannot but think the time will come when
+he will be set far above those playwrights, who are now so much the
+fashion. You shall have the book and read the play for yourself. But
+never mind that now.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, I have no special directions to give you regarding my poor
+child. I am sure you will manage her rightly and reasonably, and always
+be her friend. For her sake, I am glad that you are like to be settled
+so near us. I might say more on this head, but that I feel an inward
+persuasion, almost amounting to a certainty, that Betty will not be
+long behind me, if I am taken away."</p>
+
+<p>She paused a little, and then went on to speak of the child that was
+coming, saying: "If it should be a boy, he will have friends, more than
+enough, but if a girl, I commend her to your love and care. I am sure
+you will care for her, Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>I answered her as well as I could.</p>
+
+<p>"You must not mind my Lord's humors," she continued. "He is brave,
+generous and kindhearted, but he is naturally high-spirited, and
+having been used to living so much amidst dependents, he is naturally
+impatient of contradiction."</p>
+
+<p>"Or of anything else but gross flattery and subserviency," I could
+not help thinking. And in truth 'tis hard to believe very much in the
+greatness of a man, who must be managed like a child, and who cannot
+hear the least word of dissent or contradiction, without scolding and
+fretting, till he makes himself a spectacle. I am glad Walter has been
+knocked about the world a little more, for I am sure I should lose all
+respect for him if he should treat me many times as my Lord treats my
+Lady, who has more sense in her glove than he ever had in his hat.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady finished what she had to say to me, and my Lord coming in, I
+retired.</p>
+
+<p>"So I find we are not to have your company to-morrow," said my Lord,
+meeting me afterward on the stairs. "'Tis very kind in you to stop with
+my Lady, and lose the pleasure of the day, but you shall fare none
+the worse, I promise you. Of course it is not to be expected that I
+should remain at home—" (I did not see the "of course—" it would have
+seemed to me only natural, remembering my dear father's way at such
+times)—"but I am glad you will be with her, and I shall not forget it.
+You are a good girl, Margaret."</p>
+
+<p>I courtesied, and said, "Thank you, my Lord."</p>
+
+<p>"By the way, I hear that Wat Corbet is coming home soon," said he,
+detaining me on the stairs, as I was about to pass him. "Have you heard
+of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I knew he expected to be at home about Hallowmass," I answered.</p>
+
+<p>"You know a great deal about him, it seems to me," said my Lord, in
+rather a discontented tone. "However, an' that come to pass which I
+hope for, he may marry whom he likes, for all me. You have always been
+a good girl, Meg, and fond of my Lady. You are not scheming to stand in
+her shoes, are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my Lord, that I am not!" I answered, rather hotly. "I hope my Lady
+may stand in her own shoes this many a day to come. As for scheming, I
+am scheming for nothing, and I see not why I should be accused of it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, you need not be so tart!" said my Lord. (People like him
+always wonder how folks can be so tart.) "I only asked the question. I
+am sorry to miss your company, and so I dare say some other folks will
+be, but my Lady's fancies are to be considered, of course. Tell me what
+I shall bring Betty from the revels? Poor child, 'tis a hard case that
+all such things must pass by her, and she have none of the fun: but I
+suppose she would like a fairing."</p>
+
+<p>I felt sure she would, and told him what I thought she would fancy,
+namely, a thread-case and scissor-case—for she is beginning to take
+great pleasure in needlework.</p>
+
+<p>"I will remember," said he, taking out his tablets, and setting down
+what I had told him; "and what shall I give you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will leave that to your own taste, my Lord," I was saying, when Lady
+Jemima coming down the stairs, a little way, called out, "Brother, I
+wish to speak with you!" and I made my escape.</p>
+
+<p>But going down again presently, to carry some message which my Lady had
+given me to Mrs. Judith, I heard my Lord say to Lady Jemima, as he left
+her room:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, we can do nothing now, my Lady is so set upon her. But if
+you are right, Jem!—" I hurried on and heard no more, but I felt sure
+that they were talking of me.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>The next day dawned clear and bright, though there were signs which
+might portend a storm before its close. I did not go down to the early
+breakfast, for Betty had had a turn of pain in the night, and Mary had
+called me up to soothe her, and give her some quieting medicine, which
+she will take from no hand but mine and her mother's. So after I had
+given it her, I lay down beside her in the bed, and would not rise for
+fear of waking her.</p>
+
+<p>She waked herself when my Lady came in, and I rose and went to my room.
+Here I found Mrs. Judith, intent upon taking down and brushing the
+hangings, and performing I know not what other cleaning operations.
+So after I had dressed, I locked up all my small treasures in my
+cabinet, and putting my watch in my bosom, and in my pocket the little
+Prayer-book and the Thomas à Kempis which Walter had sent me, I went
+down to the chapel to say my prayers there.</p>
+
+<p>I found Lady Jemima before me, busied in decorating the altar with late
+flowers, which she arranged with a great deal of taste. She seemed to
+make an effort to be pleasant with me, I thought, for she bade me good
+morning, and then said, as I stopped to look at her work:</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose your Puritan notions would condemn these decorations?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no Puritan notions that I know of," I answered: "and certainly
+not that one. I love flowers anywhere, and I don't know any place where
+they seem prettier or better bestowed than in church. I should not like
+to see artificial flowers in such a place, because they would look
+tawdry and unworthy, but the real flowers are quite another thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I should not have expected to hear that from a friend and upholder of
+Mr. Prynne!" said Lady Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Prynne was my father's friend and kinsman, and hath been kind to
+my mother since his death," I answered: "but he never was specially a
+friend of mine. On the contrary, I am afraid I had a mortal fear and
+dislike to the poor man, because he used to contradict and browbeat my
+father so."</p>
+
+<p>"And yet your father was friendly with him!" she remarked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, madam," I said. "My mother would be indignant sometimes, and then
+my father would laugh and say that he knew how to separate the husks
+of opinion and prejudice from the sound and sweet fruit of the man:
+but I must confess the husks ever stuck too much in my throat to let
+me relish the fruit. But I could not but grieve for his hard fate when
+I remembered his kindness to the poor, and to my mother, above all. I
+should love a Turk if he were kind to my mother."</p>
+
+<p>She made no answer to this, but turned to go away, gathering up the
+rejected stalks and leaves of her flowers, in which I made bold to help
+her. She thanked me, but rather stiffly, and asked me what had brought
+me thither so early. I told her I had come to say my prayers, as Mrs.
+Judith was cleaning my room.</p>
+
+<p>"That is well!" said she. "Do you pray for your enemies?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should, if I had any, madam," I answered: "but I think I have none,
+or at least only one," I added, thinking of Felicia.</p>
+
+<p>"I am that one, I suppose!" said she.</p>
+
+<p>"No, madam," I answered her. "I was not thinking of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Pray for me, nevertheless!" said she, her face growing pale and sharp,
+as if with some hidden pain, and with that she went quickly away.</p>
+
+<p>I could not but wonder at her words, but she is always unlike other
+people, so I did not think so much of it.</p>
+
+<p>I said my prayers, not forgetting to pray for the poor lady, and then,
+as my books were heavy to carry in my pocket, I bestowed them, as I
+thought, safely in a corner of my usual seat, little thinking what a
+scrape they were going to bring me into, and went about my business.</p>
+
+<p>The weather was gloomy and lowering all day, but the sun shone out
+bright and clear about half an hour before its setting, and Betty,
+taking a fancy to go out, I wrapped her up and took her into the
+garden, on the west side of the house, which is warm and sheltered in
+the afternoon. Here she played about awhile, talking to Dick Gardener,
+who is a great ally of hers, and gathering a nose-gay of late flowers
+for her mother.</p>
+
+<p>When, just as I was thinking that we must go in presently, I saw Lady
+Jemima coming down the steps toward me.</p>
+
+<p>As she drew near, I saw that her face was white with passion, and that
+she had my two books in her hand. She came close up to me, and holding
+them up before me asked, in a voice which trembled with anger:</p>
+
+<p>"Where did you get these books? Whose hand is this in the beginning?"</p>
+
+<p>Then, before I could speak, she added: "Tell me no lies, wench! This is
+Walter Corbet's hand!"</p>
+
+<p>I was cool in a minute. I saw that the time had come, and that I must
+hold mine own with her, and if possible keep her from disturbing my
+Lady.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not mean to lie—why should I?" I said. "It is Walter Corbet's
+hand, and he gave me the books!"</p>
+
+<p>"And you dare to tell me so!" said she, turning paler still, if that
+were possible. "You receive love tokens from Walter Corbet—you!"</p>
+
+<p>She caught her breath, and stood looking at me with the utmost scorn
+and abhorrence in her face.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall see what his mother will say to such treachery, my dainty
+mistress—'his beloved Margaret,' forsooth! I will tell her what an
+honor is in store for her, and what a fine intrigue her pure-minded son
+is carrying on under his cousin's roof!"</p>
+
+<p>"You will tell her no news, and there is no intrigue in the case!"
+said I. "I am Walter Corbet's betrothed wife, with his mother's full
+knowledge and consent, and also with my Lady's!"</p>
+
+<p>With that I stooped to pick up the books which she had cast on the
+ground at my feet, when, as ill-luck would have it, my watch and
+Walter's picture slipped from my bosom and fell on the grass, the
+picture face uppermost, of course. With a cry of wrath and anguish such
+as I never heard, she set her heel on the picture, and crushed it to
+atoms, and then turning to Betty, who had come up panting and full of
+amazement, she seized her by the arm, saying, in a stifled voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Come away from this wretch—this viper! Come away, before she shall
+poison you!"</p>
+
+<p>Then, as Betty hung back, and clung crying to me, scared by her aunt's
+violence. "Come with me, I say, or I will drag you away by force!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wont!" screamed Betty, all her passionate temper aroused in turn.
