Ml il Whmi l W i lWl iB MiiWjaui a* 
 
 it JU'Mtllf t ltiU 
 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fostersistersorlOOguerrich 
 
BY LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY. 
 
 HISTORICAL TALES. 
 
 THROUGH UNKNOWN WAYS; or, The Journal- 
 Books of Mrs. Dorathea Studley' • Si-5o 
 
 LOVEDAY'S HISTORY. A Story of Many Changes. 
 
 i2mo. Cloth, ...... $1.50 
 
 THE FOSTER-SISTERS; or, Lucy Corbet's 
 
 Chronicle. lamo. cioth, .... 1.50 
 
 WINIFRED; or, After Many Days. lamo. cloth, . 1.25 
 LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS; or, The Corbet 
 Chronicles. i2mo. cioth, .... 1.25 
 
 LADY ROSAMOND'S BOOK. Beingasecond partof 
 the Stanton-Corbet Chronicles. i2mo. Cloth, . . 1.25 
 
 THE CHEVALIER'S DAUGHTER. Being one of the 
 
 Stanton-Corbet Chronicles. i2mo. Cloth, 
 
 *** Copies mailed^ post-paid^ on receipt 0/ price. 
 
 1.50 
 
 OTHER STORY- BOOKS. 
 OLDHAM; or, Beside all Waters, ismo. Cloth, . 1.50 
 MILLY; or, The Hidden Cross, "mo. cioth, . 1,00 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT CEDAR HILL. A Holiday Story- 
 
 Book. i6mo. Cloth, . . . . . i oo 
 
 THE CHILD'S TREASURE OF STORIES. i6mo. 
 
 Cloth, ........ .90 
 
 THE SCHOOL-GIRL'S TREASURY; or, Stories 
 for Thoughtful Girls. i6mo. Cloth, . . . .90 
 
 2 and 3 Bible House, New York. 
 
THE FOSTER-SISTERS 
 
 LUCY CORBET'S CHRONICLE 
 
 "kindred to six degrees fostership to a hludred."— Highland Proverb. 
 
 BY 
 
 LUCY ELLEN )GUERNSEY 
 
 Author of " Lady Betty's Govkrness," " Lady Rosamond's Book, 
 " The Chevalier's Daughter," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THOMAS WHITTAKER 
 
 2 AND 3 Bible House. 
 
Copyrighted, 1881, 
 
 I!Y 
 
 THOMAS WHITTAKER. 
 
 GIFT 
 
R55 
 
 C0NTE]:<rTS, 
 
 Chap. I. 
 
 The Old Convent, 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 n. 
 
 Early Rbcolleotions, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 11 
 
 m. 
 
 Early Recollections, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 - S8 
 
 IV. 
 
 Troubles, - 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 > 48 
 
 V. 
 
 The Bishop's Visit, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 68 
 
 ? VI. 
 
 The Midnight Raid, . 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 . 78 
 
 vn. 
 
 A Summons, 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 > 99 
 
 vm. 
 
 Plight from the Nest, 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 • IM 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lady Throckmorton, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 146 
 
 X. 
 
 Mrs. Deborah. • 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . ITl 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Innocent Blood, 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 196 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Funeral, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . SI7 
 
 XIII. 
 
 News and Changes, 
 
 
 • « 
 
 
 
 
 . 286 
 
 XIV. 
 
 News, 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 . S69 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Sisters, 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 885 
 
 XVI. 
 
 HiGHBECK Hall, - 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 > 806 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Life at the Hall, 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 886 
 
 XV m. 
 
 Winter, 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 848 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Surprises, • 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 860 
 
 XX. 
 
 Visitors, - 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 89S 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Changes at Highbeck, - 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 411 
 
 XXII. 
 
 News from the North, 
 
 
 
 
 489 
 
 xxm. 
 
 A Hasty Removal, 
 
 . -. 
 
 
 
 
 xxrv. 
 
 *'An Early Snow saves Muck 
 
 LE Woe,** . 
 
 
 
 • 478 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Doctor from Newcastle, 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 499 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Tbb End, - 
 
 . 
 
 • 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 600 
 
 M854126 
 
To MY Sister Claea. 
 
V3^&N*«^^\ f 
 
 a^^^ 
 
 
 THE FOSTER-SISTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE OLD CONVENT. 
 
 F one thought anything of omens (which 1 
 do not in general, though I confess 1 
 would rather not see the new moon 
 through glass) I might think it a bad one that 
 my first distinct recollection is of a fall. It hap- 
 pened in this wise : I was sitting on the edge of the 
 great fountain basin, eating a bit of spice cake, and 
 watching some vernons — so they call the little wild 
 canaries in that part of the world — which were fly- 
 ing in and out of the great ivy on the north wall, 
 where I suppose they had young ones. In my inter- 
 est in the birds, I forgot that my perch was both nar- 
 row and slippery. I leaned backward, the better to 
 obtain a view of the bird's nest, which I could but 
 just see, and so doing I lost my balance, and down 
 I went into the water. Luckily for me, there was 
 help at hand, for the basin was deep and I was 
 email. Mother Prudentia was just coming for 
 
2 The Foster- Sisters, 
 
 w^ater, and pulled me out before I had time to 
 scream more than once. If I had seen her so near, 
 [ should not have been sitting there, for the tiling 
 was strictly forbidden. But she pulled me out and 
 carried me to the dormitory, where I was quickly 
 undressed and well scolded at the same time, and 
 popped into bed. I spent the rest of the day dully 
 enough, but a little consoled by the gift of a second 
 piece of spice cake and the company of my doll, 
 which the good mother's relenting heart allowed me, 
 after I had sobbingly confessed that I was very 
 sorry, and would never do so again. I think she 
 would even have let me get up but for the fear of 
 my taking cold and having consumption. Motlier 
 Prudentia was fully convinced that all English 
 women died of consumption, sooner or later. To 
 this day, the smell of a bit of fresh spice cake will 
 bring that whole scene before my eyes. I can see 
 the arched cloisters surrounding the paved court, 
 with the old fountain well in the centre. I can look 
 through the great pointed doorway and see a second 
 court, with a tall cross in the centre surrounded by 
 low grassy mounds, where generation after genera- 
 tion of the sisters rested in peace. I can smell the 
 odor of the roses which grew so luxuriantly in the 
 corner by the little postern door which led into the 
 church, and the wild lavender and the rosemary, 
 which had sprung up in those places — alas, very 
 many — where the marble pavement had gone to 
 decay, or the cloister walls and arches were in ruins. 
 I can feel the very brooding, yet not stifling heat of 
 
The Old Convent. 3 
 
 the summer day in June, and breathe the air smell- 
 ing not only of the aromatic herbs which so abound 
 in that country, but also of the fresh breath of the 
 sea. 
 
 I may say this association was the beginning of 
 these memoirs. For as I was speaking of it to my 
 dear Lady the last time she came to visit me, she 
 thought a little, and said she to me : 
 
 " Lucy, why don't you write out the recollections 
 of those days ? They would be interesting to the 
 children, by and by. You are a Corbet on both 
 sides, and you know the Corbets have always been 
 famous for writing chronicles. Come, take pen in 
 hand, and have something to read me when I come 
 again." 
 
 " And what is to become of my children's lessons 
 and clothes ? " I asked. 
 
 "Let the children mend their own clothes. It 
 will be all the better for them, and you have no neerl 
 to be doing such work at all. Anne Penberthy ought 
 to take all that off your hands." 
 
 "And so she does," I answered, seeing that, by 
 making use of the first excuse that came to hand, I 
 had given Amabel a false impression. " Anne is a 
 good girl and a faithful', if one ever lived ; but I 
 must have something to do when I sit down, and I 
 tire of knitting, after a while." 
 
 " Well, then, try writing, for a change," said my 
 Lady, smiling ; and then she began to talk of one 
 of the girls who had fallen and hurt her knee (it 
 was Bridget Polwarth, of course — trust her for that, 
 poor child !), and no more was said at that time. 
 
4 The Foster-Sistei'S, 
 
 But when evening was come, and the children 
 were all abed, except two or three of the elder ones, 
 to whom Anne was reading the history of Goody 
 Two Shoes, which my Lady brought down to us,* 
 then I began to think of what my Lady had said. 
 I had plenty of time, and my eyes are very good, so 
 that I really hardly need glasses at all, except to do 
 fine darning and the like. I have had an uncom- 
 monly good education (though I say it that shouldn't, 
 perhaps), and I have passed, with my dear Lady, 
 through many strange chances and changes in this 
 mortal life. Why should I not write all these 
 things down for the benefit of my Lady's children ? 
 And so it has come to pass that I have really taken 
 pen in hand and begun this memoir, if it deserves 
 so grand a name. 
 
 My first clear recollections are of the convent in 
 Provence, where I was bred with Mrs. Amabel 
 Leighton till I was about sixteen years old. The 
 convent had once been a very wealthy establish- 
 ment ; and I have heard that, in the early days of 
 Louis Fourteenth, the abbess used to entertain com- 
 pany in princely style, with more of magnificence 
 and luxury than any of the gentry round about, 
 and, in fact, with more than at all befitted a reli- 
 gious house. But there was nothing of that sort in 
 my day. The means were wanting, even if our 
 good mother had cherished any such desires. I am 
 
 * I am not sure that I have not antedated this charmina: little 
 book, which has been attributed, with good reason, to Olivei 
 Goldsmith. 
 
The Old Convent. 5 
 
 Bure she did not, though, doubtless, she would have 
 liked to have new hangings for the church, to repair 
 the cloisters, and make the refectory at least 
 weather-proof, and perhaps to mend our cheer a lit-- 
 tle on feast days. But the resources were hardly 
 large enough at that time to furnish us with food 
 and clothes, and so all these things remained undone. 
 However, the elders of the house consoled them- 
 selves with the thought that they suffered for right- 
 eousness' sake, and were laying up merit thereby, 
 and the young ones were happy in their youth ; so 
 we were a very cheerful household, after all. 
 
 Our foundation was one of those numerous off- 
 shoots from one of the great orders, which, under 
 different names, are found all over Europe, and, as 
 I said, had at one time enjoyed a princely revenue, 
 of which the best use had not always been made. 
 The convent was, in some way which I do not 
 understand, a kind of dependency of the neighbor- 
 ing noble family of Crequi, and was a very conven- 
 ient place wherein to bestow unmarried and portion- 
 less sisters, plain daughters, or those to whom it 
 was not convenient to give large dowries, and other 
 inconvenient female relations. The abbess — such 
 was her rank — had her carriage and the ladies their 
 servants, and they were by no means particular 
 about keeping their enclosure, as it is called, but 
 visited and were visited themselves as long and as 
 often as they pleased. I heard all the story many a 
 time from Mother Prudentia, who had learned it, in 
 her turn, from a very old nun, who well remem- 
 bered those days. 
 
6 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 But presently there came a wonderful change. 
 The famous Mother Angelique was made abbess of 
 Port Royal when hardly twelve years old, and was 
 converted afterward by the preaching of a wander- 
 ing friar, himself a very bad man, which shews how 
 good may sometimes be done even by wicked men. 
 No sooner did the Mother Angelique become really 
 religious herself than she set about reforming her 
 house. The nuns, for the most part, seconded her 
 with enthusiasm. No more gay visitors were 
 admitted. No more feasts were given or fine clothes 
 worn. No more worldly songs were heard. Instead 
 one saw nothing but religious ceremonies, works of 
 charity, instructing and clothing of poor children, 
 and the like. Hours of silence were multiplied and 
 strictly observed, as were also the church services. 
 This change of affairs was greatly admired in some 
 quarters, and as severely condemned in others. 
 Mother Angelique . went about the country visiting 
 the different houses of the order and ours among 
 the number. Our own abbess was a young lady of 
 that same noble family of Crequi, and at that time 
 about four and twenty. 
 
 " She was as beautiful as an angel, so Mother 
 Benedict used to say, and greatly admired " (I quote 
 Mother Prudentia's own words), "but she rtever 
 seemed happy in all her gaiety, and, even at its 
 height, she would pass whole nights watching and 
 weeping in the church, or in her own private chapel. 
 Some said she had been in love with a poor young 
 cousin, who disappeared, nobody knew exactly how, 
 
The Old Convent, 7 
 
 though every one might guess ; and the lady being 
 offered her choice of the cloister or a gay courtly 
 bridegroom, chose the first." And then, if she were 
 in a very confidential mood. Mother Prudentia's 
 voice would sink to a whisper, as she told how the 
 poor young man was believed to have been put to 
 death by his own relations at a spot in the chase 
 where no grass or flowers ever sprung afterward. 
 However that might be, the abbess hailed Mother 
 Angelique as though she had been an angel from 
 Heaven. They spent long hours closeted together 
 or pacing up and down the cloistered walk which 
 runs along the side of the cemetery. There was a 
 change in the house as sudden as that at Port Royal. 
 The carriages and horses were sold, all superfluous 
 servants dismissed, and the fare reduced to the 
 plainest sort. No more visits were made outside 
 the walls and none received, except at the regular 
 times when the sisters were allowed to talk with 
 their friends through the grate in the parlors, in 
 proper convent fashion. 
 
 Mother Prudentia said that most of the younger 
 nuns fell into these new ways easily enough, and 
 were as enthusiastic as the abbess herself, so that 
 they had to be checked, rather than urged ; but the 
 elder women were not so pliant. They liked their 
 amusements, their good dinners and suppers, and 
 their gossip with visitors from outside ; and the 
 abbess ran some risk of being murdered in her own 
 house. Indeed, it was believed that a severe illness 
 which befel the lady about that time was the effect 
 
8 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 of poison administered by a certain Italian nun 
 who was the most bitterly opposed to the new state 
 of things. 
 
 For a while everything prospered. The Abbess was 
 determined, and seemed to have a real genius for 
 government. She lived to see all her measures car- 
 ried out, and was succeeded by a spiritual daughter 
 of Mother Angelique's,who had been sent, with two 
 or three others, to assist in the work of reforma- 
 tion. The great revenues were used in maintaining 
 schools, in assisting the poor, and in establishing 
 and endowing a second house of our order in Tou- 
 lon, to which daughters of tradespeople and the like 
 were admitted ; for none but ladies of noble birth 
 were allowed to renounce the world at our house. 
 From all I can hear, the abbess and her successor 
 were true Christian women according to their lights, 
 and so, I am sure, were our own dear lady and most 
 of the family in my day. 
 
 But troublous times were at hand. The Fort 
 Royalists, or Jansenists, as they came to be called, 
 got into difficulty with the government and with the 
 Jesuits, who carried things with a high hand in 
 France, as, indeed, they do still, by all accounts. 
 The whole family of the Mother Angelique, with all 
 who adhered to them, were pronounced heretical, diso- 
 bedient to the Pope, and altogether reprobate, and 
 various bulls and proclamations were issued against 
 them by Pope and archbishop, king and council. 
 Our house suffered with the rest, for the sake of 
 the opinions which they refused to renounce. Their 
 
TJie Old Convent. 9 
 
 revenues were pillaged, their lands confiscated, their 
 old priest and confessor was thrown into prison, 
 where he died ; and though the sisters were allowed 
 CO retain possession of their house and garden and 
 enough land to raise a little corn and oil and to 
 pasture a few cows and sheep, it was rather on suf- 
 ferance and because they were under the protection 
 of that same noble family of Crequi, which hap- 
 pened to be in high favor at court. 
 
 Such was the state of things in my day. The 
 hiuse was almost ruinous, and the vineyard, the 
 olive orchard, and all together, furnished us with a 
 scanty subsistence. True, we children and the 
 young novices always had enough to eat, such as it 
 was; but I fancy the Abbess and the elder nuns 
 kept more fasts than were in the kalendar, while 
 their robes bore the marks of much careful mending 
 and darning. Be this as it might, I never heard a 
 complaint. The good ladies were as cheerful as 
 possible, and in their hours of recreation would 
 laugh and frolic like school girls. They had for- 
 merly taught a little school for the children of the 
 neighboring village, and a few still came, almost by 
 stealth, to receive instruction in religion and needle- 
 work, and such other things as were considered fit 
 for them. We were not permitted to mix with 
 these children ; but we knew them all by sight, and 
 we were allowed to make little presents for them, 
 such as pincushions, caps, and aprons. 
 
 As I remember it now, I believe the ladies lived 
 in perpetual expectation of being turned out on tlxe 
 
lO The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 world or shut up in convents of some other order ; 
 but thej did not allow their fear to hinder them in 
 the discharge of their duties, or what they believed 
 to be such. How many times I have wished that 
 these poor souls could have come under the influ- 
 ence of such preachers and teachers as we have had 
 of late years in England. What a difference would 
 the doctrines of free grace and salvation have made 
 in their lives. But they served God according to 
 the best lights they had, and no doubt their service 
 was accepted by Him who seeth the heart. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 Tregelles says that this same preaching friar, Father Basil by 
 name, was a Capuchin who had seen the errors of Romanism, 
 and afterwards became an open Protestant. Racine gives 
 Father Basil a very bad character, calhng him a licentious 
 apostate, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and other hard names, 
 But Racine could see no virtue in a Protestant. I have nol 
 been able to trace the further history of Father Basil. It would 
 certainly be a curious fact, if it were a fact, that the founder cl 
 the great Janseuist schism should have been a Protestant. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 ra 
 
 WAS born in England about the year 1728 
 as nearly as I can find out. My mother 
 was first cousin to Lady Leighton, and 
 married a gentleman of her own name who for love 
 of her forsook his native county and bought a small 
 estate not far from the Scottish border in North- 
 umberland. My mother was brought to bed of twins 
 about the time that Lady Leighton died, and as only 
 one of the babes lived she was easily persuaded to 
 give the vacant place to the little motherless Amabel, 
 the daughter of her nearest and dearest friend. 
 
 Sir Julius loved his beautiful young wife, and aftei 
 she was taken away, he could at first hardly endure 
 the sight of her child. He had been left with a 
 large fortune and an unencumbered estate by his 
 father, who had been a prudent gentleman and a 
 great man of business. But Sir Julius was as I 
 fancy very unlike the old gentlemen in every respect. 
 He liked living in London better than in North- 
 umberland, and spending money better than saving 
 it. Moreover he was a hot Jacobite and soon got 
 into trouble with the existing Government by engag- 
 « (II) 
 
12 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 ing in some of the numerous plots of the time. It 
 was in the same year that mj father was killed by a 
 fall from his horse while helping to rescue some poor 
 creatures from a sudden inundation. It became 
 needful for Sir Julius to go abroad and leave his 
 affairs in the hands of certain family connections 
 less loyal or more prudent than himself. Nothing 
 would serve but he must take his daughter with him, 
 and as my mother had lost her only ties to life in 
 England, she was easily persuaded to go along. 
 Sir Julius lived for a year or two in the neighbor- 
 hood of Toulon on a small estate owned by the 
 Marquis de Crequi, who was some sort of a relation. 
 Then my mother died, and Sir Julius placed us two 
 little children in the Abbey of St. Jean de Crequi, 
 which was at that time in a somewhat more pros- 
 perous condition than I remember it afterward. 
 Sir Julius entered some foreign service for a while, 
 and then his peace was made at home and he 
 returned to England, where he married a very rich 
 wife and had two or three children. But he allowed 
 his daughter and myself, her foster sister, to remain 
 at the convent till we were all but grown up, remit- 
 ting with more or less regularity money to pay for 
 our board and education. Why he did so I don't 
 pretend to know unless as I think probable he was 
 as much afraid of his second wife as he was afterward 
 of his third. Of course I remember nothing of all 
 this nor did I learn much of it till after our return to 
 England. As I said, my first distinct recollection is 
 of tumbling into the fountaio well and being fished 
 
Early Recollections, 13 
 
 out by mother Prudentia. But I used to have dim 
 and fleeting visions of a very different home — of an 
 old timbered house and a great apple orchard loaded 
 with fruit, and a tall, bluff man holding me up to 
 gather a golden mellow apple with my own hands. 
 As to our journey and the events of our short 
 residence in France my mind is all a blank. I seem 
 to myself to have waked up in the old abbey at a 
 time when I was old enough to climb up the great 
 stairway on my hands and knees and sometimes to 
 be carried in arms, though I think that privilege 
 oftener belonged to Amabel who was rather a 
 delicate child, while I was as strong as a little 
 donkey. 
 