+And, wrenching away her arm: "You are a viper yourself, and a dragon
+too, Aunt Jemima, and I hate you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you have profited by your teaching!" said Lady Jemima, in the
+same strange, unnatural voice. "Come with me, I say!"</p>
+
+<p>And with that she seized the child by the shoulder, and by a sudden
+wrench, pulling her away, she dragged her toward the house.</p>
+
+<p>I was horrified, knowing how easily she was hurt, and sprang to the
+rescue, and at the same moment Betty gave a shrill cry of agony, and
+called out, "Mamma! Oh mamma! Aunt Jem is killing me!"</p>
+
+<p>Then looking up—oh, sight of horror!—I saw my Lady running down the
+stone steps of the terrace, and, catching her foot, fall headlong to
+the ground!</p>
+
+<p>I forgot all else—even my child, at that sight, and I was by her side
+in a moment, raising her head in my lap.</p>
+
+<p>Betty burst out crying—"Mamma is killed! Mamma is killed!" And threw
+herself on the ground by her side.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima stood as if turned to stone.</p>
+
+<p>I saw in a moment that my Lady still breathed, and presently she opened
+her eyes. By this time Dick Gardener and his assistants came running
+up, and I made Ambrose, who is a great, strong, handy fellow, take up
+my Lady and carry her to her room, while I ran before to call Mrs.
+Judith and Mrs. Brewster.</p>
+
+<p>By this time all the servants were alarmed, and came running into the
+hall to meet us. I sent Mary to bring in Betty and put her to bed, and
+the others on different errands to get them out of the way, for somehow
+I seemed to have everything to do, and to think of everything at once.</p>
+
+<p>As for Lady Jemima, she had never moved from her place, and nobody
+seemed to think about her at all.</p>
+
+<p>By the time we got my Lady to her room, she was quite herself, and gave
+directions about everything she wanted, bidding Brewster undress her,
+and telling me to go and see to Betty and bring word how she was; for
+she feared she had been hurt in the struggle.</p>
+
+<p>I found Betty crying and sobbing in Mary's arms, who was trying to
+coax her to be undressed, instead of going to her mother, as she was
+determined to do.</p>
+
+<p>I now found the benefit of having reduced the child to obedience. She
+submitted, sorrowfully, but passively, when I told her that she could
+not go to her mother to-night, but if she wanted to please her she must
+be good and quiet and do as she was bid.</p>
+
+<p>"I will try to be good!" said she, pitifully, as I began to unlace
+her boddice. "But oh, Margaret, Aunt Jem did hurt me so! I could not
+help crying out! You don't think it was my fault that mamma fell
+down-stairs, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>I told her no—that she was not to blame in the least; and indeed I
+could not feel that she was.</p>
+
+<p>"How is mamma? Is she dying?" asked Betty.</p>
+
+<p>"O no!" I answered, as cheerfully as I could. "I think perhaps she will
+be quite well in the morning, if she is not disturbed to-night. She is
+troubled about you, and I want to carry back a good account of you."</p>
+
+<p>Betty was all docility in a minute, and let me undress her and rub her
+back and shoulders. "Does it hurt you, now?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Not so 'very' much," she answered, with a strong emphasis on the
+"very." "Not so very much, when I am quite still. Tell mamma so,
+please."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall go to bed now, and I will sit with you while Mary brings
+your supper," said I. And I made her a sign to make haste, for I was on
+thorns to get back to my Lady.</p>
+
+<p>When I had seen Betty comfortable, I went back again to my Lady's
+room. By this time it was quite dark—the wind was blowing, and the
+rain dashing against the windows, and it promised to be a wild night.
+I found Mrs. Judith had sent man and horse after the doctor and nurse:
+"For though my Lady seems quiet enough just now, my dear, we shall want
+help before morning, I am sure. I only wish my Lord had left us Roger,
+instead of Harry Andrews."</p>
+
+<p>I wished so too, for Harry was young, and not over steady, and besides
+he was brother to Tom Andrews, which was enough to set me against him.
+I could not help wondering at my Lord, knowing as he did what was like
+to happen at any time, and said so.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, there's no use in expecting any sense in 'men!'" said Mrs. Judith,
+with decision. "They are all alike in those matters, my dear. An ounce
+of trouble for themselves outweighs a pound for anybody else."</p>
+
+<p>"Not with all men, I think!" said I, remembering my dear father. "What
+time ought Harry to be back?"</p>
+
+<p>"By eight o'clock, at farthest."</p>
+
+<p>"And when ought we to expect my Lord?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Judith looked grave.</p>
+
+<p>"Not to-night, I am afraid: or at least not till late. They will sup
+with Sir Thomas Fulton, and most likely stay all night, as it is such a
+storm."</p>
+
+<p>Eight o'clock came, and half-past eight, but no Harry, and no doctor.
+My Lady began to grow worse very fast, and by half-past nine she was in
+convulsions. Mrs. Brewster lost her head entirely, and could do nothing
+but cry. And Mrs. Judith was terribly flurried, and evidently quite at
+her wits' end.</p>
+
+<p>"You see I have had so little experience!" said she to me, as she came
+out into the antechamber. "I never had but one of my own, and my Lady
+always had her mother with her before. I would give my right hand if
+Mrs. Corbet were here—but how to bring her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely she would come if she were sent for!" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, but how to send. You see, my dear, this is All-Hallow's even,
+and I don't believe you could get one of the servants to go down to
+Corby-End for love nor money!"</p>
+
+<p>"What, not for my Lady?" I exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Judith shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Fear makes people selfish, my dear. And indeed, considering what hath
+been seen between here and there on All-Hallow's eve, I should not like
+it myself. Not but that I would go if I could."</p>
+
+<p>"I will go down to the kitchen and see what can be done," said I, and I
+went.</p>
+
+<p>I found the maids, with old Thomas and David, who were the only men
+left at home, gathered closely round the fire, listening to some
+dreadful tale of ghosts and what not, which Anne was doling out to
+them: and one or two of them shrieked as I opened the door, as if I had
+been the White Dame herself.</p>
+
+<p>I told my errand, but was answered only by blank looks and a torrent of
+expostulation and assurance that no one would dare to go through the
+park this night, no not to have the whole of it, for fear of meeting
+the Halting Knight and a certain evil spirit which is supposed, at this
+time, to be mousing about the Abbey for any unlucky soul that ventures
+out after dark.</p>
+
+<p>"And so you will let your good Lady die for lack of help!" said I, as
+soon as I could get a hearing.</p>
+
+<p>"As to that, our lives are worth as much to us as my Lady's to her!"
+answered Anne, pertly enough. "And who knows what Madam Corbet might
+do, if she did come? I'll be bound she hath heard the news before
+this time. She doth not need earthly messengers, as honest folks do.
+Everybody knows that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody knows that you are an ungrateful fool, Anne Hollins," said
+old Thomas; "and if you do not lose your place for that same speech,
+it will not be my fault, I promise you. I would go in a minute, Mrs.
+Merton, but you know I can scarce put one foot before the other."</p>
+
+<p>"And you, David!" said I.</p>
+
+<p>David only shrank together and muttered something, but it was clear he
+would not go.</p>
+
+<p>"Get me the lanthorn ready—I will go myself!" said I, at last. "I fear
+no evil when on a good errand, and hold myself safer out in this storm
+and under God's protection, than you are here round the fire. Remember
+stone walls cannot keep out spirits, and the Evil One himself is like
+enough to be busy among you—selfish cowards that you are!"</p>
+
+<p>With that I left them, and running to mine own room, I put on my thick
+woolen gown, which mother would have had me leave at home, and in less
+time than I can write it, I was back in my Lady's room, telling Mrs.
+Judith of my purpose.</p>
+
+<p>"God bless you, dear maid!" she exclaimed, kissing me and bursting into
+tears. "Go then, and good angels guard you!"</p>
+
+<p>"And so you are really going!" said Dorothy, the fat cook, as she put
+the lanthorn into my hand: "And you, you idle, good for nought men,
+will let her go alone! I would go myself, but I should hinder more than
+help you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going with Mrs. Merton!" said Jacky, the little knife-boy,
+starting up from his corner, and buttoning up his doublet, while his
+pale face and staring eyes showed his fears were only less strong than
+his sense of duty. "I'm only a lad, but I am somebody, and she shan't
+go alone—so!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good boy!" said Dorothy, as she tied her own kerchief over his ears
+to keep his cap on. "Thou shalt have a fine plum bun, I promise thee!
+There, go along, and God bless you both!"</p>
+
+<p>As we went out into the night, the wind caught us, and we had much
+ado to keep our feet. It came not steadily, but in heavy gusts, laden
+with sharp, stinging rain, and roared fearfully in the great trees.