 We were very happy together, Amabel and I. 
 No difference was made between us in any respect 
 that I remember. We learned the same things, 
 dressed in the same way, and slept in the same kind 
 of little white covered beds in our own corner of the 
 dormitory. There were three or four other pupils, 
 but they were all but one, very much older than 
 ourselves — quite young ladies in fact. D^nice was 
 our only playmate. I don't know what her otlier 
 name was or whether she had any, but I have 
 fancied since that she might have been a daughter 
 of some unhappy Protestant family, torn from her 
 parents by the cruel hand of persecutors and shut 
 up at St. Jean to be made a good Catholic. Such 
 things were common enough in those days. She 
 was a thin dark child, shy and shrinking in her 
 manners with her elders, but a capital playfellow 
 
14 The Poster- Sisters, 
 
 and the best of story tellers. She was three or 
 four years older than Amabel and myself, and had 
 great influence over us, which she always used for 
 good. A better child never breathed, and her early 
 death was my first real grief. 
 
 Our household consisted, beside the pupils whom 
 I have mentioned, of about eighteen members in all- 
 First of course came the Abbess. She was a middle, 
 aged lady when I first knew her, and very handsome 
 but worn with cares, fasts, and vigils, and so bent she 
 looked much beyond her real age. I have nothing 
 but good to say of her. I think it likely from what 
 I now remember that she was not without a tinge of 
 that spiritual pride which is nurtured by nothing 
 more than by the voluntary humiliations required 
 by the Roman church within all religious persons so 
 called. But as a ruler of her family, nobody could 
 be more just, firm, and kind. She allowed herself 
 no indulgences that were not shared by the rest of 
 the community, and as I believe often denied herself 
 absolutely necessary food and clothing to add to the 
 comfort of the old and feeble members of the house- 
 hold. She was an excellent manager, overseeing 
 everything, yet not like many notable women wast- 
 ing her time in doing work which belonged to other 
 people. While I believe she knew to a single olive 
 and a single ounce of wool everything which her 
 fields produced, she did not interfere vexatiously 
 with the sisters who had charge of these things, but 
 allowed them to manage in their own way. We 
 little ones went to her for an hour every day to 
 
Early Recollections. 1 5 
 
 i*ecGiy8 A sp^iclal religious instruction, and she used 
 to make these hours very pleasant, dismissing us 
 usually with a bii; of cake or fruit or some other 
 little treat. We children at least adored her. 
 
 Next came the Mother Assistant, who was Mother 
 Superior's right hand iii all that pertained to the 
 management of the houst; and farm, though I do 
 not think there was much •sympathy between them 
 in other things. Mother Assistant was a narrow- 
 minded woman, to whom the framework of religion 
 was everything. She had a particular and fanatical 
 devotion to the Saints, which was not, or so I think, 
 the case with Mother Superior. I hare an idea that 
 she was annoyed at the state of ostracism, so to 
 speak, in which we lived, and that she would not 
 have been sorry to return to the old ways, and make 
 peace with the Church and the archbishop ; but, of 
 course, this is only an impression, such as young 
 folks often pick up concerning their elders. She 
 was not fond of children, and I don't think there 
 was any love lost between us. 
 
 Then came several other officers, — ^the Mother 
 Sacristine, who had the whole charge of the Church, 
 the vestment?, etc., and many a weary hour did the 
 good mother spend in darning rent hangings and 
 moth-eaten altar cloths (for these little pests have 
 no more respect for the ante-pendium of an altar 
 than for an old laborer's Sunday coat), and trying 
 to furbish r<p the once rich vestments which would 
 never look anything but faded and shabby after all 
 her pains. The Mother Bursar had charge of the 
 
1 6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 purse and the money, when there was any. She 
 had, as I think, only one serious worry in life, and 
 that was, that fast as she might, she would always 
 look fat and jolly, her cheeks and chin would 
 always be rosy, and her face break into dimples 
 whenever she smiled, which was very often. As to 
 the perennial want of money, she regarded that, 
 not as a worry, but as a cross, which is a very dif- 
 ferent matter. Mother Prudentia was mistress of 
 the novices, and of us young ones as well. She 
 was a good woman, according to her lights, as the 
 abbess herself, very fond of young people, and 
 rather too much given to indulging them, if any- 
 thing. Certainly, we children had very easy times 
 with her. She was a born gossip, and loved noth- 
 ing better than to gather us round her and tell us 
 tales by the hour, of Mother Angelique, her work 
 and her trials, of the Mother Perpetua, who insti- 
 tuted the reform, of endless saints and martyrs, of 
 various mothers and sisters whom she had known, 
 and sometimes, also, of giants, dwarfs, fairies, and 
 the like. We had a. certain feeling that these latter 
 tales were a kind of contraband goods, and I fear 
 we did not like them the less on that account. 
 
 Our sisters were, I suppose, much like any other 
 collection of ladies of the same age and breeding, 
 except that the sense of living under the ban of 
 persecution and suffering for the truth's sake gave 
 a kind of elevation to their characters not always 
 found in convents. Mother Prudentia once told me 
 that, at a visitation made by the Bishop or some 
 
Early Recollections. 1 7 
 
 other great functionary, the nuns then in the con- 
 vent had been offered the choice of entering any 
 other religious house they pleased ; but not a single 
 one had availed herself of the permission. The 
 good ladies kept their hours very strictly, revered 
 the constitutions and rules of their order as much 
 as the Scripture itself, or perhaps a little more, con- 
 sidering that they knew a good deal more about 
 them, sang endless litanies and read all the books 
 they had. In their hours of labor they worked in 
 the garden and orchard, made beautiful cakes and 
 sweetmeats (I only wish I had Sister Lazarus' 
 receipt book), and were especially famous for their 
 candied fruits, very few of which were ever tasted 
 within the convent walls. They did a great deal of 
 embroidery and made lovely lace with the needle. 
 Mother Angelique had disapproved of fancy work, 
 but the lace and embroidery were too important as 
 sources of revenue to be disregarded. Now and 
 then a sister disappeared for a few days, and then it 
 was understood that she was in retreat, — that is, 
 she shut herself up for a special season of fasting 
 and prayer. The rules of convents are such that 
 one may live in a religious house as a pupil for 
 years and yet know very little of the interior work- 
 ings of the family ; but we were so few in number, 
 and so poor withal, that we were thrown very much 
 together. 
 
 The three elder pupils mostly kept by themselves, 
 and we saw very little of any of them except 
 Desired. She would sometimes condescend to play 
 
1 8 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 with us, and usually ended by leading us into some 
 scrape. She was the only one destined by her 
 friends for the veil, and certainly she had the least 
 vocation for a religious life. Marguerite and Athe- 
 nais were grave, serious-minded girls, and would, 1 
 think, gladly have remained in the house ; but their 
 friends had different views for them, and they were 
 taken away to be married. 
 
 I have said the house was a large one, and had 
 once been very magnificent. There were two long 
 rows of cells for the nuns, who formerly numbered 
 fifty or sixty. There was a range of superb apart- 
 ments formerly allotted to the abbess, but they were 
 shut up and disused. The house was built around 
 two courts, which were connected by a tall Gothic 
 arch. The court, about which were the offices and 
 the rooms in which we lived, was paved with fine 
 slabs of marble, many of which, in my time, were 
 cracked, broken, and displaced. The fountain, in 
 which I took my involuntary bath, stood in the cen- 
 tre, and was, as I remembered it, a very curious 
 piece of workmanship. It was a great round basin, 
 supported on a short stem, and was covered on the 
 outside with sculpture. The figures were worn 
 with time and weather ; but one could easily trace 
 cupids, dancing girls, and figures with goats' feet, 
 all intermixed with garlands of leaves and flowers. 
 The basin was always filled with clear cool water, 
 which had its source somewhere in the hills back of 
 the house, and which ran out of a conduit pipe into 
 a paved channel, and so into the mountain stream 
 
Early Recollections, 1 9 
 
 whJcli "watered our garden. On one side of the 
 court was the church and a chapel, which last was 
 mostly used now-a-days, the sacristy and other 
 apartments belonging thereto. Joining the church 
 at right angles were the refectory and parlors and 
 the rooms used by the present abbess, or Superior, 
 as she preferred to be called, and other apartments, 
 whose use, if they had any, I knew not, for I never 
 saw them opened in my time. On the third side 
 were the different offices and various storerooms for 
 wood, charcoal, etc., as well as for the products of 
 the farm. Above these were the ranges of cells, 
 most of which stood empty, except for some small 
 remains of furniture. 
 
 The outer court was, as I have said, the cemetery 
 for the sisters, though I hardly think they could all 
 have been buried there. It was marked by no 
 stones except the marble cross in the centre, and the 
 grass grew with rank luxuriance over the sunken 
 mounds which marked the resting-places of the 
 dead. Around this court, also, ran a range of clois- 
 ters, all paved with marble and adorned with carv- 
 ing of beautiful design. But here, also, the pave- 
 ment was broken and the ornaments falling to 
 decay. Here, as I have said, were situated the pri- 
 vate apartments of the old abbesses, and others 
 which were used for guest chambers under the old 
 regime, but which were now always shut up and 
 locked. How we used to wish we could see these 
 rooms, which we thought must be very magnificent! 
 In one corner of this court was a very deep and dis- 
 
20 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 used well, into which we used to look with wonder 
 and awe. When the sun was in the right direction 
 it was possible, by gazing intently, to discern, about 
 half way down, the remains of a very rude and nar- 
 row spiral stairway, which went winding down into 
 the darkness. We used to drop little pebbles into 
 this well, and listen, with breathless expectation, 
 for the hollow resounding splash in the unseen 
 waters below. Mother Prudentia used to say that 
 this place was not really a well, but a disused 
 entrance to certain very deep and extensive caverns 
 below the house. Only two sides of this court were 
 surrounded with buildings. The others were formed 
 by the walls which separated it from the inner court 
 on one side and the gardens on the other. The 
 cloisters, however, ran all around, and were famous 
 places to play in on wet days. 
 
 The garden was beautiful. It lay on a sunny 
 slope facing the south, and was well sheltered from 
 the cruel winds which sometimes visit that part of 
 the country. I never saw elsewhere such banks of 
 violets and thickets of roses and jasmine. There 
 were old, old orange trees, all gnarled and rough, 
 but bearing the sweetest of thin-skinned fruit. 
 There were tuberoses and great bushes of lavender 
 and rosemary, and more flowers than I can remem- 
 ber, and caper plants growing in the old ruined 
 brickwork, fragments of which peeped everywhere, 
 and gay Lent lilies, and clumps of tall white ones, 
 which we used to consider specially sacred to the 
 Virgin. Oh, I cannot pretend to enumerate the 
 
Early Recollections. 21 
 
 charms of that garden. There was a fish-pond, 
 which we little ones were forbidden to approach 
 and a lovely little brook full of minnows and other 
 interesting creatures, where we used to get into dis- 
 grace by dabbling and wetting our feet and our pin- 
 afores. Here were our own gardens, where we 
 each had a currant bush, and where we raised flow- 
 ers and salads, and now and then a melon. Happy 
 she whose salad or melon was considered good 
 enough for the Reverend Mother's table. I don't 
 believe the dear lady was very fond of melons, but 
 she used to accept them graciously, and ceremoni- 
 ously ask our permission, which of course we always 
 gave, to divide the treat with the other mothers 
 and sisters. I must not forget the potage, or herb 
 garden, where grew salads and pulse of many sorts, 
 endive and parsley, sweet herbs and garlic, beside 
 such grand cucumbers, great gourds and melons, 
 and such scarlet love apples as one never sees in 
 England. I don't wonder that the children of Israel 
 hankered after such things in the midst of the des- 
 ert. I should like to see a roasted gourd myself 
 once more. Here was a great range of bee-hives, 
 which were the special care of Sister Baptista. 
 
 Beyond the garden were the olive orchard and the 
 fields belonging to the house, where we were never 
 allowed to go by ourselves. Here were pastured 
 our three cows, whose produce made a good part of 
 our living. Just outside the pasture lived an old 
 laboring man, who, with his wife and his lame son, 
 did all the work of the farm which was too hard for 
 
23 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 the sisters. We were, for some reason or other, 
 dreadfully afraid of this old man, though he never 
 did anything worse than make faces at us, which I 
 don't think he could help, and laugh a queer shrill 
 laugli when we ran away from him. 
 
 Beyond these fields was a valley, through which 
 ran a stream, usually nearly dry in summer, though 
 it was a hoarse roaring torrent in winter. Beyond 
 this rose high rather barren hills. On the other 
 side of the house was a narrow court, also paved, 
 where we never set foot, and a high wall spiked on 
 the top. The house had no windows on the lov/er 
 floor on this side, but there were several on the 
 floor above. One of these was accessible to us, 
 being in a sort of disused oratory — or so I judge 
 from what furniture remained to it — and was a 
 great resort of Amabel's and mine. From it we 
 could see the land, which fell off very rapidly, and, 
 beyond, the blue sea dotted with sails. Amabel 
 used to point southward, and say that we had come 
 across the sea, and that our home was " over there.'* 
 Of course, she was mistaken, for the land on the 
 other side was Africa, as I now know, where the 
 poor blackamoors come from; but we used to like 
 to look at it and fancy sometimes that we saw a 
 little bit of End and. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 HERE could hardly be two people ftjotw 
 differently constituted than Aiuahei 
 Leighton and myself, which is perhaps 
 one reason why we have continued such fast 
 friends all through life. I was always well and 
 strong, able to bear fatigue, and caring nothing 
 for any danger that I could see. At the same 
 time, I was dreadfully afraid of all the crea- 
 tures and powers of darkness, and still more afraid 
 of being found fault with or laughed at, not only by 
 people whom I loved and respected, but by those for 
 whom I didn't care a rush. Amabel, on the con- 
 trary, was delicate in body, shrinking from exertion 
 or exposure. She was very timid. She was afraid, 
 e^en, of our own petted cows, till she learned to 
 milk that she might help Sister Lazarus ; and she 
 was terrified at our big watch dog, which adored 
 her, and would wag his tail at the most distant 
 glimpse of her. 
 
 *' Why do you pat Arslan when you are so afraid 
 9f him ? " asked Mother Prudentia one day, when 
 
 (23) 
 
24 The Foster- Sisters. 
 
 she saw Amabel caressing the dog's great square 
 head, while he licked her hand in an ecstacy. 
 
 " Because, dear Mother, he wagged his tail at me, 
 and I don't like to hurt his feelings," answered tlie 
 dear child, half sobbing. ''You know you said we 
 slionld never hurt people's feeling if we could 
 help it." 
 
 Desired, who was near, laughed her little sneer- 
 ing laugh. 
 
 " A dog is not people — he is only a brute beast ! " 
 said she. 
 
 " Arslen is a great deal more like people than 
 some girls I know ! " said I, hotly resentful both for 
 Arslan and Amabel. 
 
 " Tut, tut, little pepper pot ! " said the mother, 
 smiling at my vehemence. " A dog is not people, 
 but he has affections, and I am glad my little Aime^ 
 regards them. If we thought always as tenderly as 
 thou of the feelings of our friends, it would be an 
 easy world to live in." 
 
 This little incident is a good specimen of Amabel. 
 Timid as she was, if she once made up her mind 
 that a certain course was right she would pursue it 
 through thick and thin: but while no amount of 
 laughing or teasing would make her do what was 
 wrong, she was sometimes led by her affection for 
 me to join in projects which brought us both into 
 trouble and disgrace. I remember one instance in 
 particular, which came near being very serious in 
 its consequences. 
 
 I b^ve said that there was an extensive range of 
 
Early Recollections, 25 
 
 unused apartments on one side of the cemetery. 
 They were commonly kept locked up, but one day 
 as we three young ones were playing in the cloister, 
 Mother Bursar came out with a bunch of keys and 
 proceeded to unlock the grand entrance. 
 
 We clustered round her and watched with much 
 interest the opening of the great two leaved portal. 
 
 " So ! I suppose you are all dying of curiosity to 
 see these wonderful rooms," said Mother Bursar, 
 smiling at our eager faces. " Well you may follow me 
 if you will keep close behind me and touch nothing. 
 But mind you do not slip away, for the rooms and 
 passages are many and you might be lost or have a 
 fall. The floors are not as good as they might be." 
 
 We eagerly availed ourselves of the permission and 
 with many exclamations of wonder followed Mother 
 Bursar into the great hall and through the apart- 
 ments opening from it. These rooms had once been 
 splendidly decorated with carving and painting, and 
 enough still remained to show that the subjects of 
 the paintings were not always religious by any 
 means. Some furniture was still standing about, 
 here a great cushioned chair, there a cabinet once 
 gay with inlaid ivory and gilding, or a Persian rug 
 eaten with the moths. 
 
 " Why does not dear mother have some of these 
 pretty things in her own room?" I ventured to ask 
 as I paused before a beautiful table with cupids 
 and birds inlaid all over it. 
 
 "Dear mother does not care for such things, my 
 child ! " answered Mother Bursar. " They are not 
 
26 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 fit for one who has renounced the world. But we 
 are going to overlook all the hangings and curtains 
 and see if we can make any of them over into bed 
 coverings for some of the poor people, and for our 
 own beds as well. Come now, troop out little ones. 
 I have opened the windows to let in the air and 
 shall leave them for a while, till the place is fresh- 
 ened up." 
 
 " Let us stay here and look at the pictures on the 
 walls, dear mother!" begged Amabel, who loved 
 everything beautiful : we will not go into any other 
 rooms." 
 
 " Very well ! " said Mother Bursar, who was always 
 indulgent and who knew that Amabel and Ddnice 
 at least could be trusted. " Mind you stay here in 
 the hall and go no where else, above all do not 
 venture up the stairs." 
 
 Mother Bursar went away and left us and we were 
 busy studying the story of Joseph and his family 
 on the painted wall, when Desired came stealing in. 
 
 " So here are all the good little girls ! " said she, 
 "all busy breaking rules. I wonder what Mother 
 Prudentia will say to that." 
 
 "We are not breaking rules as it happens," I 
 answered warmly as usual. " Mother Bursar gave 
 us leave to stay here and look at the pictures till 
 she came back. There are much prettier pictures in 
 the other rooms but we must not go there," I added 
 rather regretfully, remembering the beautiful ladies 
 dancing under the trees which I had seen within. 
 
 " How do you know about the pictures if you must 
 
Early Recollections, 27 
 
 not go there ! " asked Desired : " Aha, Miss Lucille, 
 I have caught you this time ! " 
 
 "You have done nothing of the sort," said I: 
 " Mother Bursar let us accompany her through the 
 rooms but she said we must go no where else with- 
 out her/' 
 
 Desired went and looked through the open doors, 
 and even ventured a few steps into the room, but 
 soon returned. I fancy she was afraid. 
 
 "And where does this go ?*' she asked turning to a 
 little door opening under the great stairs. 
 
 " I don't know, I never noticed it ! " I answered. 
 
 "It does not matter where it goes, since we are 
 not to leave this hall!" said Amabel. "Don't 
 touch it, Desired." 
 
 " I shall not ask your leave, Misd ! " returned 
 Desired, still working at the door. I suppose the 
 lock was rusted, for it yielded in her hand, and she 
 opened it. Amabel and myself came behind her and 
 looked. The door opened on a stone stair, which 
 led downward. It was dark at first, but gazing stead- 
 fastly we could discern a dim light below. A damp, 
 mouldy air blew in our faces. I shuddered, I knew 
 not why, and turned away. 
 
 " Look at her. She pretends to fear nothing, and 
 she is scared at the very sight of this old hole !" 
 said Desired. " Now I will wager anything that she 
 would never dare go down these stairs and walk 
 twenty paces away from them !" and Desired laughed 
 gcornfully. 
 
 " Whether she is afraid or not, she must not do 
 3 
 
28 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 it !" said D^nice. "The Mother Bursar has forbid 
 den it." 
 
 " She did not forbid it — she said nothing about 
 it r said I. 
 
 " She forbade us to leave the hall, and that is 
 enough !" retorted Ddnice. 
 
 But Desired persisted in daring me to descend the 
 stairs, and at last I was just foolish enough to under- 
 take it. Amabel strove with tears in her eyes to 
 dissuade me, but seeing that I was determined, she 
 expressed her intention of going with me. 
 
 " Don't go, oh, don't go ! " pleaded D^nice ; but, 
 seeing us both preparing to descend, she suddenly 
 pulled herself free from Desired, who was holding 
 her fast, and ran out of the hall. 
 
 The stairs were sound enough, but slippery with 
 damp and mould. They landed us in a very small 
 square apartment, lighted by a grating close to the 
 top. From this room long, dark passages led away 
 in two or three directions. I must confess, I was 
 dreadfully scared, but Desired's taunts had roused 
 my pride, and I walked firmly on down one of the 
 long alleys. I remember just how soft and velvety 
 the ground felt under my feet, and how our foot- 
 steps yet seemed to wake a strange echo, as if some 
 one were coming to meet us. 
 
 "There, you have walked twenty steps," said 
 Amabel. " Now let us turn round." 
 
 " Just a few more, to be sure," said I. I took a 
 step or two more, but was checked by a sort of sup- 
 ]M^ssed ery from Amabel. " Lucy, I cannot see 
 the light at all!" 
 
Early Recollections, 29 
 
 I turned round quickly enough at that. Sure 
 enough, no light was to be seen. We were in total 
 darkness. 
 
 " The passage must wind a little," said I. " Let 
 us go back. We shall soon see the light from the 
 passage-way." 
 
 I took her cold, damp hand in mine, and we 
 turned back. But, alas ! when we had taken more 
 than twenty steps, twice told, no light was to be 
 seen. 
 
 "Lucy," said Amabel in a whisper, "Lucy, we 
 are lost ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said I, angrily. " How could we be 
 lost ? We have taken the wrong turn, that is all ! 
 Let us try to go back." 
 
 And so we did ; but the obscurity was still the 
 same — thick, black darkness, that could be felt. 
 
 "We are lost!" repeated Amabel, with an cu- 
 rious kind of coolness. "There is no use in deny- 
 ing it, Lucy. No doubt there are many branching 
 passages, and we took the wrong one." 
 
 "I am afraid we are, and it is all the fault of 
 that hateful Desired ! " said I, beginning to cry. 
 " Only for her, we should never have come." 
 
 "She could not have made us come," replied 
 Amabel. "No, Lucy, let us blame nobody but our- 
 selves. We have been very naughty, indeed, and 
 we may as well own it " 
 
 " You were not naughty. You only came because 
 I did," I sobbed, as we still hurried on, we knew 
 uot whither. " And I wouldn't care if it was only 
 
^0 The Foster-Sisteri. 
 
 myself ; though I know I should die if I were here 
 alone. But what shall we do ? " 
 
 " We must not go a step more in this way, that is 
 certain!" said Amabel, stopping short at last. 
 " Lucy, don't you feel how wet and soft the ground 
 is getting under our feet? Let us turn exactly 
 round, so as to face the other way." 
 
 We did so, and none too soon, for the ground was, 
 indeed, growing very soft ; and, as it was, I got out 
 with the loss of one shoe. We walked back till we 
 came to firm ground, and then Amabel stopped 
 again, holding me tightly by the hand, as I would 
 have gone on. 
 
 "Do not let us take another step," said she. 
 "We only go farther astray. Let us kneel down 
 and say' our prayers, and then keep still till some 
 one comes." 
 
 " No one will ever come ! " said I despairingly. 
 " Desired will not tell, for fear of being punished ; 
 and we shall perish here alone, unless we are torn 
 in pieces by some of the dreadful creatures that live 
 in such places." For we children, one and all, 
 were firmly persuaded that the cellars were the 
 haunts of all sorts of Bogeys. 
 
 " God and the Holy Virgin will take care of us," 
 said Amabel. " Some one is sure to come. D^nice 
 will tell, if no one else does ; and, besides Mother 
 Bursar will guess. Come, let us kneel down and 
 say our prayers, and then call as loud as we can." 
 
 We said our prayers, and then began to call 
 loudly for help ; but none came for a long time, or 
 
Early Recollections. 31 
 
 so it seemed to us. We found afterwards that it 
 was about two hours. The sisters, it seems, were 
 at " obedience " — which is the hour when they all 
 meet in the superior's room to give an account of 
 their employments and hear whatever she had to 
 say to them — and Ddnice could find no one to whom 
 she could tell her story. It may be guessed that 
 the hours seemed much longer to us poor young 
 things. 
 
 "It is of no use," said I, despairingly, at last. 
 " It must be midnight by this time. They are not 
 coming, or they cannot find us." 
 
 " They will surely come," said Amabel, firmly. 
 " They can track us by our steps, the ground is so 
 soft." She paused a moment, and then began, in 
 her pure, sweet voice to chant the Miserere. 
 
 " Have mercy upon me, Lord ! " How the words 
 rung and echoed through those dismal vaults, and 
 came back to us multiplied and changed by the 
 echoes, till it seemed as if something or somebody 
 was mocking us. I stopped once or |wice; but 
 A.mabel sang on, holding my hand fast all the 
 while. She told me afterward her chief fear was 
 that I should break away from her in my terror, 
 and that we should lose one another. 
 
 We were just finishing the psalm, when Amabel's 
 grasp on my hand tightened. I opened my eyes, 
 which I had closed for a few moments, and saw a 
 gleam of light. It flickered for a moment, glanced 
 on the moist stones, and vanished. 
 
 " What is it ? " I whispered. " A death-light I " 
 
32 The Foster-Sistefs. 
 
 " Some one looking for us ! " she replied. And, 
 sure enough, in another moment a well-known voice 
 called, " Children, where are you ? " 
 
 "Here, mother! " we both cried out at once ; and 
 I started to my feet and^^^^^tijd have run forward, 
 but Amabel checked me. ^ ^ 
 
 "Wait!" said she. * "v^t till we see the light, 
 or we may be lost again." 
 
 It could have been but a short time, but it seemed 
 endless, till the voice called again, " Children!" and, 
 joy of joys! we saw the light once more, and two 
 dark figures coming through the gloom. 
 
 " Here, dear mother, here we are ! " cried Ama- 
 bel, for I could not make a sound ; and in a 
 moment more we were in the arms of the Superior 
 and Mother Prudentia. 
 
 " Thank God, they are safe ! " said the dear lady. 
 " I feared we should have much more trouble in 
 finding them. Hold the light well up, dear sister, 
 and we will follow you. It will not do to miss our 
 way again." 
 
 Mother Prudentia went first with the light, and 
 we followed, each clinging to a hand of Mother 
 Superior. As we passed along, and I saw how 
 many branching passages and alleys there were, I 
 could not wonder that we had missed our way. At 
 the entrance of one of the broadest of these, 
 Mother Prudentia stopped short and, with a look I 
 shall never forget, pointed out something on the 
 ground to Mother Superior. I looked, but saw only 
 the impress of our own wet and muddy footsteps 
 upon the mouldy floor. 
 
Early Recolhctions. 33 
 
 " Holy Yirgin ! " said Mother Prudentia. "Surely 
 you did not go down there ! " 
 
 "I don't know. I suppose so," answered Ama- 
 bel, wearily, for she was not strong, and was grow- 
 ing very tired. " We went somewhere where the 
 ground was all soft, and we began to sink in, and 
 Lucy lost her shoes. Then we turned round and 
 ran, till we came to where you found us." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " said the Superior again ; and 
 not another word was spoken till we reached the 
 upper air, where Mother Bursar and the Mother 
 Assistant, with two or three other elders, were wait- 
 ing. Never in my life shall I forget how marvel- 
 lously beautiful everything looked as we came out 
 into the court. And how sweet was the breath of 
 the summer air ! It was like a vision of the new 
 Heaven and the new earth to the redeemed soul. 
 The sisters gathered round us with many exclama- 
 tions, but we were allowed to speak to no one. We 
 were hurried off to the infirmary and popped into 
 bed, with plenty of blankets, and enjoined to lie 
 still. We were no sooner deposited than Sister 
 Lazarus appeared with a jug of steaming hot soup 
 and two little basins. 
 
 " There, drink your soup directly," said she, pour- 
 ing it out. " You will get your deaths of cold, and 
 so will dear Mother, and how you will feel then, 
 naughty children! There, don't cry, poor dears, 
 but take your soup good and hot." 
 
 " But this is meat soup," said Amabel. " Isn't 
 this Friday?" 
 
34 ^^^^ Foster- Sisters. 
 
 " No, of course not, child ! It is Thursday. Did 
 not you have meat for your dinners ?" 
 
 "Thursday?" said Amabel, wonderingly. "Why, 
 surely, it is not the same day that we were looking 
 at the pictures in the great hall. Have we been in 
 that place only one day ? " 
 
 " You have been gone only two or three hours," 
 replied Mother Prudentia. " You followed Mother 
 Bursar into the hall a little while after noon, and it 
 is now just time for vespers. There, eat your soup, 
 and do not talk." 
 
 We ate our soup, as we were bid, and then lay 
 down. I soon fell into a troubled sleep, from which 
 I waked many times crying and calling upon Ama- 
 bel and Mother Prudentia. I took a severe cold, 
 and Amabel was stiff and feverish ; so that we 
 were kept in bed for two or three days. When we 
 were quite well again. Mother Superior sent for us 
 to her room and talked to us kindly, but very 
 gravely, about our fault. Amabel, who was the 
 least to blame of the two, said not a word in her 
 own defence, but tried timidly to excuse me, on the 
 ground that Desired had dared me to do what I did. 
 
 " And do you consider that any excuse, my 
 Aimed, or does Lucille herself think so ?" asked the 
 lady, turning her penetrating eyes upon me. She 
 had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw — clear gray, 
 with very dilating pupils — and I used to believe she 
 could read my very thoughts. In my heart of 
 hearts, I did think Desired's conduct formed some 
 excuse for me, but I dared not say so. 
 
Early Recollections. 35 
 
 " Suppose, my child, that Desiree had dared you 
 fco steal something out of Mother Bursar's purse, or 
 to murder her ! " 
 
 " But that would he impossible, Reverend Mother,'* 
 I faltered, thinking only of the murder, though I 
 might well have included the other. 
 
 " Suppose it possible ! Would the fact that you 
 had been dared to do it excuse you ? ' 
 
 ./*No, Reverend Mother, but" — 
 
 " You pride yourself very much on j^our courage, 
 my child," continued the lady ; " but the fact is, 
 that, in some respects, you aie an arrant coward, and 
 that cowardice is at the bottom of almost every seri- 
 ous fault you commit." 
 
 She had touched me now. I felt my cheek flame, 
 while my lips framed tiie denial I dared not utter. 
 
 " Why did you feel obliged to commit an act of 
 disobedience, to break a promise and run into dan- 
 ger?" asked the lady— "teU me." Then, as 1 did 
 not answer — " Speak at once, my Lucille. Was it 
 not because you were afraid that Desired would 
 laugh at you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Reverend Mother," I answered, feeling 
 very small indeed in my own eyes. 
 
 " Ah, my child, that is the very worst kind of 
 cowardice. 'The fear of man bringeth a snare,' 
 the Scripture saith. How are you to go through 
 life, or what account will you have to give in at the 
 last great day if, even within the shelter of these 
 sacred walls you can be drawn to sin and danger by 
 dread of the laugh of a person whom you neithei 
 
$6 The Poster-Sisters. 
 
 love nor respect. You will meet many people in 
 this world who will laugh at you for desiring to do 
 right and refusing to go with a multitude to do evil. 
 Such people are the devil's own instruments for the 
 ensnaring of timid souls, and, unless you are pre- 
 pared to withstand them, there is no telling to what 
 crime or folly you may not be driven. Aime^ erred 
 through her affection to you, and she was very 
 wrong, but 1 think your fault was the worse of the 
 two." 
 
 She paused a little, I fancy to observe the effect 
 of hei words. Amabel was dissolved in tears ; 
 but 1 stood with red cheeks, twisting the corner of 
 my apron and looking, I dare say, as I felt, a very 
 naughty, obstinate little girl indeed. 
 
 *'J shall say no more at present," said the lady, 
 after a few minutes' silence. "And as you have 
 already suffered severely, I shall lay but one pen- 
 ance upon you, and that is, to go with Mother Pru- 
 dentia and myself and see the danger you have 
 escaped. 
 
 "Please, dear, Reverend Mother, don't make 
 Amabel go!" I ventured to say, feeling how she 
 trembled. In my own heart, I was rather pleased 
 with the idea of seeing the place again. 
 
 " I want to go if Lucille does," sobbed Amabel. 
 
 " You shall both go," answered the lady. " Have 
 no fear. There is no danger to one who knowf? the 
 way and how far to go. Stay here till T return." 
 
 She left us alone for a few minutes. Amabel 
 fell on her knees before the crucifix. I did the 
 
Early Recollections, 37 
 
 same, and repeated the prayers after her, but my 
 heart was not in them. I was decidedly elated at 
 the prospect of our adventure. It was not long 
 before the lady returned accompanied by Mother 
 Prudentia. Each of the ladies carried a lantern, 
 and Mother Prudentia had our warm cloaks on her 
 arm. The Superior led the way, not that we had 
 gone before, but through the upper corridor and 
 several disused apartments, where the shutters were 
 all closed and the air smelt strongly of the wool, 
 the oil and cheese which were stored in the rooms 
 below. At last we came into the older part of the 
 house, descended the great stairs which Mother 
 Bursar had so strictly forbidden us to go up, and 
 found ourselves in the painted hall, from which we 
 descended the stone stairs to the little vestibule. I 
 observed by the way that a strong new lock had 
 already been put upon this door. Here we stopped 
 while Mother Prudentia put on our cloaks and gave 
 us each a taper to carry. She then took Amabel 
 by the hand, and Mother Superior did the same by 
 me, and we moved forward without speaking a word. 
 I had my wits about me this time, and I saw in 
 what a network of passages and alleys we had been 
 involved. The marks of our footsteps were still to 
 be seen in the thick black mould which covered the 
 ground. The walls, which seemed of solid rock, 
 streamed with moisture and were hung in places 
 with strange unwholesome growths. I felt my 
 courage slipping away from me, as the thought 
 would come into my mind. What if Mother Superior 
 
38 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 should herself lose her way! How we were giiided 
 I do not know — probably by some marks or signs 
 on the walls. At last, the Superior stopped and 
 made a sign to Mother Prudentia. The lanterns 
 were trimmed anew, Mother Superior once more 
 took me by the hand, and bidding me hold up my 
 taper and not take one step in advance of her, we 
 moved cautiously on for some yards. Then we 
 stopped again, and the lady held up her lantern, as 
 did the other mother. 
 
 " Look, my children ! " said she solemnly. " Look 
 and see the danger from which you were preserved." 
 
 I looked, and saw a sight I shall never forget, — a 
 black, sullen, horrible pool, stretching far away out 
 of our sight. The border of the pool was edged 
 with slime, which shone with rainbow colors in the 
 light of the lanterns, and the same slime floated in 
 great patches on the surface of the water. We were 
 not very near — not so near as Amabel and I had 
 gone, for I could see our footmarks beyond us — but 
 the ground felt wet and cold, and when I raised my 
 foot something seemed to hold it down. I shud- 
 dered. If we had gone but a little farther — 
 
 "Look well, my children, and never forget that 
 sight," said the lady, solemnly. " Let that pit rep- 
 resent to you the pit of destruction to which every 
 wilful unrepented sin is a step. See how treacher- 
 ous are its very shores. A very little farther, and 
 you would have been sucked down into its foul 
 depths, from which nothing ever comes up again. 
 And in this pit, my poor Lucille, you might have 
 
Early Recollections, 39 
 
 been lying at this moment, led thither by what? 
 By the idle laughter of a wicked fool ! " 
 
 I realized it all then. 
 
 " Oh, I have been very, very wicked ! " I cried. 
 " I don't care so much about myself, but if I had 
 drowned Aime^ ! " And tlien I stopped, terrified, 
 and clung to the lady's arm, for my words came 
 back to me from over that dreadful water with a 
 wild tone of mockery. 
 
 " Fear nothing. It is but the echo," said the 
 lady. She picked up a small pebble from the floor 
 and threw it far into the water. Never shall I for- 
 get the awful hollow reverberations which followed. 
 I never heard another such sound. 
 
 " The water is very high," said Mother Pruden- 
 tia, sadly looking at the Superior. " I never saw it 
 come so far or rise so high in the well as it does 
 now." 
 
 " The will of Heaven be done ! " answered the 
 lady. " Come, we must not stay longer here. I 
 think our little ones will never forget this lesson." 
 
 We hurried back carefully observing our way, at 
 least the elders did, and were soon once more in 
 the Superior's apartments. I was humbled enough 
 now. I saw my fault in its true colors, and con- 
 fessed it. We were forgiven and dismissed and the 
 matter was never alluded to again, for it was not our 
 dear mother's way to return to old troubles. I think 
 now that the experiment was rather a dangerous one. 
 Some children might have been scared by it into 
 a fever if nothing worse. But I do believe that it 
 
40 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 was the beginning of all that is good in me. I 
 never lost the vivid impression made on me by the 
 sight of those dark waters, and the lady's solemn 
 words, "That is the pit of destruction and every 
 wilful and unrepented sin is a step toward it." I 
 saw that the mother's words were true and that 
 while I flattered myself with the idea of my 
 couragj^, I was in fact a real coward. I made up 
 my mind that I would never again be laughed into 
 doing what I knew was wrong and foolish, and if I 
 have ever done so since I have at least sinned with 
 my eyes open. I had of course very imperfect and 
 even false ideas of religion at that time, but I knew 
 enough to know that I must have help from outside 
 of myself to do anything that was good, and I pray- 
 ed for that help and doubtless received it. 
 
 One day when we two were alone with mother 
 Prudentia, helping her with some herbs she was dry- 
 ing, I ventured to ask mother, what was the use of 
 those great vaults and how they came there ? 
 
 "That is more than any one knows, child !" answer- 
 ed the mother, who, as I said, dearly loved to tell a 
 story. " Some say they are the quarries from whence 
 were taken the stones to build the house. Some, 
 our good old Father confessor among them, that 
 they are much older than that, and that they are 
 the remains of a Roman or heathen temple which 
 used to stand in this place, as are also the bits of 
 old brick wall which cumber our garden. He was 
 a great scholar, was Pere La Roche. As to their 
 use I don't know that they have any. No body 
 
Early Recollections. 4 1 
 
 knows how far they extend for no one has ever gone 
 to the end of them. So you see even if you had 
 not fallen into the water, you might have wandered 
 away and never have been found again." 
 
 "I should think they would have the door built 
 up !" said Amabel. " Is there any other entrance but 
 by which we went down ? " 
 
 "Yes, two or three from the vaults under the 
 offices: but they are all securely fastened up. 
 Nobody ever goes into them but the Superior and 
 Mother Assistant or myself once a year." 
 
 "^ nd why do you do that ?" I asked. 
 
 "You ask too many questions, child, you will never 
 do for a nun ! I am sure I don't know why, only that it 
 is one of our rules !" said Mother Prudentia, reprov- 
 ing my curiosity and satisfying it at the same time : 
 a good religious obeys and never asks why." 
 
 "I just want one question more !" said Amabel, 
 who had hitherto left the conversation mostly to 
 me : "what did you mean by saying that the water 
 was very high ? I know it is high in the well for I 
 looked this afternoon, and it is nearer the top of the 
 steps than I ever saw it before." 
 
 "Is it?" asked Mother Prudentia with a startled 
 look — then once more sinking her voice — " It is said 
 that the rise of those dark waters portends mis- 
 fortune to our house. Once — ^how many years ago I 
 don't know but it was very many — that well over- 
 flowed so that a stream ran down into the brook in 
 the garden and poisoned the water so that every- 
 thing along its banks died — and that year a fever 
 
42 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 or plague broke out in the house and every menibef 
 of the family died, except the abbess and two 
 sisters. But I will not have you looking into the 
 well. There is a very damp unwholesome air rising 
 from it. Now wash your hands and bring your 
 work and I will tell you a true tale about St. Helena, 
 and if the work is well done — who knows whether 
 there may not be some comfits in a cupboard some- 
 where ? " 
 
 I think after the lesson we had received we should 
 have obeyed Mother Prudentia at any rate, but we 
 had no chance to do otherwise, for the very next day 
 a heavy wooden covering was placed over the old 
 well, which was never removed while we remained 
 at St. Jean. I should say that Desired was quite 
 as severely punished as Amabel and myself. She 
 flatly denied at first having anything to do with the 
 matter — then she said it was I who had opened the 
 door, and that she had tried to prevent me : but the 
 united testimony of Amabel and Ddnise prevailed, 
 and she was ]jut in penitence for two or three dayi 
 and carefully watched afterward for a long time. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TROUBLES. 
 