+It was not so very dark, for there was a moon, which shone out now
+and then through the flying clouds, but a wilder night sure no two
+young things were ever abroad in. I walked on as fast as I could, and
+Jacky trudged manfully by my side, not even blenching when we passed
+into the Abbey church-yard, which we must needs cross, as the shortest
+way to Corby-End. As we were in the midst thereof, the moon shone out
+suddenly, and an owl—I suppose it was an owl—gave an unearthly screech.</p>
+
+<p>"Save us!" cried Jacky, pressing close to my side. "What's that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only an owl," said I, valorously. "Never mind him!" But I did not feel
+as brave as my words, by any means.</p>
+
+<p>However, we crossed the church-yard safely enough, and descended into
+the ravine.</p>
+
+<p>Here it was very dark. The brook, already swollen with the rain,
+narrowed the path, so that we had to go one by one. There were strange
+sounds in the trees, and the passing gleams of the lanthorn made
+strange shapes on the rocks and bushes. I grew very impatient to reach
+the end, for, aside from all other fears, I knew the brook, which hath
+its rise in the high moon, sometimes swelled very suddenly, and made
+the track quite impassable. But the more haste, the worse speed. In my
+hurry, I stumbled and fell, putting out the light.</p>
+
+<p>Jacky burst out crying: "Oh, mistress, what shall we do now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Push on as fast as we can," said I, affecting a courage I by no means
+felt. "Take hold of my gown, and make what haste you are able."</p>
+
+<p>Even as I spoke, something seemed to brush past me, so near to my face
+that I felt it, and again we heard the same wild scream which had
+greeted us in the church-yard. Stumbling and tripping, however, we
+hurried on, and at last came out at the little gate I have mentioned
+before in these memoirs. We were still in the thick woods, but then the
+path was plain, and at last—oh, welcome sight!—we saw the lights in the
+windows of Corby-End!</p>
+
+<p>Never did any one look more amazed than Madam Corbet, when I burst into
+her pretty, orderly room, all dripping, torn, and draggled as I was,
+and told my tale with breathless haste. Not till it was ended, did I
+see that Walter was at my side. Then all my strength seemed gone in a
+minute, and I should have fallen, but for his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go to my cousin instantly," said Madam, rising. "Walter, will
+you order my horse, and tell Will to get ready to ride? There is no
+time to lose!"</p>
+
+<p>"I will myself go with you as far as the great house, and then ride on
+in search of the doctor," said Walter. "As for Margaret, she must abide
+here and go to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no!" I cried. "I must go back. Indeed I must! If Betty wakes and
+misses me, no one will be able to manage her, and I shall be wanted,
+beside. I must go back directly!"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe she is right!" said Madam, to my great joy.</p>
+
+<p>She would have me drink some hot wine, however, and indeed I was glad
+of it. I believe they made all the haste possible, but it seemed an age
+before we were ready to set out.</p>
+
+<p>As for Jacky, he was left with the servants to be dried, warmed and
+feasted to his heart's content.</p>
+
+<p>I rode behind Walter, and Madam her own horse, and we were not long
+in reaching the house. When we were safely dismounted, Walter said he
+would ride on with Will and find the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"You will be drenched through!" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Nay, I have my horseman's coat, and I am not made of sugar nor salt,
+more than yourself, my dear love!" said he: "But, dear mother, do see
+that Margaret changes her clothes."</p>
+
+<p>And with that he was gone. Many people would have thought it not a
+very sentimental greeting, after so long an absence: but I was well
+contented with it.</p>
+
+<p>I hurried to my room to dress myself, for indeed I was wet through, and
+I know it was but right that I should take due care of my own health.</p>
+
+<p>When I had done so, I looked in at my child. She was awake, and started
+up at my entrance.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma!" said she, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>"She is likely to do well, I trust," I answered. "Your Cousin Corbet is
+come to stay with her. Try to go to sleep, my dear one."</p>
+
+<p>"But you will come and tell me?" she said, holding my hand. "I don't
+want you to stay, because mamma might need you, but you will come and
+tell me. And I have tried to be good, haven't I, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you have, my dear, tender lamb—my sweet, precious young Lady!"
+said Mary, wiping her eyes: "I am sure an angel could not have behaved
+any better!"</p>
+
+<p>I kissed her and again assured her that I would bring her the first
+news, and bade her pray for her mother.</p>
+
+<p>And then I left her and hurried back to my Lady's antechamber, where I
+met Lady Jemima coming out.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Corbet is with her," said she. "She will not endure me in her
+sight—and no wonder. I feel as if I had murdered her."</p>
+
+<p>"You have!" I answered her, bitterly enough. I was wrong, but at that
+moment I did really feel that if my Lady died, Lady Jemima would be
+answerable for her death.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima looked strangely at me for a moment, and then turned and
+fled swiftly to her own room.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Judith opened the door in a few minutes to whisper to me that
+my Lady was already quieter, and seemed soothed and comforted by her
+cousin's presence, and to ask me to go down and see that some supper
+was prepared for my Lord, in case of his coming home, which I did.</p>
+
+<p>I found Dorothy had anticipated me, however, for she had made
+everything ready. And not only that, but she had some dainty broth
+keeping hot by the kitchen fire, which she begged me eat a part of, and
+carry the rest up to Mrs. Judith.</p>
+
+<p>"I had not thought of wanting anything to eat, Dorothy," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I dare say not, nor Mrs. Judith neither," answered Dorothy, dryly.
+"You're not the kind that always thinks of your own insides, whatever
+happens; so much the more need that others should think for you."</p>
+
+<p>I would not seem ungrateful for the good soul's care, so I drank a cup
+of broth, and indeed it did me a great deal of good. I had hardly got
+up-stairs again when I heard a clatter of horses' hoofs, and my Lord's
+voice above the storm, directing Roger and Will about the horses. Mrs.
+Corbet at the same moment opened the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Go you down to meet my Lord, dear heart!" said she. "Tell him
+Elizabeth is going on well, but do not let him come up. Everything
+depends on quietness, just now!"</p>
+
+<p>I needed no second bidding, but ran down-stairs, and met my Lord at
+the door. He was coming in, after his usual jolly, careless fashion,
+evidently merry, yet not much the worse—but that he never is—for the
+wine he had drank at supper. He checked his whistle on seeing me.</p>
+
+<p>"What, Margaret! What keeps you up so late?" Then, as I held up a
+warning finger, he seemed to divine the state of the case. "My Lady! Is
+she—?"</p>
+
+<p>"She is in a way to do well, I trust and believe!" said I. "But she has
+been very ill, and Mrs. Corbet says all depends on quietness."</p>
+
+<p>"The surgeon is here, I suppose?" said he, after a minute.</p>
+
+<p>I told him how it was—that Harry had gone for him at first and did
+not return. And that, growing alarmed, Mrs. Judith had sent for Mrs.
+Corbet, about an hour ago.</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, that was well!" said he. "But who went for her? I would have
+said there was not a wench about the place who would have gone down
+to Corby-End to-night on any errand whatever; and David is a greater
+coward than any of them."</p>
+
+<p>"I went myself," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"You!" exclaimed my Lord, putting his hand on my shoulder, and holding
+me off to look at me. "Meg! You never went down to Corby-End alone,
+this wild night!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nay!" I answered. "I had Jacky the knife-boy for protector. We had a
+rough walk, but we met with no worse misadventure than slipping into
+the brook two or three times, and putting out our lanthorn. And I rode
+back and left Jacky to be petted by the maids down there!"</p>
+
+<p>He caught me in his arms, kissing my forehead, called me his brave
+maid, his good girl, and I know not what else, and swearing a great
+oath, as his fashion is, that I should marry whom I liked and no one
+should hint a word against me. I got him quieted at last, and set down
+to his supper, and then stole away, promising to bring him news from
+time to time. But when I went down again, at the end of an hour, he was
+fast asleep and snoring on the settle, so I even let him sleep.</p>
+
+<p>The night wore slowly away, and still the doctor did not come. But I
+dare say we were as well without him. Between five and six, just as the
+gray dawn began to show in faint streaks above the high moor, there
+was a bustle in my Lady's room—and then—oh, sound of joy, which I well
+knew—the cry of a little babe. I sprang to my feet, but dared not go
+near the door.</p>
+
+<p>Presently, after what seemed an age of suspense, Madam opened it, her
+dear fair face all flushed with joy!</p>
+
+<p>"Good news, Margaret! We have two bouncing boys—and I believe the
+mother will do well, in spite of all! Go you and tell my Lord—you have
+well earned the right—but do not let him come up-stairs, just yet!"</p>
+
+<p>I ran softly but quickly enough down-stairs to the hall, where I found
+my Lord awake, rubbing his eyes and shivering. He started up when he
+saw me.</p>
+
+<p>"Good news, my Lord—the best of news," I cried out. "Two nice lads—and
+my Lady is doing well!"</p>
+
+<p>"What!" said he, staring, as if he had not taken in my words.</p>
+
+<p>I repeated them.</p>
+
+<p>"But my wife—Elizabeth!" he said, paler than I ever could have believed
+possible. "How is she doing? Will she live?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe she will!" I said. "Madam thinks so, but she bids you not
+come up just yet!"</p>
+
+<p>I shall ever like my Lord the better for what followed. The great
+strong, soldierly man fell on his knees, and, amid streaming tears and
+sobs which shook him like an infant, gave broken and heartfelt thanks
+to Heaven for his wife's deliverance.</p>
+
+<p>I cried heartily, and the tears seemed to wash from my heart the
+bitterness and weight which had lain there all night, ever since Lady
+Jemima had trodden under foot Walter's picture.</p>
+
+<p>"But the bearer of good news must be rewarded!" said my Lord, when he
+had calmed himself a little—(I saw with pleasure that he seemed no ways
+ashamed of his emotion). "What shall I do for you, Margaret?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I might ask so much!" said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me hear it!" said he. "It will be hard if you ask what I cannot
+grant."</p>
+
+<p>"It is that you will go and carry Lady Betty the good news yourself, my
+Lord!" I said. "It will be better to her from your lips than from any
+other source, and it may prevent some jealous fancies, such as children
+sometimes have."</p>
+
+<p>"You are always thinking of your bantling!" said he, evidently
+well-pleased. "I bade you ask something for yourself."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment the hall door opened and Walter entered, followed by the
+surgeon. Walter told me afterward that he had found Harry Andrews drunk
+at an alehouse near Biddeford, and that he had rode five miles beyond
+the town before he found the surgeon.</p>
+
+<p>"Hallo, Wat!" cried my Lord, cheerily. "Doctor, you are a day after
+the fair. You have lost your chance of the title this time, Watty, my
+boy! Meg here and your lady mother have choused you out of it fairly,
+between them!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank God!" said Walter, fervently.</p>
+
+<p>"Good! That's well said," returned my Lord. "And what is more, I
+believe you mean it, both you and Margaret! And that is more than I
+would say of some folks."</p>
+
+<p>"I mean it, I know, and I am sure I can answer for Margaret!" said
+Walter.</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, you are mighty ready to answer for Margaret," said my Lord. "You
+and Margaret have been a pair of sly-boots, I believe. However, all is
+well, and I am sure you will never find a better wife or a fairer, if
+you look the west country over, so here's God speed you with, all my
+heart!" And he gave Walter a mighty shake of the hand and a slap on the
+shoulder, which might have staggered a giant. "However, I have promised
+to break the news to Bess, and I must keep my word."</p>
+
+<p>He went up-stairs, and I followed, for I wanted to see how the child
+would take it. As my Lord opened the door, I saw that Betty was
+kneeling in the bed, with her hands clasped. She looked up with an
+eager glance, and a burning blush, when she saw her father.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, Bess, my girl!" said her father, coming to the bed, and
+taking her in his arms. "Thank God for giving you a pair of fine little
+brothers to take care of you!"</p>
+
+<p>She clung round his neck. "Oh, papa, has my little brother come?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, that has he, and brought another with him!" answered my Lord,
+cheerfully: "And what is better, dear mamma is doing well."</p>
+
+<p>Betty seemed quite overwhelmed, and laid her head down on her father's
+shoulder. Presently she raised it again, and looked anxiously in his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"You wont wish I was dead 'now,' will you, papa?" said she. "Indeed, I
+will try to be very good!"</p>
+
+<p>"Wish you dead! No, child, of course not!" said my Lord, quite shocked.