 T was I think about a year after our 
 adventures in the caverns that D^nise 
 ^__^^^^^^ died. She was the only pupil left except 
 Amabel, Desired and myself— Desired affected great 
 devotion about that time, and Mother Prudentia 
 rejoiced over her as a brand plucked from the burn- 
 ing; but I think Mother Superior considered her 
 a brand that would bear watching — as indeed she 
 was, and one that was destined to kindle a great fire. 
 D^nise had always been a delicate girl, more so even 
 than Amabel herself. She would never allow that 
 she was ill, however, and used to join in all our 
 sports and latterly made herself very useful in the 
 house and garden. She was one of those people for 
 whom everything will grow, and she loved flowers 
 with an absolute passion. But by and by she began 
 to grow thin and to have a very little cough. She 
 had a lovely complexion which seemed to grow more 
 beautiful day by day, and her eyes were brighter 
 than ever. We noticed that she became rather 
 silent, though she was always cheerful — and we 
 were sometimes inclined to murmur when Mother 
 
 ♦ (43) 
 
44 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 Prudentia excused her from one duty after anofher, 
 and Sister Lazarus cooked all sorts of nice things 
 for her, whereas our own table grew plainer all the 
 time. But at last we found out the truth. Denise 
 was taken suddenly ill in chapel. She fainted and 
 was carried out by Mother Prudentia. She did not 
 come to her own bed that night and in the morning 
 Mother told us with solemnity that Denise would 
 never sleep in that bed again — that she had been 
 taken with bleeding at the lungs and might indeed 
 be considered a dying person. 
 
 " If she lives to see the snowdrops come, it will 
 be a wonder!" said the dear Mother, wiping her 
 eyes : " I have long known that death had set his 
 seal on her, but I did not think the end would come 
 so soon. God's will be done." 
 
 "Will her friends come to see her. Mother?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " She has no friends except those in these walls, 
 child, not a relation alive that I know of!" answered 
 the Mother : adding in a lower tone — ^" so much the 
 better for her. It will be all the easier for her to 
 leave this world." 
 
 The Mother turned away and we finished dressing 
 and began to make our beds by the light of the 
 lamp Mother had left us, for it was mid-winter and 
 the mornings were dark and cold. 
 
 "Lucy, do you suppose that D^nise's friends were 
 Protestants?" asked Amabel in a low tone. 
 
 She always called me Lucy in English fashion — 
 never Lucille, as the others did. " I don't know ! '* 
 J answered, "Why should you think so?" 
 
Troubles, 45 
 
 " Partly from something Mother said once — that 
 Bhe was at least one brand plucked from the burn- 
 ing, and partly from some things D^nise herself told 
 me. We were talking about what we could remem- 
 ber before we came here, and D^nise said, " My 
 father used to read the Holy Scriptures — ^I know 
 that! I often repeat to myself little bits that I 
 remember. He said prayers that are not in any of 
 our books, and he and my mother used to sing sweet 
 songs about holy things ! and then she repeated one 
 about the Lord being a Shepherd." 
 
 " That is in the twenty-third Psalm 1 " said I. 
 
 " Yes, but this was in rhyme and had a sweet 
 tune to it ! " persisted Amabel — "I think I could sing 
 it. It makes me think of the time before we came 
 here. How much can you remember of that time, 
 Lucy?" 
 
 "Very little indeed!" said I: "I don't remember 
 my mother at all, though I often try to do so." 
 
 "I recollect exactly how she looked!" said 
 Amabel musingly — "You are very much like her at 
 times, only you are not so quiet. And I remember 
 my father too — I am sure I should know him in a 
 moment." 
 
 " I suppose if D^nise's friends were Protestants, 
 it is just as well that they are out of the way," I 
 remarked, and then struck with a sudden thought — 
 " but Amabel, I suppose your father and all your 
 friends are Protestants, because all English people 
 are so. What should we do if he were to send for 
 us to come back to England?" 
 
 " We should go I suppose ! " answered Amabel. 
 
4^ The fioster-StsterS, 
 
 "And then should we have to become Protes- 
 tants?" 
 
 " I don't know. They would not make us Prot- 
 estants if we did not choose whatever they might do/' 
 
 " Perhaps your father is a Catholic ! " I suggested. 
 
 " I have sometimes thought he must be, or he 
 would not have left us here to be educated!" re- 
 plied Amabel : " but we need not borrow trouble, 
 Lucy. Perhaps he may never send for us. I 
 should like that best — to live here always and be- 
 come a religious, would not you ?" 
 
 " I should like to do so if you did ! " I answered 
 truly enough, for imagination was not strong enough 
 to picture for myself a life apart from Amabel, 
 "but sometimes I think I should like to see what the 
 world is like, especially England. Perhaps the 
 Protestants are not all so bad after all!" And 
 here I stopped and looked about me rather alarmed 
 lest my audacious remark should have been over- 
 heard. 
 
 "I am sure our mother was not bad!" said 
 Amabel. " She used to teach us to say our prayers 
 at her knees." 
 
 " How I wish I could remember her as you do ! " 
 said I, enviously. " I wonder why I can not ! " 
 
 "I heard Mother Prudentia say once that you 
 were very ill when you came here and for some 
 time after — perhaps that is the reason ! " answered 
 Amabel, and then recurring to our sick play fellow. 
 "How strange and sad it will seem not to have 
 D6nise." 
 
Troubiei. 4f 
 
 "1 can't bear to think of it!'* said I, beginning: to 
 cry. " She has played with us ever since I remem- 
 ber. It was she who told Mother Superior about 
 our going into the cavern, and only for her we 
 might have died there, for I am sure Desired would 
 never have told ! " 
 
 " Not she ! " said Amabel with decision. " She 
 would not care if the whole family perished, so she 
 were safe. Lucy, that girl is a hypocrite ! " 
 
 "You should not say so — she is very devout," 
 said I ; for I rather believed in Desired's conversion, 
 though I am afraid I did not like her any the better 
 for it. 
 
 "Devout or not, she is a hypocrite!" persisted 
 Amabel in a tone which surprised me. I had never 
 heard her speak so bitterly, and indeed she rarely 
 spoke ill of any one. "She despises dear Mother 
 Prudentia, whose shoes she is not fit to carry, and 
 she hates Mother Superior. I have seen the looks 
 she casts at them when she thinks herself unob- 
 served. But come, we must not be here. The bell 
 will ring in a moment." 
 
 D^nise lingered a few weeks, and then died full 
 of peace and hope. Her death was followed, not 
 very long after, by that of Mother Assistant and 
 one of the sisters, which reduced the number of the 
 professed members of the household to eight, beside 
 the superiors. 
 
 "Our band grows smaller and smaller, and Sister 
 Augustine is failing fast," I heard Mother Prudentia 
 say after Sister Agnes was buried. 
 
4^ The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 We had all gone to pray at the grave, next day, 
 and I was helping Mother Bursar to smooth the turf 
 and set some violet roots in it. 
 
 " There will soon be no one left, and what will 
 become of the dear children?" continued Mother 
 Prudentia. 
 
 "The Lord will provide, dear sister," answered 
 the Mother. " Our numbers are indeed small, but 
 we must make up for it by more earnestness. We 
 have always, as yet, been able to keep up our con- 
 stant devotion to the Holy Sacrament of the Altar." 
 
 I heard no more at that time, but what I did hear 
 set me to wondering what would become of us if 
 any more were taken away. This same constant 
 devotion to the Holy Sacrament must have been a 
 great drain on the strength of our little community, 
 as I remember it. It had been established by the 
 Mother Angelique in Port Royal some years before 
 Madame de Longueville and the Bishop of Langris 
 had set up, with this same Mother's assistance, the 
 short-lived sub-order of Daughters of the Holy Sac- 
 rament. From morning till night and from night 
 till morning, no matter what might be the weather, 
 a sister was always on her knees in the church, 
 before the altar on which was the consecrated wafer. 
 She might seek relief by lying on her face or by 
 leaning against a post which was placed for that 
 purpose. Hence the sisters usually spoke of " being 
 at the post." (I never heard, by the way, that 
 when our Lord was in this world in bodily presence 
 he kept the women who ministered to him on their 
 
Troubles, 49 
 
 knees before him. Even Mary %at at his feet.) 
 This duty, which was not so very hard divided 
 among forty or fifty people, was certainly a severe 
 burden when it came to be divided among ten or 
 twelve. It makes me vexed whenever I remember 
 how much strength, both of body and mind, our 
 good sisters used to waste on just such perform- 
 ances as these. 
 
 Sister Augustine had been out of health for many 
 years, and it was not thought she could survive 
 Mother Assistant very long. Nevertheless, she lin- 
 gered till the snows came again, sometimes confined 
 to the bed, sometimes able to sit up a little. The 
 second week in Advent she too was laid away to 
 rest in the cemetery. She had been very low and 
 desponding through great part of her illness, indeed, 
 almost in despair. The day that she died I was sit- 
 ting with her administering the sips of wine and 
 water every few minutes which seemed all that kept 
 her alive. She had been dozing for haK an hour — 
 an unusually long time — and looked so peaceful I 
 could not find it in my heart to waken her. At last 
 she opened her eyes, and I hastened to give her the 
 usual refreshment. 
 
 "Thank you, dear child. How kind you are to 
 me ! " said she, and then, pressing my hand, "I have 
 had a lovely vision. I saw the dear Saviour stand 
 there at the foot of my bed, and heard him say, 
 ' Her sins, which are many, are forgiven.' It is all 
 clear to me now. He has saved me, and I shall be 
 Baved." 
 
56 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 I saw a change had come over her face, and, in 
 great alarm, I would have called some one, but she 
 held me fast, while her eyes, turned toward the foot 
 of the bed, seemed to behold some glorious vision. 
 In a moment the clasp of her hand relaxed, her 
 eyes rolled upward — she was gone. I called Mother 
 Prudentia, but Sister Augustine never breathed 
 again. I told the Mother what she had said. 
 
 " She was happy then in her death," said the good 
 lady, half enviously, as it seemed. "Such assur- 
 ance is granted to but very few. Doubtless it was a 
 reward for the suffering she has borne so long and 
 so patiently." 
 
 Had I known as much as I do now, I could have 
 told her that such an assurance, or even a more cer- 
 tain one, was possible to every true believer ; but I 
 had never seen a whole Bible or heard a Bible ser- 
 mon at that time. I say even more certain ; for 
 the assurance that our sins are forgiven rests on no 
 doubtful vision or apparition, but on the rock of 
 God's sure word and promise. 
 
 Our family was now small indeed. It was long 
 since we had received any novices or postulants, 
 and Desired, who was to have been professed in the 
 spring, seemed to have cooled considerably in her 
 devotion. She used to excuse herself from the early 
 services on the ground of an ague, and for a time 
 the plea was admitted ; but I think even Mother 
 Prudentia saw through her at last. She concocted 
 a horribly bitter dose of herb tea, with the addition 
 of half a dozen wood-lice and a handful of earth 
 
Troubles. Jt 
 
 worms, and administered the same to Desired with 
 her own hands every morning. I suppose Desired 
 thought the medicine worse than the early service, 
 for she soon got better under this heroic treatment. 
 It became evident, however, that she was not the 
 stuff of which a religious was made. At last mat- 
 ters came to a climax. Desired was detected one 
 night stealing out to the orcliard, at an hour when 
 all honest people should be in bed, and a glimpse 
 was caught of a man's figure vanishing among the 
 trees. If one of the elders of the house had made 
 the discovery, the thing would doubtless have been 
 managed without scandal, as the phrase is. But it 
 was poor Sister Frances who saw her as she was 
 going to relieve Sister Lazarus at the post, and the 
 poor thing, who was not over-gifted with sense, took 
 her for a ghost. She uttered such a succession of 
 screams that Sister Lazarus rushed to the rescue. 
 She caught Desired in the act of hiding behind a 
 thicket of evergreens, and plainly saw a man in the 
 garden. The whole family was aroused by that 
 time, and came flocking to the scene of action ; and 
 so the disgraceful act became known to the whole 
 sisterhood. Desired was questioned in vain. She 
 refused to utter a word. She was at last remanded 
 to a cell, under guard; and as soon as it was light 
 a messenger was sent for the Count de Crequi, who 
 was her stepfather and guardian. 
 
 Amabel and I saw him arrive from the window of 
 the deserted oratory, where we often sat with our 
 work. He was a little withered-looking man, richly 
 
$2 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 dressed, and with a good deal of personal dignity. 
 He was accompanied by his nephew and heir, a dis- 
 sipated-looking young man, and a number of suffi- 
 ciently insolent-looking lackeys. The young man 
 staid outside talking with one of the servants. The 
 count was received with great ceremony in the par- 
 lor, and was invited to visit the holy relics in the 
 church, but declined, excusing himself on the 
 ground of want of time. He was closeted for a 
 long time with Mother Superior and Mother Pru- 
 dentia, whom I ought to call Mother Assistant, 
 since she had been elected to that place immediately- 
 after Mother Benedict's death. Meantime, wine 
 and other refreshments were sent out to the young 
 count and the servants, who made themselves very 
 merry. The old gentleman departed at last evi- 
 dently in a very bad humor ; for he swore furiously 
 at the groom when he mounted his horse, and 
 spurred the poor beast till it bolted and nearly 
 threw him. I saw the servants laughing among 
 themselves as they rode away. Later in the day, a 
 covered litter, with two or three mounted servants 
 and a female attendant, was brought to the gate, 
 and Desired was carried away. I was in the little 
 chamber over the porch and saw her go. Her dress 
 had been changed, and she wore neither veil nor 
 rosary. She looked pale enough but not at all 
 scared; just as she entered the litter, she turned 
 and shook her hand at the house with such an 
 expression of malice as I never saw before. She 
 was then carried away and I have never seen her 
 since. 
 
Troubles, 53 
 
 I was dying with curiosity, but I knew better 
 than to iisk any questions, which was indeed counted 
 a great misdemeanor among us. I was pretty sure 
 I should have the tale from Mother Prudentia the 
 first time we were alone together; opportunity was 
 not likely to be wanting for I was her regular assist- 
 ant in the dairy and still room, and it was not long 
 before the whole came out. 
 
 "You see, child, the Count de Crequi put his step- 
 daughter here, thinking to have made a nun of her, 
 and so provide for her at less expense than it would 
 have taken to marry her. I fancy, too, he did not 
 care to have her in the way of his nephew. He is 
 still set on his scheme, and even offered Mother 
 Superior the choice of a double dowry with Desired, 
 or the withdrawal of his protection altogether. The 
 worst is that this new Bishop is related to Desired's 
 mother." 
 
 "What harm should that do?" I asked in won- 
 der ! " Surely the Bishop would not wish Desired to 
 be received after such a scandal, and when she has 
 no vocation ! " 
 
 " Oh my child, as to that — the Bishop is the Bishop 
 of course — ^but you can see that it happened very 
 unluckily, because we are in disgrace already, having 
 never accepted the Pope's bull about Jansenius and 
 the five propositions." 
 
 "What were the five propositions about?" I asked. 
 
 "My child, I don't understand any more about 
 them than that cat, which has no business here," 
 §£|id Mother Prudentia, '*SQatting" the cat out of 
 
54 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 the dairy, and throwing her a bit of cheese curd to 
 console her: ''Mother Superior knows and has 
 explained it to me many a time, but I have no head 
 for such matters, only one order held by Jansenius 
 and Abb^ St. Cyran, and the rest of the Port Royal- 
 ists, and believed that they were cruelly treated and 
 unjustly condemned. And we never accepted the 
 Pope's bull about Jansenius as most of the Orato- 
 rians and Bernardines did. And you know we 
 always look upon Mother Angelique as a sort of 
 saint, because she reformed our house." 
 
 " But if the Pope is the one and infallible head of 
 the Church — " said I rather surprised. 
 
 " Ah well — the Pope is the Pope, and of course 
 he is infallible as to matters of faith. But we have 
 always held that in matters of fact he is not infalli- 
 ble more than any one. And those who know, say 
 that the propositions which the Pope condemned, 
 are not in Jansenius' book at all. But however 
 that may be, we are in disgrace and likely to be 
 turned out at any time. And then what is to 
 become of you children I don't know. Don't cut 
 that curd any finer, child — ^you are working twice as 
 much as is needful." 
 
 " I should think Sir Julius would send for us I '* 
 said I, a good deal startled. 
 
 "I believe Mother Superior has written to him" 
 — answered Mother Prudentia — with a scared look, 
 such as she always wore when she had been betrayed 
 uito some indiscretion greater than usual. " Oh ! my 
 unlucky tongue — when shall I ever learn to rule it; ? 
 
Troubles, 5 $ 
 
 However, I know Mother Superior means to tell jou 
 all about it before long — only if she does you 
 tnow — ^" and the good Mother looked rather wist- 
 fully at me. 
 
 '' I understand, dear Mother — ^" said I, seeing that 
 she wished to caution me against displaying any 
 previous knowledge of what the Superior had to 
 tell me. In effect, it was only a few days before 
 Mother Superior called Amabel and myself into her 
 room and informed us that she had heard from Sir 
 Julius Leighton concerning us, and that he would 
 probably send for us in a short time. She gave us 
 a great deal of excellent advice, and particularly 
 enjoined it upon us to preserve our faith intact, in 
 the land of heretics to which we were going. 
 
 "Your father, my Aimee, is a good Catholic, or 
 so I understand ! " said she : " but your step-mother 
 belongs to the so-called reformed religion, as do 
 your father's sisters; you will therefore need to 
 exercise great firmness and caution." 
 
 I cannot tell all the dear Mother said to us, only 
 she specially warned us against reading heretical 
 books. She gave us each a reliquary containing a 
 precious relic. Mine was a bit of the veil of St. 
 Agnes in a handsome gold and enameled setting. 
 I have it still. She then addressed herself to me, 
 telling me what it had never entered my head to 
 think of before — namely, that I was inferior in rank 
 to Amabel, and must probably be content to take a 
 lower place. (French people cannot understand that 
 commoners have any rank at all, more than Frencl^ 
 
56 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 burgeois.) While I was trying to take in and under- 
 stand this new idea, Amabel spoke in her gentle 
 decided voice. 
 
 " I shall never be separated from Lucy ! " said she 
 firmly, — " where she goes I will go." 
 
 " That will be as your father says, my child ! " 
 answered dear Mother, rather reprovingly — " I hope 
 indeed that you may continue united as you have 
 been, but remember your father's will is your law, 
 so long as he does not command anything contrary 
 to our Holy Faith." 
 
 Amabel did not reply, but she shut her lips as she 
 was used to do, when she had made up her mind. 
 Mother Superior gave us some more words of advice 
 and then dismissed us with her blessing. 
 
 We went away in silence, till we reached our old 
 place of retirement in the Oratory, and then Ama- 
 bel threw her arms round my neck, and burst into a 
 passionate flood of tears — an unusual thing for her, 
 for she seldom cried. 
 
 " You won't desert me, will you Lucy ! " she sob- 
 bed : " It is bad enough to leave this dear home and 
 all the Mothers and Sisters for a strange land, but 
 if I must lose you " — 
 
 " Now you are borrowing trouble, as you tell me ! " 
 said I, holding her in my arms and trying to console 
 her, " you don't know that any one will want to 
 separate us." 
 
 " I feel as if they would try ! " said Amabel, striv- 
 ing to recover her composure : " but oh ! Lucy, prom- 
 ise me that you never will leave ipe if you caQ 
 help it," 
 
Troubles. 57 
 
 " Of course I will. See, I promise on this holy 
 relic ! " said I, kissing the reliquary which I still 
 held in my hand. 
 
 Amabel promised the same, and then to divert 
 her and myself also, I suggested that we should go 
 down to the chapel, and see if we could assist 
 Mother Sacristine, who was busy cleaning the silvei 
 candlesticks, and otner altar furniture. 
 
CHIPTER V. 
 
 TH E bishop's visit. 
 
 E found Sister Sacristine very busy with 
 her silver, of which there was a great deal 
 about the altar, and very glad of our 
 offered help. We went zealously to work, dusting 
 ind rubbing up the altar furniture, not forgetting 
 genuflections — curtsies — ^I should call them now — 
 every time we passed before the high altar. The 
 next day was some Saint's day ; I forget whose at this 
 distance of time, and Sister Sacristine, like a faith- 
 hil Avoman that she was, was just as anxious to have 
 everything in order as if we were expecting the 
 presence of all the nobles in the country, instead of 
 only a few poor peasants in the Church, and our lit- 
 tle band of Mothers and sisters in the choir. 
 
 " There will not be many people here ! " said the 
 poor lady with a sigh as she settled her chairs : " Ah ! 
 children, many a time have I seen this great church 
 filled from end to end with ladies and gentlemen — 
 I remember when poor Sister Augustine was profes- 
 sed, her father and mother came with a cavalcade, 
 which almost filled the Church of itself ; and they 
 
 (S8) 
 
The Bishop's Visit. 59 
 
 offered that pair of silver gilt vases on the Shrine 
 of St. Anne. But times have changed since then, 
 we shall have no one to-morrow." 
 
 "We shall have the great Guest of all, dear 
 Sister! " said Amabel — "and where He is, we shall 
 not miss any one else." 
 
 " That is true, my child, and yet — it is very hard 
 to see the changes which have been wrought in this 
 house by time and the malice of our enemies. But 
 His will be done! There, children, I believe we 
 have made the best of everything now." 
 
 " Sister, let me climb up the ladder, and brush 
 up St. Francis and St. Bernard a little," said I, 
 looking up to where St. Francis stood, with his 
 hands up-raised as if he were imploring some celes- 
 tial power to come down and dust him. 
 
 " Well, if you are not afraid — I am too unsteady 
 on my feet to venture upon the ladder any more ; 
 but there is a good place to stand, once you are up 
 there." 
 
 I was as sure-footed as a goat, so I was not at all 
 timid about ascending the ladder. St. Francis was 
 placed on a little platform or balcony, where, as the 
 Sister said, there was good standing room. Amabel 
 steadied the long ladder, while I ascended, and then 
 reached me up the duster and what else I wanted 
 on the end of a long-handled brush, such as here we 
 call a Pope's head — I would not like to be the one 
 who called it so there. I was holding on to a kind 
 of railing with one hand, and putting St. Francis 
 hair to rights with the other, thinking to myself that 
 
6o The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 the good saint looked as if he liked it, when the 
 Church door opened, and who should come in, breath- 
 less as if from running, but Mother Prudentia. 
 
 " Sister, you are to come to Mother Superior's 
 room at once, and you also, my children. Lose no 
 time, but Lucille be careful how you come down." 
 But I was already on the floor, and ready to follow 
 Mother Prudentia to the presence of the Superior. 
 Here we found all the sisterhood assembled, and a 
 scared bewildered looking set they were — our dear 
 Mother was as calm as usual, though a pink spot 
 shone on her usually pale cheeks, increasing the bril- 
 liancy of her always remarkable eyes. As soon as 
 we were all assembled in order, she addressed us. 
 
 " My Mothers and Sisters and you, my childrejt 
 I have just received by the hands of a special mes 
 senger, a letter from the Bishop of this Diocese, in 
 which he tells me that he will arrive within an hour 
 upon a special visitation, to enquire into certain 
 alleged scandals and disorders prevailing in this 
 community." 
 
 She paused a moment, and the sisters looked at 
 her and at each other in utter amazement. Ama- 
 bel gave my arm a little pinch and whispered 
 very softly, " Desired." 
 
 " I can safely say, that I know of nothing in my 
 family which should bring ffuch a charge upon us ! " 
 resumed the Superior ; " but innocence is not always 
 a protection from the hands of ungodly and cruel 
 men ; not that I would be understood, as applying 
 such epithets to Monseignor the Bishop. Doubt- 
 
The Bishop* s Visit. 6l 
 
 less lie hns been misinformed. What 1 would 
 impress on you, my mothers and sisters, is that you 
 should endeavor in this extremity, to preserve an 
 equal and tranquil spirit, wholly resigned to the 
 will of Heaven, whatever may happen. I will not 
 disguise to you, my apprehensions that this visit may 
 be the prelude to great changes — perhaps to griev- 
 ous hardships and humiliations — possibly even to 
 the breaking up of our little community, which has 
 borne so many storms already. Be that as it may, 
 our duty is plain. Let us set before us the exam- 
 ple of the noble Mother Angelique, who, when cal- 
 amniated and heaped with insults in the very house 
 where she had ruled as Superior, bore all with 
 patience, and never retorted on her persecutors by 
 a look or a word, thus making her enemies ashamed 
 of their cruel malignity. Above all, let us remem- 
 ber that our sufferings may be rendered an accept- 
 able offering to God. My mothers and sisters, let 
 us in the little time that remains, seek the protec- 
 tion of the Queen of Heaven ! " 
 
 She dropped on her knees as she spoke, and all in 
 the room followed her example. (Nuns have a 
 peculiar sudden fashion of doing this, unattainable 
 without practice. I don't believe I could do it my- 
 self now, without falling over on my nose.) It is 
 very much to be hoped that the Blessed Mary does 
 not know the way in which her name is treated in 
 this world, and how to her are attributed the titles 
 which belong only to her Son. But it was all right 
 in my eyes at that time, and when I heard our 
 
04 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 Lord's mother addressed as tlie Morning Star, the 
 Gate of Heaven, the Refuge of sinners, etc., I 
 responded " Ora pro nobis " with undoubting faith. 
 
 We were still on our knees, when we heard the 
 arrival of a numerous cavalcade before the house, 
 and presently a loud knocking at the gate. Imme- 
 diately the portress was sent to open it, and we all 
 formed in procession as when we entered Church ; 
 the younger sisters at the head and the Superior 
 last. On this occasion she led Amabel and myself 
 by the hand. 
 
 Our parlor where the nuns received their guests 
 was a large room sparely furnished with a few very 
 hard chairs, and a most ghastly picture of the death 
 of St. Francis. About one third of this room was 
 shut off by a grille or grate, as is usual in such 
 places, and behind this was our station. The outer 
 room was occupied by the Bishop, and two or three 
 attendant priests. Monseignor was a short stout 
 man, with rather rebellious white hair, and an 
 expression of a kind of pompous fussiness. He was 
 speaking in a loud and somewhat angry tone to one 
 of his attendants, and I caught the words, — "inten- 
 tional disrespect — make an example — perverse re- 
 bellious woman," — all of which seemed to come as 
 it were from the depths of his stomach. We 
 entered slowly, the sisters taking their places with 
 folded hands and down-cast eyes, with as little 
 apparent trepidation as if about to assist at any 
 ordinary ceremony. The Bishop turned sharply 
 around, and spoke before the Abbess had time to 
 advance to the grating. 
 
The Bishop's Visit, 63 
 
 "So madame! this is the way you receive your 
 Bishop ! Did I not send a messenger to acquaint 
 you with my coming ? Why then were you not here, 
 prepared to receive me with due respect?" 
 
 " Monseignor ! " answered the Superior calmly: 
 " It is not according to the rules of our house for 
 us to await visitors in the parlor. I am bound by 
 those rules, and if our Holy Father the Pope were 
 to honor us with a visit, I would do no otherwise." 
 
 The Superior had the best of it, for a nun is 
 bound to obey the " constitutions " of her house to 
 the smallest article, as the Bishop knew very well. 
 But of course that did not make him feel any more 
 amiable. He was evidently getting ready for a 
 crushing reply, adjusting meantime his glasses on 
 his nose, for he was very short-sighted ; but he rather 
 spoiled the effect by getting into difficulties with the 
 string, which held them around his neck. At last 
 however, the glasses were in their place, and he pre- 
 pared to open his Episcopal batteries. 
 
 " Madame ! " he began in the sternest tone — but 
 there he stopped. He could now see Mother Supe- 
 rior's face, which I presume he was unable to do 
 before. I never saw so sudden a change. His face 
 seemed to soften and grow youthful in a moment ; 
 his lip quivered with a smile which quite trans- 
 formed him. He spoke in a very different tone 
 from that in which he began. 
 
 "Madame! is it possible that I see before me 
 Jacqueline de Rozier?" 
 
 it was now the turn of the Abbess to change 
 
64 The Foster- Sisters, 
 
 color. She grew very white, but it was with a 
 steady voice that she answered — "That was my 
 name in the world, Monseignor — and you ? " — 
 
 " And I am Henri Gamier — " said the Bishop. 
 
 " They told me that you had died in the Indies, 
 by the bite of a poisonous serpent, " said the Supe- 
 rior, who had quite recovered her color. " I rejoice 
 Monseignor, to see you in life and health and filling 
 such an exalted station." 
 
 Now at that time of my life I had so far as I 
 know, never even seen the outside of a romance — 
 or heard a love-story — ^yet I knew in a moment that 
 the Superior and the Bishop had once been in leva 
 with each other. I ventured to glance at Mother 
 Bursar, and saw those rebellious dimples of hers, 
 dancing for a moment round the corners of her 
 mouth, though she speedily reduced them to order. 
 
 " I was indeed bitten by a serpent in the Island of 
 Martinique, and lay at the very point of death 
 when my regiment sailed for France!" said the 
 Bishop. " I recovered however at last, and by the 
 grace of Mary, was led to devote myself to a relig- 
 ious life as well as yourself. Madame, the Superior, 
 and mys^ are cousins and were playmates in our 
 childhood," he added, turning to his attendants — 
 this time with real dignity of manner — we have 
 ttot met since we were both quite young. I rejoice 
 to find her in such a useful and honorable position." 
 
 The priests made no answer, but I saw a aly 
 glance of amusement pass between them. 
 
 " And now to business ! " said the Bishop : " Mad« 
 
The Bishop's Visit. 65 
 
 ame, you have for sometime had in your family a 
 pupil and postulant named Desired de LaMothe, 
 daughter of the present Countess de Crequi by a 
 former husband ! " 
 
 " It is true, Monseignor ! The young lady in ques- 
 tion was returned to her fiiends about two weeks 
 since. " 
 
 " And w^hy was she so returned since you had 
 received her as a postulant ? " 
 
 " Because, Monseignor, I did not perceive in her 
 any true vocation for the religious life," answered 
 the Superior. 
 
 " Then it was not for want of a satisfactory dow- 
 ry, that she was refused ! " 
 
 " Far from it, Monseignor ; we are a very poor 
 community, but I can safely say that I would never 
 refuse a postulant with a true vocation, though she 
 came to me with nothing but the clothes she stood 
 in. The Count de Crequi was so good as to offer 
 me a double dowry, if I would consent to receive 
 his step-daughter, but I need not say, I declined. " 
 
 " And quite rightly ! " answered the Bishop : " I 
 wish all heads of religious houses were as disinter- 
 ested as yourself. But the love of money, my 
 brothers and sisters, is the root of all evil, as the 
 Holy Apostle says. Let us be thankful that our 
 state of life shelters us from its baleful influence. 
 However, to return to the subject of this interview, 
 which it is my painful duty to bring before you. " 
 Here he found his bo'x, took a pinch of snuff, and 
 thus fortified, made a fresh start. 
 
66 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " I will not, Reverend Mother, disguise from you 
 the fact that this young lady. Desired de LaMothe 
 has plainly testified to the existence of certain very 
 grave scandals under this roof ; such as are not to 
 be tolerated in any community, much less a religious 
 one. These things having been brought to my ears 
 by my relation by marriage to the Count de Crequi, it 
 becomes my duty to thoroughly investigate them. I 
 have no doubt that such an investigation will turn 
 to your credit and that of your family " — here I saw 
 the two priests again exchange looks — " but never- 
 theless it is, as you must see, my duty to make it. " 
 
 " Assuredly, Monseignor ! " answered the Supe- 
 rior: "I have no other wish than to afford you 
 every facility. How would your Greatness wish to 
 proceed ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose the proper way would be to 
 examine each one of the family separately ; which 
 I will myself do with your permission. But these are 
 not all!" 
 
 " All, Monseignor ! save one ! " 
 
 " And the lay sisters ? " 
 
 " We have none, Monseignor ; our last lay sister 
 died a year ago, at the age of eighty-nine. For a 
 long time all the work of the house and garden has 
 been performed by the choir sisters. " 
 
 "This is indeed holy poverty!" said the Bishop 
 turning to his two attendants, who remarked in 
 answer that it was very edifying, one of them add- 
 ing that it was to be hoped that the cares of this 
 life had not distracted the sisters from their relig- 
 ious duties. 
 
The Bishop's Visit. 67 
 
 " I do not think such cares are apt to hav e that 
 effect!" said the Bishop somewhat sharply : "How 
 say you, Reverend Mother ! " 
 
 " We have hitherto been enabled to keep up the 
 practice of perpetual adoration of the holy sacra- 
 ment," answered the Superior : " At no time since 
 my entrance into the house, has it been suspended 
 for a whole hour. The only sister now absent is at 
 her post in the chapel ; nor so far as I know have 
 we failed in any of the other services of our holy 
 religion. The heart of course is known only to 
 God. " 
 
 " And this is all that remains of the family once 
 numbered by scores ! " said the Bishop. " And who 
 are these young ladies ? " he asked turning to Ama- 
 bel and myself, who were close to the grating at one 
 end, as Mother Assistant was at the other. 
 
 " These are two young English girls ! " was the 
 reply : " Sir Julius Leighton, a Catholic gentle- 
 man of England, left them under my charge about 
 thirteen years ago, and they have been with me 
 ever since ; but I am expecting to part with them 
 very soon. " 
 
 This explanation made, the sisterhood were 
 directed to withdraw, while the Superior remained. 
 The Sisters were then called in and examined one 
 by one, returning with very pink faces, and very 
 indignant. 
 
 " That wicked. Desired — that snake in the grass ! " 
 such were some of the epithets bestowed upon her. 
 " That she should dare to say that we received the 
 
6S The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 visits of men ! As if I ever spoke to a man save the 
 Confessor and old Jaqiies the gardener, since I was 
 first professed ! " said Sister Filomena, bursting into 
 a flood of tears as she rejoined us. 
 
 " Hush, my Sister ! Compose yourself ! " said the 
 Mother Assistant kindly : N. B. Sister Filomena 
 was about the plainest woman I ever saw, with a 
 moustache, and a perpetual red nose. If the Bish- 
 op had not been the Bishop, I should say he had 
 been making game of the poor old soul. " Nobody 
 who knows you can have any doubt of the propriety 
 of your conduct. Come, let these children see you 
 set an example of patience and calmness, and of 
 forgiveness of injuries. " 
 
 " But that wicked girl — what could have induced 
 her to slander us so ! " said another sister ; " to say 
 that we used up our revenues in feasting." 
 
 " And that we — but there is no use in talking ! " 
 added Sister Benedict, catching the Mother's eye: 
 " It is too abominable ! " 
 
 At last it came to Amabel's turn and mine ; and 
 hand in hand, as usual, we entered the parlor. The 
 Bishop had evidently talked himself into high good 
 humor by this time, for he was laughing and offer- 
 ing his snuff-box to his companions. " Ah ! and 
 here are the lambs of the flock ! " said he, as we 
 somewhat timidly drew near the grating; come 
 near, my little daughters, and fear nothing." 
 
 He then asked us several questions in a fatherly 
 sort of way, about our families, and we told him all 
 we knew, which was not much. 
 
The Bishop's Visit. 6g 
 
 " And how do you use your time ? Com6, now, " 
 addressing himself to me, "think, and tell me 
 exactly what you were doing, when you were called 
 to the Superior on this occasion." 
 
 "I was brushing St. Francis' hair, Monseignor," I 
 answered simply. 
 
 " Brushing St. Francis' hair ? what does the child 
 mean ; one has heard of dressing St. Catherine's 
 hair, but never of St. Francis', as I think." * 
 
 I explained, that I was assisting Sister Sacristine 
 to prepare the Church for to-morrow's feast day. 
 
 " Ah ! very well, very good — and you, my child ? " 
 turning to Amabel ! 
 
 " I was arranging the flowers on the altar of our 
 Lady, Monseignor." 
 
 " Very good again — there, you may go, and here 
 are some comfits for you, but I daresay you have 
 enough of them since the good sisters make such 
 beautiful sweetmeats, eh ! " 
 
 " No ! Monseignor, the Mother Bursar sells all 
 the sweetmeats, that she may help the poor women 
 of the village ; " answered Amabel, whereas there 
 was another interchange of looks, and we were per- 
 mitted to retire, not at all sorry to get off so easily. 
 
 The Bishop and his attendant priests were then 
 conducted by the Superior and Mother Assistant, 
 through the whole building. It was even proposed 
 that he should descend and examine the vaults; 
 but this was hastily and decidedly declined, by his 
 Grandeur. " No ! no ! that is not needful — ^we have 
 
 * "Dressing Bt. Catherines' hair," ia a kind of proverbial 
 expiession for being an old maid. 
 
70 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 heard that they are very extensive and cnrions, how»- 
 ever — perhaps Father Andre and his companions' 
 would like to inspect them.'' 
 
 " It would not be safe for them to do so without 
 a guide ! " said the Superior : " The passages are 
 very intricate and there are dangerous pools of 
 water, but should your Grandeur desire it, Mother 
 Assistant and myself will lead the way." 
 
 But it was evident that this description was 
 enough to satisfy any curiosity the Reverend Fathers 
 might have felt on the subject, and as the Bishop 
 did not insist on the matter no more was said. 
 While this inspection had been going on, Sister 
 Lazarus and her assistants had been getting up the 
 best collation the resources of the house afforded. 
 Fortunately it was a fast day, and our own ponds 
 supplied us some good fish or the Bishop would have 
 fared poorly. However, we had excellent bread and 
 butter, and cakes and sweetmeats, and a bottle or 
 two of good wine, and his lordship was pleased to 
 express himself highly delighted with his entertain- 
 ment. After the collation we were assembled in the 
 Church, and the Bishop once more addressed us. 
 He did not disguise the fact that he had come hith- 
 er with a strong prepossession against the house ; 
 having been led by certain persons to believe that 
 the family were guilty of great irregularities, to say 
 the least. He did not say who these persons were, 
 but we knew very well. Contrary to what he 
 expected, he had found great order, the severest 
 poverty and self-denial, and evidence of abundant 
 
The Bishop's Visit, 7 1 
 
 good works. He did not say these things to pnff us 
 up in our own esteem, but that we might be en- 
 couraged to persevere, and even to surpass what we 
 had already accomplished. There existed indeed a 
 degree of — he would not say error, much less heresy 
 — but a certain confusion of ideas upon some points 
 of doctrine, which he had no doubt would be dispel- 
 led by the perusal of some books which he would 
 have sent to us. It was also said that there was a 
 flaw in our title or charter ; he would make it a 
 point to have this matter examined into, and we 
 might be assured that justice would be done. He 
 then gave us his blessing, exchanged a few words 
 in private with Mother Superior, and rode away. 
 He was entertained by the Count that evening, and 
 I should not wonder if madame and her daughter, 
 did not find his visit very agreeable. 
 
 " Well, it has all turned out better than we had 
 any reason to expect," remarked Mother Bursar. 
 
 " It has not turned out yet ! " said Mother Pru- 
 dentia, shaking her head — " We have made an 
 enemy of the Count, and he will not love us the bet- 
 ter, because the Bishop has come over to our side. 
 The men of that family know neither pity nor for- 
 giveness ; we have not heard the last of it yet — but 
 we are in better hands than his," she added cheer- 
 fully — '* wicked men can go no farther than is per- 
 mitted them." 
 