+"How could you think of such a thing as that?"</p>
+
+<p>"You said so that day in the church-yard, papa!" said Betty. "You know
+I could not help being crooked, and, indeed, I will try to learn all I
+can, so that I can help mamma and teach my little brothers!" she added,
+with wistful pathos.</p>
+
+<p>"Bless the child!" said my Lord, kissing her with real tenderness, and
+hugging her in his arms. "I never thought of such a thing! Why, Bess,
+you must not lay up every word I say as if it were gospel. What will
+you do when you are married, and have a husband of your own, if you
+make so much of every rough speech?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never will be married!" said Betty, with decision. "I mean to live
+single all my life, as Margaret does!"</p>
+
+<p>"But suppose Margaret gets married—then what will you do?" asked my
+Lord.</p>
+
+<p>"I should not like it at all, and I won't have it!" said Betty. Then
+gravely, as if reconsidering the matter—"Unless she will marry Walter,
+and live at Corby-End. That would be very nice, I think, don't you,
+papa?"</p>
+
+<p>My Lord gave one of his great laughs, kissed her again, and calling
+her a wise little maid, put her down on the bed, and pulled out of
+his pocket I know not what expensive toys in the way of scissors,
+needle-cases, and the like, telling her that he had bought them for her
+yesterday. Then saying he must go and look after his guests, and giving
+my ear a parting pull, he went away, leaving Betty happier than any
+queen.</p>
+
+<p>"What did Aunt Jemima say?" asked Betty, after she had found out that I
+had not seen the babes, and making me promise to take her to her mother
+as soon as possible.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that she has heard yet," I answered, my conscience
+smiting me, as I remembered my own words to her the night before, and
+the look she had given me. "I will go now and tell her."</p>
+
+<p>I tapped gently at Lady Jemima's door, but as no one answered, I
+ventured to open it and look in. Lady Jemima had not been to bed all
+night, and now crouched on the cold floor before the little altar in
+her closet, pale as death, and with eyes swollen with long and bitter
+weeping. She started up as I entered, but did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Good news, madam!" I said, cheerfully. "The best of news!" And then I
+told her what had happened.</p>
+
+<p>"Is not my sister dead, then!" she asked, in a strange, bewildered way:
+"I thought I had murdered her. You said so!"</p>
+
+<p>"I was angry and said what was very wrong, and I beg your pardon," I
+answered. "My Lady is like to live, I hope and trust. Madam thinks she
+is doing well, and also the surgeon, who is come just in time to be too
+late."</p>
+
+<p>She threw her arms round my neck, and burst into hysterical sobs and
+cries. I got her into her chair, and supporting her head, I soothed and
+quieted her as well as I could, till she was in some degree herself
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"You heap coals of fire on my head, Margaret!" said she, when she could
+speak. "But you did not come here to triumph over me, did you?"</p>
+
+<p>"God forbid!" said I, earnestly. "I came but to bring you the good
+news, and to ask your forgiveness for my wicked words last night."</p>
+
+<p>"They were true words!" said Lady Jemima, hastily. "I had the spirit
+of a murderer, if not toward my sister, yet toward you. I could have
+killed you, Margaret!"</p>
+
+<p>I did not ask her why. Poor Lady! I knew well enough how she felt I had
+injured her. I only said:</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Lady Jemima, I never meant to harm you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it!" said she, bitterly. "You never did harm me. If you had
+never come near the place, it would have made no difference. It was my
+own insane vanity and passion. I have been a wicked woman, Margaret—a
+wicked hypocrite, condemning and judging others, when I was far worse
+than they: but mine eyes have been opened this night, and I have seen
+myself as I am!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am not so sure of that!" I said.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at me in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"When the Saviour put his hands on the blind man's eyes, and asked him
+if he saw aught, the man answered that he saw men as trees walking. He
+saw, it was true, but as yet nothing clearly. It needed a second touch
+before he saw things as they were. It may be so with you."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head sadly. "I can never trust myself again," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I would not try!" I answered her. "But you know whom you can trust—who
+will never fail those who seek Him. But, dear Lady Jemima, you are now
+in no fit state to judge of anything. You are wearied out with grief,
+and watching, and fasting, too, I dare say. Your hands are as cold
+as ice. Let me help you to bed, and get you some food, and when you
+have eaten and slept, you will be much better fitted to see and feel
+rightly."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me one thing, Margaret," said she, taking my hands, "are you and
+Walter truly betrothed?"</p>
+
+<p>"We are," I answered her; "and my Lord hath given his consent."</p>
+
+<p>She made a movement, as if to draw her hand from mine, but refrained.</p>
+
+<p>"And you will soon be married, I suppose!" she added, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe not," said I. "I promised my dear Lady before there was any
+likelihood of such good fortune befalling me that I would not leave
+Lady Betty for a year, whatever happened. And I mean to keep my word,
+unless I have more reason than I see now for breaking it."</p>
+
+<p>"How I have wronged you!" she said, sighing. "Margaret, there is hardly
+any evil that I have not thought of you."</p>
+
+<p>"You were prejudiced against me by one whom you might well have
+believed," said I. "I know not why Felicia hath always been mine enemy,
+except that it seems a part of her nature to have to hate somebody."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not that—not altogether!" said Lady Jemima. "It was—"</p>
+
+<p>"You shall tell me another time," said I, venturing to interrupt her;
+"that is, if you see fit to honor me with your confidence. I really
+think you ought to go to bed now, and rest, that you may be ready to
+see my Lady when she asks for you, and to make the house pleasant for
+my Lord."</p>
+
+<p>"I will do anything you tell me," she said, sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Lady Jemima, I don't mean to dictate!" I began to say, but she
+stopped me.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you shall dictate!" said she. "You shall command, and I will
+obey. It is fit that I should humble myself before you, aye, even in
+the dust—that I should be humbled in the eyes of all the world—if so I
+make any atonement for my sins."</p>
+
+<p>I could not let this pass. It seemed to me such a dreary notion, and at
+the same time such a false one, that I felt I must speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear madam, why should you think of making any such atonement?"
+I said. "Surely the one oblation of our Lord, once offered, is a
+sufficient atonement and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world,
+let alone yours and mine: and no suffering of ours, no voluntary
+humiliation or penance, will add anything to its virtue. Only cast all
+your care and sin on Him, and leave Him to lay upon you such crosses
+as He sees best: I don't think we need be afraid of having too much
+ease in this world, if we are willing to bear the burdens and do the
+tasks He provides for us. And if we go to work making burdens and tasks
+for ourselves—doing our own work—I am afraid we are in great danger of
+neglecting His."</p>
+
+<p>I doubted how she would take my little sermon. She did not seem
+displeased, however, but said we would talk of it again. I helped her
+to undress, and got her to bed.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not see how you can find any rest on such a bed!" I said, feeling
+how hard and uneven it was. "I wish you would let me make it up
+comfortably."</p>
+
+<p>"Do as you will!" said she, wearily, leaning back in her chair.</p>
+
+<p>I looked out into the gallery, and seeing one of the maids, I bade her
+bring a matrass and quilt from an unused room near by, wherewith I made
+the bed as nicely as I could. The poor lady could not help a sigh of
+relief and satisfaction, as she lay down. Then I sent Dolly down for a
+manchet and a cup of cream, and persuaded Lady Jemima to eat a little.