 Of course this visit of the Bishop's furnished 
 matter for conversation and gossip for many days. 
 Now that I look back at it, my own opinion is that 
 
72 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 we owed our escape to the circumstance, that the 
 Bishop had discovered his old sweet-heart in our 
 dear Mother Superior. Probably they had been 
 separated by friends, and the lady had taken the 
 veil on hearing her lover was dead ; but that they 
 had been lovers I am as sure, as I am that Simon 
 Sablot is looking for Anne Penberthy. The lad is 
 a good lad, and comes of good family, his parents 
 having been exiles for the truth's sake, and he shall 
 not want my good word when the time cornea. 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT RAID. 
 
 OR some days — I think about ten — after 
 the bishop's visitation everything went on 
 in the usual train. On one of these days 
 the superior received a letter from the bishop, which 
 was speedily communicated to the whole family. His 
 greatness wrote that having had our title and char- 
 ter investigated by the proper authorities, he had 
 discovered that not only was our community fully 
 entitled to all the land and property that it held, but 
 that it had an undoubted right to some hundreds of 
 acres of very fertile meadow land, lying Tialf a mile 
 away, and at present occupied by the Count de 
 Crequi. 
 
 " So we shall get back all that beautiful pasture 
 where the grass grows so early," said Sister Eus- 
 tachie, the oldest person in the house. " I remem- 
 ber, children, when we had twenty-five cows in that 
 meadow. Such butter and cheese as we made — but 
 we had a great family then. Well, I hope I may 
 see tliose lands restored to our holy patrimony." 
 
 " I would like to hope so too, sister, but I doubt 
 it ! " S£iid Mother Prudentia. " The wolf of Crequi 
 
 (73) 
 
74 The Foster- Sisters. 
 
 does not let go bis prey so easily. For myself. I 
 shall be thankful if we are left to go quietly on our 
 way, as we are doing at present." 
 
 I have never said anything about our priest and 
 confessor. He was a middle-aged man, looking old 
 from his white hair, but very hale and active. He 
 lived by himself in a little house in the orchard, 
 from which a sort of arbor, covered with vines, led 
 to the church. He was a kind-hearted, easy-going 
 man, very charitable and self-denying, save in the 
 matter of snuff, of which he took a great deal. He 
 was very fond of his garden, in which he worked 
 early and late. Amabel and I liked him because he 
 spoke English very well, having once been confes- 
 sor to a noble family in England. Only for him, 1 
 don't know but we should have forgotten our mother 
 tongue" entirely ; but he used to exercise us in it, 
 making us read to him sometimes, in an English 
 Thomas-a-Kempis he had, sometimes in an English 
 translation from the Vulgate. Oh ! how I used to 
 wisli I could get that book into my own hands ; but 
 the good father guarded it jealously, not allowing us 
 even to turn over a leaf for ourselves. We used to 
 read Psalms and bits of the Gospels, and Old Testa- 
 ment stories, which he picked out for us. I remem- 
 ber reading in this way about the widow's son of 
 Nain. When I had finished, the priest paused a 
 moment, and then said, reverently : 
 
 " My Lucie, do you think of what you read ?" 
 " Yes, my father ; I think of it a great deal," I 
 answered, which was quite true. 
 
The Midnight Raid. y$ 
 
 " But do you make it real to you ? Think, for 
 instance, about this story which we have just fin- 
 ished. Think how that poor mother must have 
 dreaded the return to her lonely house ; the sitting 
 down to her lonely table, and living on day after 
 day without her son." 
 
 "And then how different it all was from what she 
 expected ! " said Amabel, musingly. " I should think 
 slic would hardly have known how to believe it. 
 She must have felt as if his sickness and death were 
 all a dream." 
 
 "And the holy Magdalene after her brother was 
 restored ! " said I. (Roman Catholics believe that 
 Mary Magdalene, and the woman who was a sinner, 
 who anointed our Lord's feet, were one and the 
 same person, though there seems to us little or no 
 ground in the scripture for such an idea.) " They 
 were really people, were they not, and felt as we 
 should do ? " 
 
 " Exactly, my daughter. That is what I wish you 
 to consider. People lose half the benefit of the 
 examples of the holy saints and martyrs, because 
 they do not consider them to have been of the same 
 flesh and blood as themselves." 
 
 I have been obliged to the good father all my life 
 for this idea, and especially since I have myself had 
 the instructing of children in the truths of religion. 
 But this is by the way. 
 
 Besides being a famous gardener. Father Brou- 
 
 seau had a competent knowledge of surgery and 
 
 medicine, and made himself very useful in prescrjb- 
 6 
 
'j6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 ing for the poor people round us. His medicines 
 were generally such as our pharmacy at the convent 
 could provide, especially a bitter cordial, made of 
 orange peel, chamomile, and some of the aromatic 
 herbs with which that country abounds. I have 
 the recipe for this cordial, which I have helped to 
 distil by the gallon. It is excellent for ague and 
 consumption. It was this medical knowledge of our 
 confessor's which made him a welcome visitor at the 
 Chateau de Crequi, even after the count had quar- 
 relled with our superior. Madame de Crequi was 
 a confirmed invalid, suffering terrible pain and dis- 
 tress at times, from some trouble in her breast. She 
 had had endless doctors who had done her no good 
 but rather harm, and in her despair, hearing of our 
 confessor's gifts in that line, she sent for him. He 
 was, happily, able greatly to alleviate her present 
 suffering, though he told her frankly that there was 
 no cure possible ; and he had thus made the poor 
 lady his friend. He had also cured the count's 
 chaplain from a fever which threatened his life. 
 
 One day it happened that the priest was sent for 
 in great haste to see a favorite maid of the countess, 
 who was taken suddenly and violently ill. (I learned 
 all this long afterward, for of course I was not told 
 it at the time.) He returned in the afternoon, and 
 we saw him going in a great hurry to the superior's 
 apartment. 
 
 In about half an hour, Mother Prudentia came 
 out, looking a good deal excited, and summoned the 
 whole family to a conference. It was in r^creatiou 
 
The Midnight Raid. ff 
 
 time, I remember, and we were almost all busy in 
 capturing a vagrant brood of half-grown chickens, 
 which had escaped from their proper quarters, as 
 it seemed, for the express purpose of scratching up 
 a newly planted bed of salad. We were in a great 
 frolic over the chase, for nuns are like children in 
 their hours of recreation — a little thing serves to 
 amuse them. It was therefore with considerable 
 surprise that we obeyed the summons to the supe- 
 rior's presence. 
 
 We found the lady pale and evidently much dis- 
 turbed, though she preserved her usual calmness of 
 voice and demeanor. In a few words she told us of 
 the danger that was impending over us. She had 
 received sure intelligence that the convent was to 
 be attacked that very night by a band of robbers, 
 pillaged and perhaps burned to the ground. 
 
 Even the strict habits of convent discipline could 
 not repress a universal cry of dismay from the 
 sisterhood ; but I must say that after the first alarm 
 they all behaved wonderfully well. The Reverend 
 Mother raised her hand to impose silence, and was 
 at once obeyed. 
 
 " We have no means of defending ourselves, and 
 no time to send to the Bishop for assistance before 
 our foes will be upon us ! " said she : " I have taken 
 council with our Reverend Father, and he agrees 
 with me, that our only chance of safety is, to take 
 refuge in the vaults under the old part of the 
 house." 
 
 She paused a moment, and some of the sisters 
 
78 The Foster-sisters, 
 
 looked at each other as if the prospect of spending 
 the night in the vaults was almost as dreadful aa 
 that of the robbers themselves. 
 
 " The buildings above these vaults are solid and 
 there is little in them to burn," continued the Supe- 
 rior : " so that even should the house be set on fire, 
 we may hope to escape — and the caverns themselves 
 are such, that should the entrance to them be dis- 
 covered no one could find our hiding-place without 
 the clue ; that clue is known at present only to 
 Mother Assistant and myself. Let us then hasten 
 to convey to this place of safety all our most pre- 
 cious treasures, all the sacred vessels and ornaments, 
 and enough of food and lights to serve us if needful 
 for several days ; of water there is an abundant 
 supply. Let us all be calm and collected, and let 
 each one obey orders implicitly and without any 
 questions." 
 
 She then allotted to each her part. Sister Laza- 
 rus with two assistants were to prepare and cany to 
 a certain place a supply of such provisions as would 
 keep the best, and afford the most nourishment in 
 a small compass. I remember in the midst ol all 
 our consternation smiling at the lamentations of the 
 good sister, over certain delicious creams which had 
 been prepared for the supper-table — that being a 
 feast day. 
 
 " But the robbers shall not have them at any 
 rate ! " said she with decision : " Here pussy ! " and 
 she set down the dish of cream which she held and 
 which the kitchen cat and her young family lapped 
 up with great satisfaction and much purring. 
 
The Midnight Raid, 79 
 
 " Poor little dears, they little know what is before 
 them ! " said Sister Lazarus, wiping the tears from 
 her eyes, as she regarded the kittens, which having 
 finished their feast, were licking tlie stray drops 
 from each other's paws and noses. " I mean to 
 shut them all out in the garden and that will give 
 them a chance. Take care and not shake that bas- 
 ket, Sister ! There are some bottles of wine in it 
 and a jug of milk for the children ; here, little ones, 
 put these cakes in your pockets." Grow as we 
 might, we were still the children to dear Sister 
 Lazarus. 
 
 The Church was not to be dismantled till after 
 dark, that no suspicions need be awakened. I could 
 not but wonder whether there were any spies among 
 the few peasants who came to vespers. I could not 
 but notice an old woman ; she was very specially 
 devout, and when the service was ended she ap- 
 proached Mother Bursar and whiningly begged a 
 night's lodging. 
 
 " I do not think we can keep you on account of 
 the dangerous infectious fever that we have in the 
 house ! " said Mother Bursar, telling this outrageous 
 fib doubtless with a clean conscience, as it was for 
 the good of the Church : " but if you choose to risk 
 it I will ask Mother Superior. " But the old woman 
 had no mind for a lodging under such circumstan- 
 ces and took herself off, closely watched by Mother 
 Bursar from the church door. 
 
 " That is an odd-looking woman ! " said I : " see 
 how strongly she walks now, though she pretended 
 to be so feeble." 
 
8o The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " She is no more a woman than you are ! " said 
 Mother Bursar indignantly : " It is that very Jean 
 D61e to whom I gave a warm pair of hose only last 
 winter. Did I not know him on the instant? I 
 almost wish I had given him a lodging, and locked 
 him up in the Knight's tower ; but it is better as it 
 is. Now my children we must work fast — ^there is 
 no time to lose ! Here, Lucille, help me fold these 
 cloths." 
 
 " But Jean D61e is in the employ of the Count ! " 
 said I, working while I talked and finding, despite 
 the imminent danger, a certain enjoyment in the 
 bustle : " Can he be also in the employ of the 
 robbers ? " 
 
 " Robbers ! " said Mother Bursar contemptuously, 
 **we know where the robbers come from. Take 
 care, child, fold that straight. Perhaps they will 
 find themselves outwitted after all." 
 
 By nine o'clock the principal treasures of the 
 Church — the great silver vases, the candlesticks, 
 and images, and so forth, were all removed to the 
 lower vestibule; and carried from thence to safe 
 hiding-places known to Mother Superior and Moth- 
 er Prudentia. Then the sisters were assembled in 
 the community-room, for what we all felt might be 
 the last time. Mother Superior addressed a few 
 words to us, exhorting us to firmness, constancy, 
 and trust, and we all kissed her hand and each 
 other. The priest entered, bearing the host, in its 
 magnificent receptacle, blazing with jewels, and we 
 all prostrated ourselves before it. Then he passed 
 
The Midnight Raid, 8l 
 
 out of the room, and we followed in order as in an 
 ordinary procession ; we went through the upper 
 hall and descended the great stairs to the lower 
 floor ; then instead of seeking the door by which 
 Amabel and myself had descended to the vaults, we 
 went down to the basement by a staircase of which 
 I had never, till then, known the existence. So 
 true it is, as I have said before, that one may live in 
 a convent a long time, yes, even for many years, 
 and yet know very little about it. We passed 
 through a long hall, with doors opening here and 
 there, and then there was a pause, while Mother 
 Prudentia unlocked and opened a massive door, the 
 existence of which I should never have suspected, 
 for it looked exactly like a piece of th3 wall. 
 Through this we passed one by one, and it was then 
 closed after us. 
 
 The lights were now trimmed anew and lanterns 
 distributed among us. We were warned to follow 
 exactly, and not to look either to right or left, but 
 to keep our eyes fixed on our leader. Why, I don't 
 know, unless that our minds might not be distracted 
 by the sight of the labyrinth we were threading. 
 At last we reached the end of our dismal journey. 
 We found ourselves in a kind of suite of apartments, 
 drier and more commodious than could have been 
 expected in such a place. There must have been 
 some communication with the outer world, for the 
 air, though damp and chill, was not foul nor oppres- 
 sive. In the first vault were stored our provisions, 
 clothes, and other such matters which we had saved 
 
82 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 In the next were beds hastily made of straw mat- 
 tresses and all the warm coverings that could be 
 mustered. A little side-room was fitted up as a 
 chapel, with an altar, on which was placed the usual 
 furniture, while a small lamp hung before it. On 
 this altar the priest deposited the host. It was time 
 for our last evening service, and we went through it 
 as usual, though it must be confessed that some of 
 the sweet voices quivered a little as they chanted the 
 responses. It was not till now that we observed one 
 of our number to be missing. 
 
 "Where is Sister Filomena?" asked two or three 
 voices. 
 
 "She is in a place of safety, or so I trust," 
 answered the Superior calmly. " Pray for her, my 
 sisters." 
 
 We took this for a hint that we were to ask no 
 more questions, but we wondered all the more. 
 Sister Filomena was the one of whom I have spoken 
 before as being so very ugly. She was tall and 
 honey, with particularly large hands and feet, and a 
 masculine walk. She had a decided beard, and 
 owing to some disease, I suppose, her face, and par- 
 ticularly her nose, were as red as an old toper's. She 
 was a widow of some years standing when she took 
 the vows, and before her conversion she had lived 
 much in the gay world of Toulon, where, despite 
 her ugliness, she had been a great favorite, and had 
 maintained a very popular %alon. 
 
 Sister Lazarus had caused to be transported to the 
 vault a little eartlien-ware furnace for charcoal, such 
 
The Midnight Raid, 83 
 
 as are much used in France. This she lighted, and 
 served us each with a famous cup of chocolate — a 
 luxury never enjoyed by us except on very grand 
 feast days. I think smells are more powerful in 
 awakening old associations than anything else. The 
 smell of a fresh cup of chocolate always brings that 
 scene vividly before me — the dimly-burning shaded 
 lights, which made our pale faces doubly ghastly in 
 appearance — ^the damp walls of whitish grey rock — 
 the little chapel with its ornaments glittering as the 
 tapers flared a little — I can see all this, and hear the 
 soft drop and plash of water, regular almost as the 
 ticking of a clock, which fell on our ears, and now 
 and then a curious moaning sound coming no one 
 knew from whence. 
 
 "What is that?" said one of the sisters rather 
 fearfully, as a louder moan than usual made itself 
 felt rather than heard. 
 
 "It is a sound always heard in these vaults," 
 replied the Superior. 
 
 " I used to hear in my day that it was the spirits 
 of the poor souls that the old heathen imprisoned 
 here and left to starve," said Sister Eustachie, who 
 was very old and childish. 
 
 "You don't think it is that, do you. Reverend 
 Mother ?" asked one of the nuns rather timidly. 
 
 " No, my child, I think it is only the wind which 
 finds entrance somewhere and cannot get out again, 
 or some escape of imprisoned gas from the earth. 
 Whatever it may be it is but a sound," answered the 
 Superior. " Let me beg of you not to disturb your 
 
^4 *i^he Foster-Sisters, 
 
 minds with idle fears. Let all lie down and rest 
 while it is possible. Mother Assistant and myself 
 will watch before the Holy Sacrament." 
 
 I had no wish to lie down, nor, as I think, had any 
 of the others, but in a convent one learns to obey 
 without a word — not so bad a lesson either where 
 young persons are concerned. So we lay down on 
 our straw beds and covered ourselves as warmly as 
 we could, and, despite their fears, I heard some of 
 the nuns snoring in five minutes' time. I thought 
 I should never go to sleep, but the sound of the 
 falling water, the softly murmuring voices of the 
 priest and the two mothers saying the litanies, and 
 the gentle swaying of the suspended lamp lulled me 
 at last into a slumber. I dreamed that I was trying 
 to reach something from the upper shelf of a certain 
 dark storeroom cupboard, when some one violently 
 slammed the door on me. The noise awoke me with 
 a start. All the sisters were on their feet in an 
 instant, but the gesture of the abbess imposed 
 silence, and not a word was said. We heard a shout 
 of — ^'^ Open in the king's name" — and then a furious 
 attack upon the great gate which led from the outer 
 court into the garden. It sounded frightfully near. 
 In a moment it fell, and we could hear the footsteps 
 of our enemies, as it seemed, over our heads. They 
 may have been so for ought I know. We were all 
 on our knees by this time before the little altar — 
 some on their faces. Only the Superior stood erect 
 and calm. 
 
 The noise partially died away — ^I suppose while 
 
The Midnight Raid, 85 
 
 the ruffians were searching for us. Then they 
 gathered again in the court with every expression 
 of anger and disappointment. We could hear every 
 word that was said. They had evidently pushed ofP 
 the cover of the old well, and one of them dropped 
 a great stone into it. The noise which resounded 
 through the vaults was awful beyond description. 
 
 " Our birds are flown ! " said a voice, " and they 
 have stripped their nest pretty completely." 
 
 "They are not flown — ^they have only gone to 
 earth ! " said another voice, which I thought I had 
 heard before. " Follow me, and we will soon have 
 them out." 
 
 In a few minutes we heard the noise of a door 
 forced, and heavy, armed heels noisily descending. 
 The sisters gathered closer around the superior. 
 
 " They have found the entrance under the great 
 stairs," said the superior. " Keep perfectly still, and 
 fear nothing, but pray for the souls of our enemies. 
 They do but rush on their own destruction." 
 
 Mother Prudentia whispered a few words to the 
 superior, and, receiving a nod in return, took up a 
 lantern and glided away so suddenly that, though 
 I was watching eagerly, I could not have told for 
 my life which way she went. There was evidently 
 a good deal of hesitation among the enemy, for I 
 heard the same voice proclaim loudly : " A purse of 
 gold and a pretty girl for the one who unearths the 
 old cats. There ! I see the gleam of a lantern even 
 now." 
 
 It could have been but two or three minutes before 
 
86 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 we heard a sudden splash, followed in a second by 
 another and a horrible scream of mortal anguish, 
 which echoed and re-echoed as if a hundred demons 
 were mocking the drowning wretches. There was 
 one half-strangled cry for help — a rush — and then 
 all was still for a few minutes, till Mother Prudentia 
 returned to us with her lantern, and her shoes cov- 
 ered with mud and slime. 
 
 " Two of them have fallen in — the only two who 
 ventured to follow me ! " said she. " I stepped aside, 
 thinking that they would stop when they lost sight 
 of me, but I suppose the gleam on the water deceived 
 them. Poor wretches ! " 
 
 There was an interval of silence, during which 
 we all softly recited the prayer for souls in extreme, 
 
 "•What are they doing now ? " asked one of our 
 number. 
 
 " They are setting fire to the buildings. Do you 
 not smell the smoke ? " said the priest. " But we 
 have little to fear, even in that case. A storm has 
 been gathering all day and is about to burst. Do 
 you not hear the thunder ? ^ The Lord shall fight 
 for us, and we will hold our peace.' " 
 
 I had heard what sounded like thunder two or 
 three times, but there were so many noises that I 
 had taken little heed to it. Now, however, came a 
 tremendous crash, and a faint gleam of lightning 
 showed what I had before suspected — that we were 
 near some place which opened to the air — perhaps 
 to the old well in the court, which would account 
 for our hearing so plainly. The rush of rain which 
 
The Midnight Raid. Z'j 
 
 followed must have at once extinguished the fires, 
 and no doubt drove our enemies into the buildings 
 for shelter. For a time we heard nothing but the 
 tremendous thunder and the rain. Then I began to 
 be sensible of another sound, unlike anything, un- 
 less it be the rushing of a stream swollen by a 
 torrent. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked some one. 
 
 " Hush ! " said the priest, imperatively. We all 
 listened. The sounds grew louder. 
 
 " They have digged a pit, and fallen into the 
 midst of it themselves ! " said the priest exultingly. 
 " ' In the snare that they laid privily is their foot 
 taken.' Our friends have arrived, and we are 
 
 In effect, we heard in a moment a tremendous 
 outcry, many shots fired, and other sounds which 
 told us that a combat was going on. The tumult 
 died away by degrees, but was renewed once or 
 twice, as though the robbers were making a desper- 
 ate defense. There was an interval of silence, and 
 then a manly, cheerful voice called aloud, as it 
 seemed, from the stairs : 
 
 ^ " The reverend mothers and sisters may now come 
 from their hiding-places without fear. Their ene- 
 mies are all prisoners in the hands of the king's 
 troops. Laudate dominum.^^ 
 
 I suppose this Latin phrase was a kind of watch- 
 word to let our superiors know that all was right. 
 Anxious as we all were to escape from our prison, 
 there was no baste. We arranged our dresses as 
 
88 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 decently as possible, for in a convent one learns to 
 dress without the help of a mirror ; the priest took 
 up the Host, and, in procession as we descended, we 
 emerged to the light of day — for it was now morn- 
 ing, and the sky was brightening toward sunrise. 
 We found the court occupied by a company of sol- 
 diers, with a young officer in command, keeping 
 guard over a number of prisoners. Several dead 
 bodies were stretched out on the stones, and two or 
 three wounded wretches were groaning among them. 
 
 Officers and men saluted reverently as the Host 
 was borne past them, and all but those necessary 
 to guard the prisoners, followed into the church. We 
 took our places in the choir, and mass was said at 
 the despoiled altar. Then measures were taken for 
 the care of the wounded. Two expired almost im- 
 mediately, in the very act of confession ; the other 
 lingered a few days, and died, so Sister Baptista 
 told me, very humble and penitent. 
 
 But what a sad sight was our poor house ! Win- 
 dows were dashed to pieces, furniture broken and 
 destroyed in mere wantonness. Our beautiful gar- 
 den was a trampled waste — even the great rose bush 
 said to have been planted by the hands of Mother 
 Angelique herself, and one of our greatest treasures, 
 was hacked off at the roots. 
 
 " The wretches — the wicked sacrilegious villains !" 
 exclaimed Sister Lazarus, bursting into tears as she 
 came on the body of her favorite cat, and saw the 
 poor kittens trying in vain to attract their mother's 
 notice. "X can't help it if it is wicked — I am glad 
 
The Mid) light Raid, 89 
 
 they fell into the pool — I hope it was the very one 
 that killed my cat— our cat I mean," added the sis- 
 ter, correcting herself, for in a convent it is a great 
 sin to say that any thing is mine, " I made an act 
 of forgiveness when I found my beautiful stew-pans 
 all dashed to pieces, but such a sight as this is too 
 much." 
 
 So saying she gathered the bereaved little kittens 
 into her apron and carried them off to comfort them 
 as she best could. One of our cows had been shot, 
 as it seemed, in sheer wantonness; the other being 
 shut in a cow-house at the bottom of the orchard 
 had escaped. 
 
 It was only natural that a few tears should be 
 shed over the destruction of pet plants and fowls 
 and the general desolation, but there was no giving 
 way to idle sorrow. All set to work with a will to 
 put things in the best order possible, and so indus- 
 trious were we that by the next day when the bishop 
 arrived things had assumed something of their usual 
 aspect. But no pains of ours could restore vines 
 and flowers, or set up the ruined fountain, or mend 
 the beautiful and wonderful stained glass, whose 
 fragments strewed the court, or bring our poor old 
 dog and cow to life. The bishop brought with him 
 a magistrate and other officers, and there was a great 
 examination and perquisition about the affair, but I 
 don't know how it was — the thing- was hushed up 
 after a while and nothing was done. Only the bishop 
 paid two or three visits, and finally it was made 
 known among us that before cold weather came the 
 
90 TJie Foster-Sisters, 
 
 community would be moved to a smaller but much 
 more comfortable and secure house near Toulon. 
 
 I must not forget to say that Sister Filomena 
 arrived in the train of the bishop, riding all by her- 
 self in a litter, and dressed in a bran new robe of 
 quite another fashion from ours. We were surprised 
 enough to see her, and still more to hear that it was 
 slie who had carried the news of our danger to 
 Toulon. 
 
 " That is the advantage of being ugly you see, my 
 sisters," said the good nun, laughing, as we pressed 
 around to listen to her adventuress. "In Marie's 
 red petticoat and grey jacket, and mounted on the 
 good father's mule, nobody thought me anything but 
 a peasant carrying fowls to market. I had the good 
 luck to meet, the very first thing, an abb^ whom I 
 used to know when I was in the world. I could 
 think of no better way than to make myself known 
 to him, and he took me directly to the bishop's pal- 
 ace, where I told my story. His housekeeper found 
 me some clothes, and I went at once to the Ursuline 
 Convent, where they treated me like a princess, but 
 you may guess I did not sleep for thinking of your 
 danger, and wondering whether the soldiers would 
 arrive in time." * 
 
 " But why did not Father Brousseau go himself T 
 asked some one. 
 
 "What a wise question ! Because they would have 
 been on the watch for him, and would have known 
 him at once ; but no one suspected me." 
 
 "It was a dreadful thing to do!" said Sister Bap- 
 
The Midnight Raid. 9I 
 
 tista. '• Of course it was very good in you to sacri- 
 fice yourself, but I do think it was shocking.'* 
 
 *' I suppose it was," said Sister Filomena ; " and 
 the won-st of it is I am afraid I enjoyed it after all." 
 
 Tfeftt very day we heard that the nephew and heir 
 of the Count de Crequi with an attendant had fallen 
 from the rocks while fishing, and that their bodief 
 had been swept away by the waves and never found. 
 A requiem was said for them in the church with all 
 due solemnity, at which, however, none of the family 
 were present. For my own part, remembering the 
 voice I had heard and that fearful plunge into the 
 water, 1 have little doubt that the bones of the young 
 count and his follower lie at this moment under the 
 black and slimy waters of that dreadful pooL 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 A SUMMONS. 
 
 N the course of a week all things had set- 
 tled into their usual way with us. The 
 ornaments were restored to the church, 
 and the damage to the building was repaired as far 
 as possible by workmen sent by the bishop from 
 Toulon. The bishop praised our community to the 
 skies, and caused a contribution to be taken for our 
 benefit among the good folks of Toulon, who were 
 very liberal on the occasion. The nuns took notice 
 of it as a good omen, that the Mother Angelique's 
 rose-bush, which had been cut down, began directly 
 to sprout from the root. I really think this little 
 accident gave them more comfort and hope than all 
 the bishop's assistance and promises. Another con- 
 soling circumstance was the recession of the water 
 in the subterranean pool. Mother Prudentia, who 
 had had occasion to visit the vaults several times to 
 bring out from their concealment things which had 
 been hidden away on the night of the attack, told us 
 that the water was falling rapidly, so that places 
 heretofore impassable were now quite dry. It 
 seemed as if the spirit which dwelt in those awful 
 
 (92) 
 
A Summons. 93 
 
 depths was content with the victims he had received, 
 and wished foi* no more. 
 
 I have said that things fell into their usual train, 
 and so it seemed at first ; but presently it became 
 apparent that the health of our dear mother supe- 
 rior was rapidly failing. Though over sixty at the 
 time of the robbers' visit, she had hitherto shown 
 her age very little, but now she seemed to grow old 
 all at once. She had a cough, and a slight spitting 
 of blood, and began to be subject to fainting fits. 
 She herself attributed her illness to a cold taken in 
 the cavern. I think now that the strain of that 
 terrible night, with, perhaps, the added agitation of 
 seeing again the lover she had so long believed dead, 
 were too much for a frame already enfeebled with 
 fasting. I do verily believe that those people who 
 are said to bear trouble the best are those who are 
 usually most affected by it. Some, indeed, get the 
 credit of enduring with patience and cheerfulness 
 things which really trouble them very little, and 
 such people are usually excessively impatient of the 
 grief of others. But I must not stop to moralize, or 
 I shall never get to the end of my story. 
 
 One day the mother superior announced to the 
 family as a settled thing that in the course of the 
 following October, the community would be removed 
 to a much smaller but more comfortable house in 
 the neighborhood of Toulon, which was at that very 
 time being fitted up for its reception. This house, 
 she said, was a small chateau, formerly called Fleurs, 
 which belonged to the Count de Crequi, and had been 
 
94 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 given by him to the comuiuuity on condition that 
 certain services should be performed in perpetuum 
 for the soul of his unfortunate heir amd nephew, 
 who had been drowned while fishing. We were sur- 
 prised enough to hear this news, for the Count de 
 Crequi was well known to be an out and out infidel, 
 if not an atheist. In France you may have no re- 
 ligion at all with impunity. It is even rather a gen- 
 teel thing to believe in nothing and nobody but 
 Monsieur Voltaire ; but if you set up to have a 
 religion at all, you must be content to take that 
 which the king prescribes for you. But the death 
 of the young count was a terrible blow to his uncle, 
 who had no son and was not like to have any ; and 
 it may he that the poor old man thought it best, in 
 case he might after all be mistaken, to have friends 
 at court, as it were. He was, indeed (so I have since 
 understood), held up afterward as a shining instance 
 of conversion by the Jesuits, under whose influence 
 he fell, — ^but I never heard that his conversion led 
 him to give up that twenty-five acres of meadow, 
 which had been exacted from our sisterhood as the 
 price of his protection, or to pay for the ruin of our 
 buildings, caused by his secret emissaries on the 
 night of the robbery. 
 
 However this might be, there was no doubt that 
 he had given us a new dwelling, to which we were 
 all to be removed before the coming on of cold 
 weather. 
 
 The church was to be kept up, with a resident 
 priest to say mass. The other parts of the building 
 would be closed. 
 
A Summons. 95 
 
 This news was received with varying feelings by 
 the sisters. The elders wept, and regretted that 
 they must leave the place which had been their home 
 so long, and the graves of those who had been their 
 companions in youth. The younger sisters were 
 divided, as was natural, between sorrow at parting 
 and the novelty of a new house and situation. 
 
 " I shall never live to see the day ! '* said poor 
 old Mother Baptista, " and I don't wish to. I was 
 brought to this house when I was too young to 
 remember anything. I was professed at fourteen, * 
 and in all these years I have not been outside of these 
 walls. Here I have lived, and here I will die and be 
 buried." 
 
 " But we must be obedient, you know, dear 
 mother," said Sister Filomena, trying to soothe her. 
 
 " Of course we must be obedient. I hope I know 
 that by this time ! " answered the old mother, rather 
 tartly. "All the same, I shall never leave these 
 walls. I shall be buried here." 
 
 " I cannot help hoping that the change will bene- 
 fit dear mother's health ! " said another sister. "She 
 has never been well since that dreadful night in the 
 vaults." 
 
 " I fear our dear reverend mother will never be 
 well again ! " said Mother Prudentia, shaking her 
 head. " She fails every day. I sometimes think 
 ahe will not live to see us settled in our new home." 
 
 * A nun would noi be received at this age in any order I am 
 acquainted wiih, uut «ttcii tilings were common enough at that 
 time in France. 
 
g6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " It will never be home without her," said Sister 
 Agnes, sadly. " How many times she has been 
 elected superior. No; I am sure no other place will 
 seem like home after we have lived here so long." 
 
 " So much the better for us, perhaps," returned 
 Mother Prudentia. " You know, my child, that we 
 are to have here no continuing city, but we seek one 
 to come." 
 
 " Still I cannot help hoping the change may do 
 good," said Sister Angela. "I sometimes fancy all 
 that water under the house may make it unhealthy. 
 I wonder if the new house stands in a high and airy 
 situation." 
 
 " It does, I know," said Amabel. 
 
 " Why, how should you know anything about it, 
 child ? " said Mother Prudentia, surprised. 
 
 " Lucie and I lived there before we came here," 
 answered Amabel. " The moment reverend mother 
 spoke the name, I remembered the place quite 
 well. It stands on a hill, and one can see a great 
 way. There are a good many rooms, and a flower 
 garden, with fountains and a terrace. I can recol- 
 lect that. But it is very much smaller than this 
 house." 
 
 " So much the better : I never do like to think of 
 these great empty halls and buildings, especially at 
 night!" said Sister Agnes, as Mother Prudentia 
 left us ; " one never can guess who or what may be 
 lurking in them." 
 
 " You had better not let Mother hear you say so, 
 or she will be sending you from one end of them to 
 
A Summons, 97 
 
 the other ! " remarked Sister Angela ; " if I dreaded 
 it as much as you do, I would force myself to do it 
 just for a mortification." To do something you par- 
 ticularly dislike, is a great point with some devout 
 nuns ; I have seen a sister ordered to pick up a spi- 
 der and let it run over her face, only because she 
 showed a disgust at the creature. This however, 
 was in the former Mother Assistant's time ; I don't 
 think Mother Prndentia was much given to such 
 performances. 
 
 I was naturally very much interested in the pros- 
 pect of seeing again the house where we had lived 
 on our first coming abroad. The name of Fleurs 
 had awakened in my mind certain dim recollections, 
 but it was as when one strives to recall a dream. 1 
 plied Amabel with questions, to most of which 1 
 received rather unsatisfactory answers, for though 
 her reminiscences were clearer than mine, they were 
 still those of a mere child. 
 
 In the excitement through which we had lately 
 passed, and the prospect of a change of residence — 
 not to mention our anxiety about dear Mother's 
 health — we had almost forgotten that we had or 
 were likely to have any other home than the con- 
 vent ; so that when one day in August, we were 
 summoned from our task of splitting apricots to 
 dry, to attend to the Superior, we thought of almost 
 anything, rather than a message from England. I 
 know my own mind was running on a very different 
 subject, namely, thinking that I had gone out of 
 bounds that very morning, having run down to the 
 
qS The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 end of the orchard after a rare butterfly, and won- 
 dering whether Mother had seen me. 
 
 We found the dear lady lying back in her great 
 chair, an unusual indulgence for her who usually 
 sat up straight as an arrow. She looked thin and 
 worn, and her hands were white and transparent 
 like alabaster ; but her wonderful eyes were as 
 bright as ever, and she had a lovely color in her 
 cheeks, which I in my ignorance, took for a sign of 
 returning health. She held an open letter in her 
 hand, and I fancied that she had been weeping. 
 We knelt and kissed her hand, and she gave us her 
 blessing as usual ; she then bade us to be seated on 
 two stools, one on each side of her, and laid a hand 
 on each of our heads. 
 
 " My dear children ! '* said she : " I have just 
 heard from Sir Julius Leighton." 
 
 We both started, and I forgot all about that 
 wicked butterfly. 
 
 " He tells me that being unable to come for you 
 himself, he has sent for you by the hands of a ship's 
 captain sailing from Newcastle, to bring you to 
 that town. From thence you will be sent to the 
 house of Sir Julius Leighton's sisters, who reside not 
 far from that place. It seems that this wortliy 
 man has brought his sister with him, in order that 
 you may have a female companion and guardian — 
 a measure which speaks well for him. Tliis good 
 woman will arrive to-night, and be our guest for 
 two or three days while your wardrobes are ])eiii,ir 
 got in order ; and it must be your business, my chil- 
 dren, to make hei" stay aa plenj?.ant as possible.'' 
 
A Summons. 99 
 
 We had neither of us spoken, of course, while this 
 address was being made, but the moment it was fin- 
 ished Amabel fell on her knees and burst into a 
 flood oi tears. 
 
 " Dear ivlotlicr, do not send us away among stran- 
 gers ! " s'lid she between her sobs ! " Let us live 
 and die here with you, and the mothers and sisters 
 we have known so long ; you are our only mother 
 on earth, do not send us away from you. " 
 
 The lady was affected even to tears ; and it was 
 some moments before she could command her voice 
 to speak. 
 
 " Dear child, it is not I who send you away ! " 
 said she at last: "I have no right to detain you 
 when your father demands your presence. Be calm, 
 my Aime^ ! I am not able to bear this agitation ; " 
 and indeed her changing color alarmed me. 
 
 Amabel made a desperate effort to control her- 
 self, and succeeded so far as to become quiet, though 
 she could not speak. 
 
 " I would indeed gladly see you both in the safe 
 shelter of the cloister : " continued dear Mother, 
 stroking Amabel's head, as she still knelt beside 
 her ; " but even that shelter is not always a protec- 
 tion in these days. But your father has the riglit 
 to dispose of you, and if he requires that you should 
 return to him you have no choice but to obey. It is 
 hard for me to part with you, my little ones, but the 
 parting must have come at any rate, since I must 
 soon leave you, even if you did not leave me." 
 
 " Dear Mother do not say so ! " 1 ventured to say. 
 
100 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " We all hope that the change will do yon good ; 
 everyone says that the new house is in a more 
 healthy situation than this." 
 
 " I shall remove to another house before that 
 cliange is made, my child ; — even to that house 
 which is not made with hands. But do not let it 
 grieve you over-much. To me it is a joyful pros- 
 pect, especially as I shall leave the little flock I have 
 ruled so long, in comparative ease and safety. But 
 now listen, my little ones, to the last words I may 
 be able to say to you — for my strength may fail at 
 any time, and I believe my end to be nearer than 
 Father Brousseau thinks." 
 
 She then proceeded to give us much advice 
 regarding our future conduct — excellent, I am sure, 
 from her own way of looking at things, though some 
 of it was quite impossible to any one living in the 
 world. But most of it was very good, and has 
 always been of use to me ; and I may say liere that 
 since I have myself had the ordering of a family of 
 young people, I have found the advantage of many 
 things I learned under our dear mother's rule — such 
 as the habit of doing everything in the exact time 
 of it, and not letting one duty, as it were, tread on 
 the heels of another. At St. Jean when the bell 
 struck the hour of recreation, all work must be 
 dropped on the instant ; and the same was true of 
 our play. One might think this would be often very 
 inconvenient, but knowing that it must be so, one 
 learned to make one's arrangements accordingly, 
 and thus much time was saved. Then we acquired 
 
A Summons, loi 
 
 habit? of neatness and order, to do even the least 
 thing in the best way, and turn everything to the 
 best account. Many a child's garment have I seen 
 got out of bits of linen or flannel, that an ordinary 
 English housewife would throw away ; many a warm 
 and even pretty rug, for the feet of an invalid or an 
 old person. And if the girls in our school can darn 
 a rent, or put on a patch, or work a heel into a 
 wornout stocking, better than anybody in the duchy, 
 — ^though I say it that shouldn't, — it is owing at 
 second hand to the teaching of dear Mother Pru- 
 dentia. 
 
 Of course, Amabel and I waited with no little 
 impatience for the arrival of our traveling compan- 
 ion. She came about three o'clock, and was kindly 
 received and lodged in the most comfortable place 
 the sisters could prepare for her, while Amabel and 
 myself waited on her. She was a very good speci- 
 men of a middle-class English woman — ^fat and fair, 
 with a clear, rosy complexion, and undeniably red 
 hair, which, nevertheless, was both pretty and be- 
 coming. She was about forty years old, and had a 
 frank, motherly way with her which made me take 
 to her at once. She looked a good deal surprised 
 and rather awe-stricken at the strange place in which 
 she found herself, but she responded with all due 
 politeness to the apologies which Sister Agnes made 
 concerning her lodgings, and which we translated 
 to her as well as we could — ^for though Mrs. Thorpe 
 could speak French after a fashion, she did not 
 understand it well. 
 
I02 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " My dears, do ask the good lady not to trovbi^ 
 herself," said she, at last. " What is good enough 
 for her is certainly good enough for any one like 
 me. I am a sailor's wife anyhow, and used to rough- 
 ing it in all sorts of ways.'' 
 
 Sister Agnes was finally satisfied, and took her 
 departure ; and Mrs. Thorpe sat down on the side 
 of the narrow bed and began to unpack the great 
 bag she had brought in her hand. 
 