+She promised me that she would lie still and try to sleep, and asked me
+to come in again after a while, kissing me at parting.</p>
+
+<p>As I shut the door, I heard her sobs burst forth, but I did not return,
+thinking that she would at last weep herself to sleep.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I found Betty up and dressed, and in due time took her in to see and
+kiss her mother.</p>
+
+<p>My dear Lady looked very lovely in her paleness, but Madam would
+not let her speak a word to any one, which was no more than right,
+of course, though Betty was inclined to murmur thereat, till Madam
+explained to her the reason; after which she seemed hardly to dare to
+breathe. She was sadly disappointed in the babes.</p>
+
+<p>"They are so red and spotty—they are not nearly as pretty as kittens,"
+said she, pouting a little: "I think they look more like the young rats
+Ambrose showed me."</p>
+
+<p>My Lord nearly exploded into a laugh at this criticism, and my Lady
+smiled, but Mrs. Brewster was indignant.</p>
+
+<p>I explained to Betty that all very young babes looked so, and that they
+would grow pretty in time.</p>
+
+<p>"Will they?" she asked, wistfully. "When will they get their eyes open?"</p>
+
+<p>This was too much for my Lord, who fled precipitately into the gallery.</p>
+
+<p>But, at that moment, one of the babies opened his eyes and showed that
+they were blue. I made Betty slip her finger into one of the little
+hands, which closed on it at once, and Betty was more than satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>Since that time, we have gone on very quietly, My Lady is not so strong
+as we could wish, but the doctor says it is only because she exerted
+herself too much just at first, and that a long rest will set all right
+again. The babies are all that any one could desire, stout, well-grown,
+and healthy.</p>
+
+<p>Betty sees new beauties and wonders in them every day, and would, if
+she were permitted, nurse them all day long. She does not show the
+least jealousy of them, but seems to rejoice in all the attention and
+admiration they receive.</p>
+
+<p>Only the other morning I found her taking Anne severely to task for
+something she had said. As I entered, she appealed to me in great
+excitement:</p>
+
+<p>"Anne says my nose is broke, and that nobody will care for me any
+more," said she, half crying; "and it is not true, is it, Margaret? She
+says I shall be nobody, now that there is an heir, and—"</p>
+
+<p>"Anne is a very bad girl to say such things!" I answered her. And then
+turning to the girl, I reproved her sharply.</p>
+
+<p>Whereto she answered me at first saucily enough. But when I said I
+should speak to Mrs. Judith, she cooled down and begged my pardon. I
+have forbid her speaking to Betty hereafter, and have told her plainly
+that I shall complain to Mrs. Judith if she disobeys me, or if I hear
+any more of her pert speeches.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima continues very ill, with a kind of low fever, and her mind
+is worse than her body. From thinking herself all but a saint, with
+her penances and fastings, she has gone round to the opposite extreme,
+and now believes herself such a sinner that there can be no hope for
+her. It is painful to see how woe-begone and sorrowful she is. I spend
+as much time with her as I can, and try to cheer her up: and I really
+think she likes to have me with her. I have not encouraged her to talk
+to me of her feelings about Walter. I believe such things are almost
+always best kept to oneself, and I am afraid of her saying what she
+will be sorry for by and by: but I read to her, and tell her stories
+about the poor folks in the village and what happens in the family. And
+sometimes I sit by her in silence whole hours at a time, busy with my
+needle.</p>
+
+<p>For myself, I can only say I am as happy as the day is long—happier
+than I ever believed anybody could be in this world. My engagement
+is now spoken of as a matter of course, and my Lord treats me as a
+daughter or younger sister, and will have me receive all tokens of
+outward respect, as one of the family.</p>
+
+<p>I think Mrs. Judith was a little shocked at first, but she is
+reconciled now, and is quite sure that all is for the best, especially
+since she has found out that my mother was a Seymour, and my father's
+mother a grandchild of my Lord Falkland. But setting that aside, I do
+think she loves me enough for my own sake not to grudge me any good
+fortune.</p>
+
+<p>Walter has written to mother and Richard, and also to Aunt Willson,
+which, he says truly, is only her due, since she has been so kind to
+me. I would love to be married at home, in my dear father's own church,
+but the journey is a long one, and I don't know how that will be. At
+any rate, Walter has promised that I shall go very soon to visit them
+all. I see him every day.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord begins to fret at the wedding being put off, and to say that
+Bess can do well enough without me: but I am quite content that matters
+should rest as they are for the present. I am sure I shall never be
+happier than I am now.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image025" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image025.jpg" alt="image025"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>NEWS FROM HOME.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>November 30.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>MY journal is not very regularly kept, nowadays, I have so much to do
+and to think about.</p>
+
+<p>Letters have come from home, and from Aunt Willson. They all write very
+kindly, and dear mother is greatly pleased. She says she is thankful
+to have seen and liked Walter, for she would hardly have felt like
+giving me to a stranger. Dick writes gravely, after his fashion, and
+Aunt Willson bluntly, after hers. She says she had a shrewd guess how
+matters were going when she saw Walter in London, and she believes I am
+about to do well.</p>
+
+<p>"I have only one bit of advice to give thee, child," she says; "and
+that is, never, on any account, to speak to any human being, however
+near and dear, of thy husband's faults and short comings, nor let any
+one talk to you. I dare say you wonder that I should think such advice
+necessary, but 'tis a rock which has wrecked the happiness of many a
+married pair. Amend what thou canst, and what thou canst not amend,
+bear with patience and love, in God's name. For the rest I daresay you
+will do well enough. You were brought up as a gentlewoman, and you are
+young enough to mold your habits where they need molding. You will have
+a second mother in Madam Corbet, who is one of the chosen ones. I send
+you some matters, for your fitting out, and likewise some money for
+your purse."</p>
+
+<p>The "matters" turn out to be a great mail filled with beautiful stuffs
+and silks, such as I never thought to wear, with store of fine linen
+and laces, and a set of pearl jewels, good enough for a countess. But
+that I know that my aunt is rich, and that it is a pleasure for her
+to be giving, I should feel oppressed with her bounty. I have had
+beautiful presents from all the family.</p>
+
+<p>I must not forget to say that Felicia is also going to be married to a
+rich merchant of London, a worthy man, Aunt Willson says, but a great
+Presbyterian, and very strict in all his notions. Aunt says he hath
+altogether converted Felicia to his own way of thinking, insomuch that
+she looks upon a Bishop as Antichrist in person, and believes that no
+prayer read from a book can possibly meet with any acceptance.</p>
+
+<p>My new uncle sends me a fine shawl or mantle, of some kind of Eastern
+stuff, called crape, white and embroidered in heavy silk, with roses
+and other flowers, in quite a wonderful way; also a treatise by Mr.
+Baxter, a young Presbyterian divine, which I have not yet found time
+to look at. Felicia sends me nothing, save a civilly scornful note, in
+which she says she is glad I have played my cards so well, and that I
+am going to be "married"—the words underlined—to Mr. Corbet. For her
+own part she is content with her lot, and would rather be the wife of a
+godly, honest merchant, than of any hanger on of a great family.</p>
+
+<p>I did not show the note to Walter, for I knew it would vex him. For
+myself I care not for her venom, which hath lost its power to sting me,
+but I am sorry for her husband. She sends her respects to Lady Jemima,
+and bids me tell her that she (Felicia) has seen the error and darkness
+of her ways, and the wickedness of the scheme in which they had both
+been engaged, and hopes her Ladyship may have grace to repent the same.
+I was not going to tell Lady Jemima the message, but she heard I had
+received letters, and at last I showed her Felicia's.</p>
+
+<p>"How I was deceived in her, as well as in myself!" said she, sighing
+deeply, as she returned me the letter. "My fine scheme has vanished
+into air, like the bubble it was."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it has vanished that something better may come in its place,"
+said I.</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head sadly. "Nay," said she, "I have learned more about
+myself since then."</p>
+
+<p>She is better in health, but sadly out of spirits, and seems to find
+little comfort in anything. I do hope the Bishop will be able to set
+her right.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady hath recovered faster than we could have expected, sits up
+all day, and has walked a little in the gallery, but does not yet get
+out or come to the table. The babes are all that any one can wish,
+and Betty now resents bitterly any criticism upon their good looks. I
+think she loves the blue-eyed babe, perhaps, the best of the two. Her
+own health has not been good since the shock of that day. She is again
+growing thin, and complains of the pain in her back and side once more.
+I cannot but fear that she received some injury in the struggle. She
+hath made up her quarrel with Aunt Jemima, and often sits by her bed
+and reads to her in the Bible, though she has to spell a good many
+words.</p>
+
+<p>We are to have a distinguished guest in the course of two or three
+weeks, no less a person than Anthony Van Dyke, the great court painter.
+Walter knew him well both abroad and in London, and hearing he was to
+be in Exeter, invited him to paint his mother's portrait, to which she
+consented, on condition that Walter's and mine should be painted also.
+My Lord is much taken with the fancy of having my Lady and her children
+sit to him, and I hope the plan will be carried out, but it seems
+doubtful whether the great man can stay so long in this west country.
+Walter says he is a very fine gentleman, and is glad that the king
+gives him encouragement to stay in this country.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>December 10.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>The Bishop hath been with us nearly a week, holding his visitation, and
+especially inquiring into the condition of the moorland parishes, which
+he finds sad enough—no preaching save perhaps once or twice a year, no
+catechising, the young folk growing up like utter heathen, knowing no
+more of the word of God (so Walter says, who hath accompanied my Lord
+in most of his journeys), than so many Turks or Indians. They believe
+enough, however, in the devil and his servants, in witches, pixies,
+moormen, Jack Lanterns, night crows, and what not; and through fear of
+such like creatures live all their lives in most cruel bondage.</p>
+
+<p>The Bishop is greatly exercised by this state of things, and hath a
+great many schemes for improving the condition of these poor folks,
+by sending them faithful preachers, and establishing schools among
+them. He hath already found a mistress for one of these schools, in
+the person of Mabel Winne, an excellent woman in the village, and
+daughter of a substantial farmer, who being single, and in a manner
+left alone by the death of all her friends, desires to devote her life
+to some such good work. Jane Atkins tells me that Mabel was for a long
+time head girl of the school, and a good scholar, though proud and
+high-spirited, but that having caused the maiming and final death of a
+friend by pushing her down in a sudden fit of passion, the sad event so
+changed her that she hath ever since sought her pleasure in doing good
+offices among her poor neighbors, nursing the sick, and so forth. She
+seems just the person to carry out the Bishop's plan, especially as she
+is by no means poor, but hath enough to support her comfortably, in a
+simple way.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima hath had many talks with the Bishop, and I think is in a
+fair way of regaining her peace of mind. She seems for a day or two
+past quite cheerful, and at last, at my Lord's earnest entreaty, came
+down-stairs to supper. I was sorry, for I knew Walter would be there,
+and I dreaded their meeting, but it passed very nicely, she wishing him
+joy with a sweet smile, and saying most kind things of me. But, withal,
+I saw tears come into her eyes as she took her seat. I don't know
+whether Walter suspects aught or not: I am sure he shall never hear it
+from me.</p>
+
+<p>After supper she told me that she was tired, and would withdraw. I went
+with her to her room, and when there she told me that she had been
+telling the Bishop about her scheme for a nunnery, and that he had put
+another plan in her head, namely, to turn her house near Exeter into
+a refuge for orphan girls from the city, where they might be trained
+to usefulness and piety, and fitted to earn an honest and comfortable
+living.</p>
+
+<p>"He says," she continued, "that I might always have six or eight such
+young maidens in my family, and he would have me live among them
+myself, and oversee them. Is not that a pretty castle in the air?" she
+added, sorrowfully smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, I think it a much prettier one than your nunnery," I answered,
+"and one much more easy to erect on firm ground."</p>
+
+<p>"Aye," said she. "My sisterhood has turned out finely, with one sister
+marrying a priest, and another a Presbyterian." (For it is quite
+settled now that Mrs. Priscilla and Mr. Penrose are to make a match
+of it. I need not have been so distressed at breaking the poor man's
+heart. 'Tis something easier mended than Betty's china image.) "But
+I feel myself unfitted for such a work and responsibility, otherwise
+I would welcome the suggestion at once. As it is, I shall not put it
+away, but consider upon it, and consult my sister."</p>
+
+<p>I do hope the plan will succeed. I am sure Lady Jemima will be better
+and happier in a house of her own than she is here, and also that this
+house will be better without her. The desire for employment and for
+doing good, which here makes her only troublesome, will be well laid
+out on a family of her own.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>December 10.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>My dear child seems better again, and once more goes about the house,
+and looks after her fowls and other pets, and nurses her little
+brothers, though the latter not so much as she would like, because
+their weight makes her shoulder ache. Still I am very uneasy about her.
+She grows thin, and has a little cough, and two or three times she has
+had something like a fainting fit, save that her face turns brownish
+instead of pale. She is wonderful happy in her spirit, and all her old
+irritability seems entirely gone.</p>
+
+<p>The great painter is come, and is at work on Walter's and his mother's
+pictures. He is a wonderful courtly gentleman, with a quick eye, which
+nothing escapes. He hath already expressed a wish to paint Betty,
+saying that she has one of the most lovely and touching faces he ever
+saw: to which my Lord and Lady gave their consent, and are mightily
+pleased, as is Betty herself. But Mary does not like it at all, and
+says she hopes there may be nothing wrong, but it stands to reason that
+the gentleman cannot put so much life into his pictures without taking
+it out of the people he paints; and that Betty has none to spare, she
+being weakly already. I think Mrs. Judith is much of the same mind,
+though she will not own it.</p>
+
+<p>The matter is quite settled as to Lady Jemima's orphan-house. She
+is to be the head of the family, with a suitable establishment, and
+is to begin with six young girls, not of the very poorest, but from
+clergymen's families, and the like. This is by the Bishop's advice, who
+says that less is done for this class than for any other. One is to be
+the child of an artist, a great friend of Mr. Van Dyke's, and worse
+than an orphan, her mother having deserted her child, and the poor
+father, all but distracted, desires to go abroad, but has no one with
+whom to leave the poor young maid, who is only six years old. Mr. Van
+Dyke desires the privilege of paying her necessary expenses (the care
+and safety he gracefully says can never be paid for), and he hath given
+Lady Jemima a hundred pounds.</p>
+
+<p>It shows how really humbled dear Lady Jemima is, that she took the
+money without a demur. She is much more cheerful since she hath been
+engaged with this plan, and rejoices with trembling in the hope of
+present forgiveness and favor. She has long chats with Dame Yeo, and
+I think the old woman hath done her much good. Every one notices the
+difference in her, and even her face is changed. She does not see
+Walter often, and when she does, she meets him as a brother: but I can
+see it costs her a pang.</p>
+
+<p>Ah me! It seems very hard that the happiness of one should cost the
+misery of another: but I believe what she says is true, and that Walter
+would never have thought of her, even if I had never come to the Court
+to live. She is two years older than he, for one thing, and a woman
+always seems older than a man at the same age; and then all their
+notions are so different. The only wonder to me is, how she should ever
+have fancied him.</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>December 20.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Betty's picture is nearly done, and is wondrously beautiful. Some of
+the family think it flattered, but I do not. It is only that Mr. Van
+Dyke has seized upon her most lovely expression that which her face
+wears when she is saying her prayers, or nursing her little brothers,
+or looking upon something which pleases her—a sunset, or the like. Mr.
+Van Dyke himself thinks it the best picture he hath painted in these
+parts.</p>
+
+<p>When it was finished, Betty looked, at it long and wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it really like me?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed it is," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad of it," she said, and took another long look at the picture.
+"My little brothers will see it and know what I was like, and I think
+papa will love to look at it."</p>
+
+<p>She has several times lately said things of this kind, which led me
+to think that she herself believes she will not live long. I cannot
+help feeling the same myself. Nobody ever sees a fault in her now—not
+a pettish word or look ever escapes her, and instead of thinking all
+the time of herself, as she used to do when I first came here, all her
+care is for other people: and she never loses a chance of pleasing and
+helping those around her. She is much interested in her aunt's scheme
+of the orphan-house, and has tried to work for it by hemming sheets and
+napkins, and the like, but she can sew and knit only for a few minutes
+at a time, because of the pain in her shoulder. I fear she will soon
+leave us. And yet why should I say fear? 'Twould be a blessed change
+for her, and I am sure she is ripe for it.</p>
+
+<p>I have been to Exeter with my Lady Jemima, to see her house there, and
+help her choose matters for her housekeeping. The place is called, in
+the neighborhood, "Lady House," and was once a small convent of gray
+nuns. It is in good repair and mostly well furnished, and there is a
+gallery with cells on each side, which she will fit up as bed-rooms for
+her older girls. She will have a nursery for the young ones, and is
+looking about for a suitable nurse for them. I think she will take the
+oldest girl in Lady Rosamond's school, who is good, and, steady, and
+understands spinning and knitting, as well as all sorts of needlework,
+coarse and fine.</p>
+
+<p>We stayed at the palace, and I think Mrs. Hall, the Bishop's lady,
+has quite overcome in her mind her old prejudice against married
+clergymen. She was remarking to me on the beautiful order and peace of
+the household—the servants so well behaved and attentive, and so happy
+each in his or her own place—the maids trained so as they may make
+good wives and mothers, and carefully instructed in religion by Mrs.
+Hall herself; the children so well bred and restrained, yet withal so
+cheerful, and on such happy terms of respect and intimacy with both
+father and mother.</p>
+
+<p>I ventured to say to her:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think the Bishop would be a happier or a better man if he were
+condemned to a lonely, solitary life, with no home, and no wife or
+children to cheer him after his labors? And is he not better prepared
+to sympathise with both the joys and sorrows of his flock, from having
+experienced some of the same?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe so!" said she, and then presently she sighed—a very deep,
+sorrowful sigh, methought I knew well enough what she was thinking of.</p>
+
+<p>She has three orphan maids from Exeter, and one for whom Walter
+specially made interest from Plymouth, the child of an old sea captain,
+lately dead of a fever, besides the little child from London, who is
+now at the Court, and sleeps in Lady Jemima's room. She is a very
+pretty, gentle little creature, full of play, and of wonder at all she
+sees, having never before been out of London. Betty has introduced her
+to the fowls and the cat and kittens, and hath also made over to her,
+her great linen baby, which I made when I first came here. Lady Jemima
+thinks there never was such another child made.</p>
+
+<p>Christmas is close at hand, when we are to have great revels, as is the
+custom here. Mr. Van Dyke tells us a deal about the manner of keeping
+the holiday in the Low Countries, and of St. Nicholas (whom they call
+Santa Claus,) coming with gifts to put in the children's socks and
+shoes when they are asleep. Betty and the little Catharine are much
+interested, and wish the saint would come hither.</p>
+
+<p>Last Christmas I was at home, and dear father preached in the church,
+and afterward superintended the giving away of the Christmas dole of
+bread and blankets, and a fine plum bun to each child in the school.
+I little thought then how matters would be changed with me before
+Christmas came round again.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady now goes down-stairs, and hath even been out into the garden.
+She seems better in health, and more light-hearted that I have ever
+known her, and has lost much of the melancholy expression which used
+to mark her face. My Lord is even more devoted to her than ever. He is
+no more captious and disposed to quarrel with Walter, as he used to
+be, but makes him very welcome, and I think consults him a good deal
+upon business matters. He is a good deal perplexed and annoyed because
+the neighboring magistrates and gentry urge him to prosecute some of
+his tenants who are Puritans, and seldom or never attend the parish
+church—a thing he is no ways disposed to do.</p>
+
+<p>David Lee, the farmer, of whom I spoke once before as having some of
+his neighbors meet for prayers in his house, has given up the farm on
+which he and his have lived for I don't know how long, and is going
+to the new plantations in America, along with John Starbuck, from the
+Mill Heads, whose brother is there already. David is brother to old
+Uncle Jan Lee down at the Cove, and nearly as old a man, though not so
+infirm. But he has two stout sons, and three daughters, one of whom
+is betrothed to Ephraim Starbuck, and he says he values his religious
+liberty more than his home. My Lord is much grieved, and has tried to
+prevail on him to remain, promising him protection and countenance, but
+failing to move him, he has (so Walter says), dealt most liberally with
+him, and given him some valuable presents in the way of stock and tools.</p>
+
+<p>My Lord thinks the old man is throwing away his own life and those of
+his family, but Walter is more hopeful. He says the land over there is
+good, and the harbors excellent, and he believes the new colony may
+in time become a place of importance. He tells me the colonists have
+begun by establishing schools, and have even founded a college, which
+seems odd enough. What will they do with a collage out there, among the
+savages?</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image026" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image026.jpg" alt="image026"></figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image027" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image027.jpg" alt="image027"></figure>
+
+<h3><a id="Chapter_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h3>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<b><em>EBENEZER.</em></b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>January 3.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>HOW ill have I treated this poor faithful journal of mine! And I fear
+'tis like to fare even worse, in the future. I can hardly realize it,
+but such is the fact. I am going to be married the day after to-morrow.
+Whereas I had not expected such an event before June, at the nearest,
+and my poor dear child, Lady Betty, is the good fairy who has brought
+all this about. But I will go back and tell my story in an orderly
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>There was great bustle and interest in making ready for the
+holidays—more even than usual, for my Lord meant to celebrate the birth
+of his sons, by giving a good piece of beef, and a fine pudding to each
+one of the cottagers. He was to have had a feast for them at the Court,
+but on account of my Lady's health, and for some other reasons, that is
+put off till next summer. Then the school children were to be feasted
+at my Lady's expense, and a Christmas gift made to each, and all the
+maid servants were to have new gowns; all of which involved a good deal
+of work for some of us.</p>
+
+<p>Most of the shopping fell upon Lady Jemima, and myself, and we had a
+fine time going to Biddeford, and selecting gowns, ribbons, and the
+like. And I was surprised to see how much interest dear Lady Jemima
+took in the purchase. I could not have thought it was in her, to care
+so much for such a matter. She is a great deal more cheerful than I
+have ever seen her, and really grows pretty and plump, now that she
+has left off her fasting and sitting up of nights. Every one sees the
+change. I am sure she is very good to love me as she does. I don't
+believe I could do it, in her place.</p>
+
+<p>Betty was very grave and thoughtful for two or three days before
+Christmas, and I wondered what was in her head. On Christmas-Eve, as
+she and I were sitting in my Lady's room—my Lady nursing one of the
+babes, and Betty holding the other, I was glad to sit still, for I was
+thoroughly tired, and the quiet was very grateful to me. We had been
+silent for some minutes, when Betty spoke:</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, why don't Margaret and Walter get married? I thought that was
+the next thing, when people were betrothed."</p>
+
+<p>"And so it is, my dear one!" answered her mother. "But then you see
+Margaret has a little nursling whom she does not like to leave. What do
+you think you would do without her?"</p>
+
+<p>"But she would not go so very far-away. She would only be at
+Corby-End," said Betty. Then, after a little silence, "Mamma, I should
+like to see Margaret married."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, so you shall, and be bridesmaid too, if you like," answered her
+mother. "Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then, mamma, I should like them to be married pretty soon," replied
+Betty, "because I don't believe I shall be here a great while longer."</p>
+
+<p>This was the first time she had spoken so plainly, though she had
+hinted as much a good many times lately. My Lady started and looked
+anxiously at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you say that, my darling?" she asked. "Don't you feel as well?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, mamma," said Betty. "I feel languid and weary, and there
+is a feeling 'here,'" (pressing her hand to her heart,) "which I never
+had before you were ill, and which tells me that I shall not live long."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear child, that is only a fancy," said her mother, kissing her. "You
+must drive away such gloomy thoughts."</p>
+
+<p>"They are not gloomy," said this strange child; "and they are not
+fancies, either. Something calls me away all the time, and at night,
+when I lie awake, I hear such strange, beautiful music in the air and
+among the trees. But I wont talk about it, if it makes you unhappy,
+dear mamma," she added, seeing the tears in her mother's eyes. "Only,
+if you please, I should so much like to have Walter and Margaret
+married very soon. Please, wont you have it so?"</p>
+
+<p>"We will see," answered her mother.</p>
+
+<p>Betty was silent, but I could see she was turning the matter over in
+her mind, as her fashion is. And when she went to bed, she spoke of it
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"Margaret, if you want to make me very happy, you will be married very
+soon. I am quite sure that I have only a little time to live now, and I
+do so want to see you married. Please do let me speak to papa about it."</p>
+
+<p>What could I say? I saw how much in earnest she was, and I believed
+with herself that she had not long to live, and that she might go from
+us in any of the fainting fits she had lately. She saw, I suppose, that
+I was moved, and urged me again, even with tears, to let her speak to
+my Lord.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't cry!" said I, alarmed. "You shall do as you please, but you must
+not cry, or you will bring on one of your bad times again."</p>
+
+<p>But the bad time came, in spite of me. She fainted, and it was more
+than ten minutes before we could bring her round. I began to think she
+had gone for good, but she breathed again at last, her breath coming
+in most painful gasps and sobs. She is weaker after every one of these
+fits, and longer in recovering herself.</p>
+
+<p>When she mentioned the subject again, I told her she should do as she
+liked, and at last she went to sleep, quite content and happy.</p>
+
+<p>I did not leave her save to go to my room and put on my wrapper. As I
+went out into the gallery, I met Mr. Van Dyke, with his hands full of
+toys and sweetmeats.</p>
+
+<p>"See here, Mistress Merton," said he. "Cannot we put these into the
+shoes of my little lady and Catharine, and so give them a pleasant
+surprise, and let them think the good Saint Nicholas has been to visit
+them?"</p>
+
+<p>I was well-pleased with the fancy, and we went to my Lady Jemima's
+room, where the little Catharine sleeps. Lady Jemima entered into the
+sport and we filled the little socks and shoes with sugar-plums and
+toys. Then I went back and lay down by Betty, whom I did not mean to
+leave that night.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the morning, long before dawn, we were roused by the
+schoolboys, and the young men and maids from the village, coming to
+sing carols under the window. Mrs. Judith and her maids were up early,
+as it was, and they were called into the hall and regaled with cakes
+and spiced ale.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the whole household was astir, and Betty would get up and be
+dressed with the rest, to meet the family at breakfast. I did not
+oppose her, for she seemed strong and bright for her, and besides I did
+not believe that anything would make much difference. There is that in
+her face nowadays that I have seen too often to mistake its meaning.
+She was very merry this morning, and much delighted at finding the St.
+Nicholas gifts in her shoes.</p>
+
+<p>"I know how Saint Nicholas looks, Margaret!" said she. "He hath
+fine dark eyes, and curling hair, and a peaked beard, and he paints
+beautiful pictures."</p>
+
+<p>So I saw that she had guessed the riddle at once. Little Catharine,
+however, was not so quick in her apprehension, but I believe thinks, to
+this hour, that St. Nicholas paid her a visit, and only regrets that
+she was not awake to see him.</p>
+
+<p>Betty had made a couple of fine handkerchiefs for Christmas gifts to
+her father and mother, doing the open hems very nicely, with a little
+of my help. And after prayers, she had the pleasure of giving them, and
+seeing them admired to her heart's content.</p>
+
+<p>"And please you, my Lord, I have to beg for a Christmas box!" she said,
+with a little formal courtesy. "You know you promised me one."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, so I did, Bess, and what shall it be?" said my Lord, well-pleased.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me whisper in your ear, papa," said she.</p>
+
+<p>He bent his stately head down to her—he is very indulgent to her,
+nowadays—and then, as she whispered eagerly to him, he stared, laughed
+heartily, and bade her ask Walter, since he was the person most
+concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"I think he will be willing, don't you, papa?" said Betty: "He is
+always so kind and obliging."</p>
+
+<p>My Lord roared with laughter again, and said he did not doubt he would
+be willing, since it was to oblige his cousin. And so I hardly know
+how, 'twas all settled in an hour that we were to be married on Twelfth
+Day, and so go home to Corby-End.</p>
+
+<p>It grieves me that I must be married away from mother, but there is no
+help for it, and Walter promises to take me home for a visit so soon as
+the spring opens.</p>
+
+<p>The Christmas revels went off very nicely. We all went to church, my
+Lord and Lady, and all—and my Lord stayed to the sacrament—a thing I
+never knew him do before. The church was beautifully adorned with ivy
+and holly, and such late flowers as the mild season often spares till
+Christmas. Everybody was dressed in their best, and all were exchanging
+good wishes and, Christmas words.</p>
+
+<p>I could, not help shedding some tears as I remembered last Christmas,
+when I was at home, and dear father was alive and well: but for all
+that I felt wonderfully tranquil and happy. Old Uncle Jan Lee was at
+church, and so I was glad to see were his brother and all his family.
+My Lord would take no denial, but would have them all up at the Court
+for their Christmas dinner—Will Atkins and his wife, and all—so we had
+a great gathering, and a very merry one, but all sober and decorous
+enough.</p>
+
+<p>Betty lay down and had a nap after dinner, and so was ready to see
+the revels in the evening, when we had the Christmas mummers—Lord
+Christmas, Dame Mince Pie and all the rest, with a fine copy of verses
+from the schoolmaster, in which he compared our poor babes to Castor
+and Pollux, and I know not what other heathen gods. I fear he was
+rather scandalized by our levity, for no one could help laughing, but
+my Lord thanked him and made him a handsome present, so he was consoled.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Penrose was not with us, he keeping his Christmas at Sir Thomas
+Fulton's. And so ended our Christmas day.</p>
+
+<p>Since then I have lived in a kind of dream, recalled to this lower
+world, however, about once an hour, by Mrs. Brewster, who wants me
+to try on something, or to give my judgment on some solemn matter of
+trimming or pattern. But I am sure I shall never know what to do with
+so many fine clothes as they are preparing for me. It is very silly in
+me, I dare say, but I cannot help wishing I were not so poor. If my
+poor dear father's ship had come home, now!</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t5">
+<em>January 5.</em>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>I have to-day had the greatest—yes, the very greatest surprise of my
+life, greater even than that of finding myself on the eve of marriage
+to a great gentleman like Walter. I was hearing Betty's Latin lesson,
+which she will still keep up though she has dropped most of her other
+lessons these short days, when Mrs. Judith herself came up, and
+informed me that a gentleman was inquiring for me and was awaiting me
+in the little parlor.</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman to see me—you must surely be mistaken, Mrs. Judith!" said
+I.</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I am not!" she asserted, with a merry twinkle in her eye.
+"'Tis a gallant young gentleman as I wish to see, and he asks for Mrs.
+Margaret Merton. So go you down and see him."</p>
+
+<p>I arranged my dress and went down-stairs, wondering who it could
+possibly be, and thinking over all the gentlemen I had ever known,
+which were not many. Somehow it never came into my head to think of
+Dick, and yet when I opened the door of the little parlor, there he
+was, looking as composed and grave in his sober riding suit, as if he
+had but just come over from Chester to spend Sunday at home.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know what I said or did at first, save that I cried, laughed,
+and talked all at once, till suddenly a thought came over me, which
+made me cry out: "Oh, Dick! You have brought me no ill news, have you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! Very far from that," he answered me, cheerfully. "Why, Meg!
+How you have grown, and how handsome you are! The gentleman who met
+me in the hall, and to whom I made myself known, tells me that I am
+just in time, for that you are to be married to-morrow. How is that? I
+thought the great event was to be put off till spring."</p>
+
+<p>I explained that the time had been shortened to gratify my little lady,
+who was in delicate health, and who was bent on seeing the wedding.</p>
+
+<p>"Aye, doubtless it was a great sacrifice!" said he, in his old way.</p>
+
+<p>"But Dick," said I, "what wind has blown you here? I am sure something
+must have happened more than common."</p>
+
+<p>"A good wind, though a most unexpected one," he answered. "The last one
+I ever thought of, I am sure. Meg, my father's ship has come home, safe
+and sound, and with a wonderful rich freight. My father's poor venture
+of three hundred odd pounds is magnified tenfold, and more. Mr. Gunning
+tells me that our fair share of the cargo comes to five thousand
+pounds, and he is quite willing to advance us the money upon it."</p>
+
+<p>I could only sit and stare stupidly at him for a moment. Then I burst
+out crying, and sobbed: "Oh, if my poor father had but lived to see it!"</p>
+
+<p>"He will not miss it where he is," answered Richard, gravely. "But is
+it not wonderful?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wonderful, indeed," said I. "'Tis like a chapter of romance. I can
+hardly believe it."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor could I, till I saw the ship herself, and went on board of her,
+for you must know I have been in Bristol, and a fair and great city it
+is. I have had a wearisome journey."</p>
+
+<p>And here came in one of the men with a great tray of refreshments, sent
+by Mrs. Judith. And while Richard was eating, came in first my Lady,
+who made my brother welcome with her usual grace and courtesy, and then
+Walter and my Lord, and the lawyer from Biddeford, who is here now.</p>
+
+<p>And there was a deal of talk about business before I could get Dick
+to myself again. But I did finally, and carried him off for a walk
+by ourselves in the chase, and he told me all about home matters.
+How my mother took the news, and how she loves the cottage too well
+to leave it, but will add somewhat thereto, as she can do with great
+convenience. How all our old neighbors rejoiced in our good fortune,
+specially Dame Crump, who is still alive, and who has always prophesied
+that the ship would come home sometime. How Mr. Carey makes himself
+loved by all, both rich and poor, save that he and Sir Peter Beaumont
+do not well agree. Finally, and best of all, how Dick himself is now to
+carry out the darling wish of his heart, and go to Cambridge, to begin
+his studies as soon as possible.</p>
+
+<p>And so ends the day before my wedding day, with all the content
+possible. And as I look back at the last year, and see how wonderfully
+I have been preserved and helped, what friends I have found on every
+side, and how the plans of mine enemies have been frustrated and
+brought to naught, my heart overflows with thankfulness and joy, and I
+feel like consecrating myself anew and more entirely than ever to Him
+who is the Father of the Fatherless and the God of the widow.</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+<br>
+————————<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p>Here ends all of my journal which I have seen fit to transcribe for my
+daughters to read when I am gone, as I feel that I soon shall be, to
+join my honored parents and my dear Lady.</p>
+
+<p>My married life hath not been wholly without clouds, as what life is?
+In the civil wars which began soon after, my husband took part with
+Parliament, and afterward served under the Protector, while my Lord was
+on the other side: yet did that circumstance never wholly divide the
+families, and my husband was able to be of great service to my Lord in
+protecting his property from sequestration.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Lady Betty survived till Easter, gradually growing weaker, but
+suffering little, and able to keep up till the last. On Easter Sunday
+she received the Sacrament, at her own earnest request, Mr. Penrose
+having given her preparatory instruction. It being a fine warm day, she
+rode to the parish church, sat out the whole service, and seemed none
+the worse. But the next morning, when Mary went to call her, she was
+dead, having, as it seemed, passed away without ever waking up.</p>
+
+<p>We all grieved for her, and I think none more than my Lord, to whom she
+had become very dear of late, but we could not but feel that it was
+well with the child.</p>
+
+<p>My Lady survived her daughter some four years. After a decent time,
+my Lord married again to a very good woman, a widow lady with two
+daughters. She was a very good wife to my Lord, and a kind mother to
+his sons, but she was never to be compared to my own dear Lady.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Jemima lives in her own house, with her family of orphan maids
+about her, and is much loved and respected. Little Catharine—now a fine
+tall young lady, is still with her, but she has changed the rest of the
+family many times over, and always for their advantage. She is indeed a
+most excellent lady.</p>
+
+<p>Felicia is still alive; a sour, discontented woman, rich, but feeling
+poor, and always imagining that somebody is leaguing to rob her or
+impose upon her. Her first fall in life I do think was when her
+husband positively refused to let her put in any claim to my father's
+estate, saying that he was rich enough already, and that she ought to
+be ashamed to ask for a penny, seeing she had been brought up at my
+father's expense. Felicia scolded and sulked, but he was firm, and for
+once she met with her match.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Fowler is dead now, and poor Felicia lives alone, having quarrelled
+with all her husband's relations, and not being able to find a waiting
+gentlewoman who will stay with her more than a month at a time.</p>
+
+<p>Richard went abroad just at the beginning of the trouble, as tutor to a
+young nobleman, and did not return till the restoration, when he took
+orders, and is now a useful, unambitious parish-priest in Chester. I
+don't think he will ever be a bishop, as I used to dream, and I don't
+believe he wishes it. But there is some hope that he wilt have my
+father's living at Saintswell, and dwell in the dear old house where we
+were all born.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE END.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<pre>
+
+                     UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
+
+                        ——————————————————
+
+  WON AT LAST; or, Mrs. Briscoe's Nephews ..    .. By AGNES GIBERNE.
+  WINNING AN EMPIRE. The Story of Clive   ..    ..    G. STEBBING.
+  UNDAUNTED. A Tale of the Solomon Islands..    ..    W. C. METCALFE.
+  OUT IN GOD'S WORLD; or, Electa's Story  ..    ..    J. M. CONKLIN.
+  THE STORY OF MARTIN LUTHER              ..    ..    E. WARREN.
+  ROBIN TREMAYNE. A Reformation Story     ..    ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  HER HUSBAND'S HOME. A Tale              ..    ..    E. EVERETT-GREEN.
+  A REAL HERO; or, The Conquest of Mexico ..    ..    G. STEBBING.
+  ALL'S WELL; or, Alice's Victory         ..    ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  WAITING FOR THE BEST; or, Bek's Story   ..    ..    J. M. CONKLIN.
+  THE KING'S DAUGHTERS. A Martyr Story    ..    ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  A KNIGHT OF TO-DAY                      ..    ..    L T. MEADE.
+  THE HIDDEN TREASURE                     ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  SISTER ROSE; or, The Eve of St. Bartholomew   ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  JACK. The Story of an English Boy       ..    ..    Y. OSBORN.
+  LITTLE QUEENIE. A Story of Child Life   ..    ..    EMMA MARSHALL.
+  THE CHILDREN'S KINGDOM                  ..    ..    L T. MEADE.
+  LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE. A Tale of the Crusades   ..    E. S. HOLT.
+  THE KING'S LIGHT-BEARER                 ..    ..    M. S. COMRIE.
+  CLARE AVERY. A Story of the Spanish Armada    ..    EMILY S. HOLT.
+  OUR HOME IN THE FAR WEST                ..    ..    M. B. SLEIGHT.
+  LADY ROSAMOND; or, Dawnings of Light    ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  THE MARTYR OF FLORENCE                  ..    ..    ANON.
+  GOLDEN LINES; or, Elline's Experiences  ..    ..    LADY HOPE.
+  OLDHAM; or, Beside all Waters           ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  TWO SAILOR LADS. Adventures on Sea and Land   ..    GORDON-STABLES.
+  BEATING THE RECORD. The Story of Geo. Stephenson    G. STEBBING.
+  DOROTHY'S STORY. A Tale of Great St. Benedicts..    L. T. MEADE.
+  ENGLAND, HOME, AND BEAUTY               ..    ..    GORDON-STABLES.
+  THE CHILDREN OF DEAN'S COURT            ..    ..    EMMA MARSHALL.
+  LILLIAN'S HOPE        ..    ..    ..    ..    ..    C. SHAW.
+  FACING FEARFUL ODDS; or, The Siege of Gibraltar     GORDON-STABLES.
+  EVERYDAY BATTLES      ..    ..    ..    ..    ..    FIDELITÉ.
+  WELL WON. A School Story    ..    ..    ..    ..    J. T. THURSTON.
+  LIFE-TANGLES          ..    ..    ..    ..    ..    AGNES GIBERNE.
+  THE STRANGE HOUSE; or, A Moment's Mistake     ..    CATHARINE SHAW.
+  LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS            ..    ..    ..    L. E. GUERNSEY.
+  LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE            ..    ..    ..    GORDON-STABLES.
+
+
+                        ——————————————————
+
+      LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
+
+</pre>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76918 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
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+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #76918
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76918)