 " Your father has sent you each a purse of 
 money/' said she, ^ :!lucing them; "there ought to 
 be five ^ lineas in each ; count them and see. 
 Always count money as soon as you receive it. Is it 
 all right ? " 
 
 We satisfied her on this point. What a wonder- 
 ful novelty it seemed to have some money of our 
 own. 
 
 " I am to provide you new clothes, and all you 
 want for your journey," continued Mrs. Thorpe ; 
 " but I think, if you will allow me to judge, that 
 you had better not buy a great deal in Toulon, as 
 fashions are so different here and in England, and 
 I fancy my ladies, your aunts, will not much relish 
 French ways." 
 
 We professed ourselves anxious oi being guided 
 by Mrs. Thorpe's judgment in all things, and Ama- 
 bel asked : 
 
 " Do you know my aunts, madame ? " 
 
 "Why, no, not to say know them. They are 
 great ladies, you see, and I am but a seaman's 
 widow, keeping a shop for laces and small wares in 
 
A Siimmons. 103 
 
 Newcastle. But they have been in my shop, so 
 that I know them well by sight. My dears," she 
 added, abruptly changing the subject, as she pulled 
 cub from her bag — which seemed to have no bottom 
 — a couple of bulky parcels, " just see ! I have ven- 
 tured to bring the lady of the house — I don't know 
 what to call her " — 
 
 " The mother superior," said I. 
 
 " Well, I have taken the liberty, not knowing ex- 
 actly what :ihe would like, to bring her a parcel of 
 coffee and loaf sugar. Do you think she would be 
 offended at the liberty ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! " said I. " Dear mother is never 
 offended when any one wishes to please her, and I 
 am very glad you have brought the things. Sister 
 Lazarus was saying only yesterday how much she 
 wished she had some coffee to tempt Mother Supe- 
 rior, for she hardly eats anything at all. 
 
 " Then I am in the nick of time ; but, excuse me, 
 my dears, why did not Sister Lazarus — it seems a 
 queer name for a woman — why did not she send and 
 buy some coffee, if the lady wished for it. When a 
 delicate person takes a fancy for some particular 
 thing to eat, 'tis always best to supply it at once, 
 before they change their minds." 
 
 " She would have been glad to do so, but she had 
 no money, I believe," I answered. " We are a very 
 poor community nowadays. I heard Motlier Bursar 
 say slic should have no more money till slie sold 
 ber oil. 
 
 *'La('k-a-day, poor thing! But in that case me* 
 
f04 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 thinks I would sell some of those grand vases and 
 things I saw in the church," said Mrs. Thorpe with 
 decision. " However, that is no business of mine. 
 I am glad you think the things won't come umlss. 
 And is the poor lady very ill ?" 
 
 " Father Brousseau thinks she will never be well !" 
 said Amabel sadly. 
 
 "Poor thing! But no doubt she is prepared to go, 
 and the change will be a blessed one. From what 
 you say I should think she must be a good Christian 
 according to her lights, and a man is accepted 
 according to what he hath and not according to 
 what he hath not." 
 
 Amabel and I looked at each other surprised and 
 half offended, while the good woman talked on, un- 
 conscious of offence, asking many questions and 
 making many shrewd remarks. We left her at last 
 to rest a little before supper, and retired by ourselves 
 to compare notes on our new acquaintance. 
 
 "Well, what do you think about her?" I asked, 
 
 "I like her," said Amabel with decision. " She is 
 not like our sisters here, of course, but T think she 
 is good and kind." 
 
 "Yes, it was nice in her to bring mother the coffee 
 and sugar, and to give us these things," said I, ex- 
 amining the pretty and convenient "equipages " for 
 the pocket which Mrs. Thorpe had presented to us. 
 " But I did not like the way she spoke about dear 
 mother." 
 
 " She is a Protestant, you know, and I suppose our 
 ways are as strange to her as hers are to us," replied 
 
A Summons. 105 
 
 Amabel. " Of course if they think they are right 
 they must believe we are wrong." 
 
 " But, Amabel, it seems that your aunts are Prot- 
 estants," said I, for Mrs. Thorpe had told us as 
 much. "How shall we get on with them?" 
 
 " It will be time enough to decide that when we 
 . are there," replied Amabel. " I don't think Protests 
 ants are all bad, Lucy. My mother was one, and so 
 was yours, and I am sure she never taught us any- 
 thing that was not good." 
 
 "Mother Superior says no Protestants will be 
 saved except by reason of their invincible ignorance," 
 I remarked, "or unless they are capable of acts of 
 pure love to God, which are very difficult even to 
 good Catholics. And besides, Amabel, our ^examina- 
 tion of conscience' says it is a betrayal of the Cath- 
 olic Church to say that all religions are good, and 
 that a man may be saved in one as well as another, 
 and that it is a great sin even to read a heretical 
 book or hear a heretical preacher. Now suppose 
 that your aunts should insist on our going to the 
 English Church with her— what shall we do ?" 
 
 "We shall see when the time comes," said Ama- 
 bel "I never found much use in making up my 
 mind beforehand. Either the thing you expect never 
 comes, or else it comes in such a different way that 
 all your preparations are of no use at all." 
 
 This was Amabel's way, and has been all her life, 
 and certainly it has seemed to serve her very well. 
 1 have never seen any one pass through with so little 
 of what we call fretting. She has had many serious 
 
I06 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 troubles, but very few worries, while I must confess 
 I have generally had my troubles three times over — 
 before they came, while they lasted, and after they 
 were gone. 
 
 After supper Mother Prudentia came to us with a 
 very grave and sad face. 
 
 " The English lady is to go to Mother Superior, in 
 her own room, at once," said she. 
 
 " In her own room V I repeated, very much sur- 
 prised. The "Community Rooms" in a convent are 
 sacred from any profane foot, so that one may be a 
 pupil in such a house a dozen years and never enter 
 them. The peculiar circumstances of our family 
 had placed Amabel and myself on a somewhat dif- 
 ferent footing from ordinary pupils, so that we were 
 treated rather as postulants, but even we had never 
 been in the rooms which opened from the Superior's 
 parlor. 
 
 "Yes," answered the mother sadly. " Dear Mother 
 Superior is not able to go any farther than the outer 
 room. She tried going to the parlor but she was 
 not able. I fear she will never descend those stairs 
 again. You may call madame — I cannot say her 
 name for my life — and lead her to madame's room." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe was walking with Sister Agnes in the 
 flower-garden. It was this sister's office to attend 
 upon guests, and I think she was well pleased with 
 having a chance to exercise it once more. She could 
 not understand Mrs. Thorpe's French much better 
 Ihan her English, but happily they were both devoted 
 to flowers, and the language of sympathy and admi* 
 ration are much the same all over the world 
 
A Summons. 107 
 
 We explained to Mrs. Thorpe that she was to go 
 with us to the Superior, and led her througli the 
 long hall and up the great stairs to the lady's room. 
 
 "What a great castle of a place!" said Mrs. 
 Thorpe, looking round her and speaking in a half 
 whisper. "Where do all these doors go to ?" 
 
 " To different rooms and cells, I believe," replied 
 Amabel. "I do not think any of them are used at 
 present. A great deal more than half the house is 
 shut up. See, this is Mother Superior's door." 
 
 Amabel scratched on the door with her nails as 
 our convent fashion was, and it was opened to us by 
 Mother Prudentia. The Superior received Mrs. 
 Thorpe very graciously ; it was not in her nature to 
 be otherwise than kind even to a heretic. Mrs. 
 Thorpe was evidently greatly impressed, and some- 
 what awe struck with the lady's dignity — neverthe- 
 less she conducted herself toward lier with a kind 
 gf respectful frank independence, which made me 
 like her all the more. They had quite a long con- 
 versation, Amabel interpreting where it was need- 
 ful. Among other things, the Superior asked Mrs. 
 Thorpe to promise that she would in no way influ- 
 ence us in matters of religion. 
 
 " That I cannot promise, because it may not be 
 in my power, my lady ! " answered Mrs. Tliorpe 
 frankly : " I will promise so much as this, that I 
 ,vill enter into no arguments with the young ladies, 
 for which indeed, I am no ways qualified, being but 
 a plain woman with only wit enough to read my 
 Bible, and do my duty in that state pi life to which 
 
loS The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 it has pleased God to call me. But I strive as a 
 Christian woman to rule my household in the fear 
 of God, and according to the lights He has given 
 me. If these young ladies should be my guests for 
 a time, I can only promise to be as faithful to them 
 as I would have been to my own girls, if the Lord 
 had spared them to me." 
 
 This pledge which Amabel faithfully translated, 
 seemed to give dear mother more satisfaction than 
 I should have expected. I think she was so near 
 the Eternal gates, that the light was already shin- 
 ing for her, which makes all things plain. Mother 
 Prddentia was called out at this moment, and there 
 was a little silence. 
 
 " She ought not to talk any more ! " whispered 
 Mrs. Thorpe ; " she is tired out now." 
 
 The words were not out of her mouth, before 
 dear Mother fainted entirely away. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed! It is but a fainting-fit," 
 said Mrs. Thorpe, catching her in her arms, laying 
 her back in her chair and applying to her nose a 
 smelling-bottle, which she took from her pocket — 
 all in the space of an instant. Run one of you, and 
 bring some wine or strong waters, and call one of 
 the ladies — ^you, my dear, open the window and help 
 me to loosen her dress." 
 
 As we unloosed her girdle and opened her dress, 
 I saw that she wore a sharp cross on her bosom and 
 that her undergarment was of the roughest woolen, 
 which must have been very irritating and distress- 
 ing in hot weather. I glanced at Mrs. Thorpe, and 
 
A Summons, 16$ 
 
 saw a look of anger and disgust on her honest 
 face. 
 
 " Poor thing, poor thing ! " she muttered : " as if 
 she could not trust the Lord to send her all the 
 trouble she needed, without making more for her^ 
 self ; they must needs be wise, above what is writ- 
 ten — there, don't cry, my dear, she is coming to 
 herself. See, her lips are getting quite a color, 
 poor lady." 
 
 Mother Prudentia now appeared, and with her 
 help Mother Superior was so far revived as to be 
 moved to her bed. Father Brousseau had come 
 home by that time, and was at once called in to see 
 her. 
 
 " It is the beginning of the end ! " said he, as he 
 came out of the room : " we shall hear the cry at 
 midnight. Behold the Bridegroom cometh ; let all 
 be in readiness to receive Him." 
 
 We had our usual recreation after supper, but no 
 one cared for the merriment which generally took 
 place at that hour. The sisters walked up and 
 down in threes and fours — it was against our rules 
 for two to walk together — weeping and talking or 
 entering the little Lady chapel, which stood in the 
 grounds, to say a prayer before the altar, where 
 was an image of the Virgin which had worked mira- 
 cles in its time. This little chapel had been en- 
 tirely forgotten at the time of the robbery, and had 
 been also overlooked and left untouched by the rob- 
 bers ; a circumstance which was considered a mira- 
 cle in itself, and brought the image into greater 
 
no The Foster-sisters, 
 
 favor than ever. And by the way, if the worship is 
 paid not to the image, but to the person whom it 
 represents, I wonder why some images of the Vir- 
 gin are so much more sought after than others. 
 
 We walked in the garden with Mrs. Thorpe, 
 showed her different places about the house, and 
 told her the story of the midnight assault. 
 
 " And what will be done with the robbers ! " said 
 she. 
 
 " None of them have been taken ! " I answered. 
 " They say the whole thing will be hushed up, because 
 a noble family is mixed up in it. And we think — 
 Amabel and I do, " I added in a whisper ; " that it 
 was the young Count who was drowned in the 
 vaults ; we heard him talking when he was here 
 before with his uncle, and he had such a curious 
 hoarse voice. I am sure it was the same.'* 
 
 " Served him right ! " said Mrs. Thorpe indig- 
 nantly : " Pretty doings ! a family of ladies are set 
 upon in their own house, and made to hide like rats 
 in a damp musty hole, where one at least has got 
 her death; and it is to be hushed up, forsooth, 
 because a noble family is mixed up in it ? Well ! 
 there, I won't say a word " — as Amabel put her fin- 
 ger on her lip — " but only this to free my mind. I 
 can tell you what, my maids ; sometime or other 
 there will be a fearful uprising against the nobles 
 and rulers of this land. It may not come in our day, 
 but it will surely come. What is that for \ " as the 
 bell struck its accustomed signal. 
 
A Summons. in 
 
 We told her it was for the evening service, and 
 asked her to attend. Father Brousseau came him- 
 self to invite her, but she declined. 
 
 " I am not sure that I should be able to join in 
 the worship with a clear conscience, and I should 
 not like to offend the good ladies by sitting a mere 
 looker on 1 " said she : " with your leave I will 
 remain here." 
 
 " All Protestants are not so scrupulous as your- 
 self ! " said Father Brousseau : " I have seen them 
 not only spectators of our services, but very irrever- 
 ent, and even noisy ones." 
 
 " They are not of my mind, then ! " said Mrs. 
 Thorpe : " I have seen the same thing in my travels, 
 and been disgusted with it." 
 
 We went into the church, and left Mrs. Thorpe 
 to amuse herself in the garden. 
 
 By half past eight, as our rule was, we were all 
 in bed, except the sister at her post in the chapel, 
 and Mother Frudentia and Sister Filomena (who 
 was one of the tenderest and most skillful of nurses), 
 who watched with Mother Superior. The priest 
 was right ; about midnight we were all called to 
 our dear Mother's room. The door of her cell was 
 open, and we all stood or knelt in the outer room, 
 while the priest administered the last rites of the 
 Church. The Superior was supported in Mother 
 Prudentia's arms, breathing in soft sighs, but not 
 seeming to suffer ; we watched her, as it seemed, a 
 long time after the rites were concluded ; her face 
 was peaceful, and we could not be sure whether she 
 
112 The Foster-Sisiers, 
 
 breathed or not. At last she roused herself, turned 
 her head toward us, smiled, and raised her hand as 
 in blessing ; it fell ; the dear eyes closed, and the 
 voice of the priest pronouncing the last solemn 
 words, told us all was over. We joined in the last 
 prayers, and then withdrew from the chamber of 
 death ; to spend the night in watching, or to cry 
 ourselves to sleep. 
 
 The weather was too warm for the funeral to be 
 delayed, and the Bishop himself came to celebrate 
 it on the third day. I never saw a man so changed 
 in so short a time ; all his patronizing pompous 
 fussiness was gone ; his face was pale and sunken, 
 and he looked in every way like a man who was not 
 long for this world. I caught myself wondering 
 whether he and dear Mother would not have served 
 God just as well if they had married, and brought 
 up a family, as Mrs. Thorpe had told us many 
 English bishops did ; but I put away the thought as 
 blasphemous, and said several extra Hail Marys, by 
 way of penance. It did not occur to me, to think 
 that it was not very complimentary to her, to make 
 an address to her an instrument for punishing 
 myself. 
 
 The dear lady was laid in the cemetery, amidst 
 the dust of those who had gone before her for hun- 
 dreds of years. The next day the sisters held an 
 election and, as every one expected. Mother Pruden- 
 tia was made Superior. I am sure a better choice 
 could not have been made on the whole, though I 
 do not believe she would ever rule the household as 
 
A Summons. IT3 
 
 the late mother had done. She herself shrank 
 from the responsibility, and earnestly wished that 
 Sister Filomena might be chosen ; but " ask noth- 
 ing, refuse nothing," is the rule in convents (at 
 least it was in ours) and she could not decline. 
 
 It was on the evening of this day, that Amabel 
 and I were very busily at work. Mrs. Thorpe was 
 in the still-room with Sister Agnes, learning and 
 imparting wonderful secrets concerning the making 
 of Hungary and Elder flower waters, and I know 
 not what else. She was improving rapidly in the 
 matter of French, for she would speak it right or 
 wrong, laughing at her own blunders, when Sister 
 Agnes was too polite to do so. With the other sis- 
 ters she had little or no intercourse except by bows 
 and smiles ; I think they looked upon her as some 
 half-tamed animal, allowed to run at large, but not 
 exactly safe after all. Father Brousseau had once 
 or twice tried to draw her into an argument, but 
 without success. At least he asked her the favor- 
 ite question, which is considered a knock down by 
 Roman Catholics. " Where was the Protestant 
 church two hundred years ago ? " 
 
 "Will your Reverence allow me to ask you a 
 question in my turn ? " asked Mrs. Thorpe quietly, 
 but with a smile lurking in her eyes. 
 
 " Certainly ! " answered the father. 
 
 " Suppose then, that one of your flock — a simple 
 unlearned woman like myself — should be thrown in 
 with a very learned and eloquent Protestant clergy- 
 man, who should strive to draw her into an argu- 
 ment — what would you advise her to do ? " 
 
114 '^f^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Tlie good priest smiled in spite of himself. 
 
 " But suppose I had the best ol t he argument, 
 would not that convince you ? " he asked. 
 
 " It would convince me that your Reverence was 
 much more skillful in argument than myself, " was 
 the answer : " and I am quite ready to admit that? 
 now." 
 
 " But since you do admit that T am more learned^ 
 than yourself, ought not that to make my argu- 
 ments of weight to you ? " 
 
 " Well ! I do not know about that. I suppose, your 
 Reverence, that the poor people who thronged to 
 hear St. Peter and St. John, were not nearly so 
 learned as Gamaliel, and the other Pharisees ; but 
 they were not greatly influenced by them after 
 all. " 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe spoke with such respectful frank- 
 ness, that it was impossible to be offended with her. 
 The priest glanced at us girls, who with eyes de- 
 murely cast down, were listening with all our ears, 
 shrugged his shoulders, offered his snuff-box, and 
 gave the matter up. I often thought of this little 
 scene afterwards, when the relations came to be so 
 changed between these two good people. But all this 
 is by the way, and I have wandered far from the 
 thread of my story, which I fear is but a tangled 
 skein at the best. 
 
 Amabel and I were sitting, as I said, with a trame 
 between us, finishing a wonderful bit of needle lace, 
 an article for which our house was famous. It was 
 Saturday, and on Monday we were to leave the old 
 
A Summons. 1I5 
 
 house which had been our home so long. We were 
 very silent and sewed with great diligence, for we 
 were desirous of finishing our work, which was des- 
 tined for some church adornment — I forget what. 
 Presently Sister Angela appeared at the door and 
 mysteriously beckoned to us. 
 
 ''What does she want?'* said I, pettishly enough. 
 "We shall have no more than enough day-light to 
 finish our work, and we never can do it by lamp- 
 light." However, it was my business to obey, and 
 I followed Amabel who had already risen. Sister 
 Angela led us into a disused storeroom and closed 
 the door. 
 
 "Are you really going away with that heretic 
 woman, and to that dreadful England V she asked 
 of Amabel in a whisper. 
 
 "I suppose so," said Amabel. "My father has 
 sent for us, and we have no choice." 
 
 " But is your father a Catholic ?" asked the sister. 
 "Are you sure ?" 
 
 " I suppose so. Why ?" 
 
 "Well, I do not believe he is — not a good one. 
 Madame Thorpe herself told Sister Agnes that he 
 sometimes went to the English Church." 
 
 "Perhaps he has a dispensation," said I. 
 
 "Well, at all events these ladies to whom you are 
 going are heretics. There is no doubt of that." 
 
 "I suppose not," said Amabel, "but they may not 
 interfere with our religion." 
 
 " They will. They cannot help it. They will try 
 in #vory way to pervert you. Besides, you will be 
 
tl6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 deprived of the sacraments — you will be perverted 
 and lose your souls. Oh, my children, don't go." 
 
 " But we must," said Amabel. 
 
 "You need not if you will listen. Suppose you 
 declare to take the veil and remain here. This 
 woman has no force wherewith to take you away, 
 and she will have to go without you. Then if your 
 father should send again you could be hidden in 
 some place about the building, or sent away to some 
 other house where he would never find you." 
 
 I looked at Amabel in decided alarm, thinking 
 that if she staid I must stay too, and not disposed to 
 lose the prospect of change, which was growing 
 more and more attractive every day. 
 
 " But would that be right ?" asked Amabel. " I 
 think I ought to obey my father." 
 
 "Not if he is a heretic," said Sister Angela. 
 
 "You don't know certainly that he is," said I. 
 
 "And, besides, how many nuns have taken the 
 veil against the wishes of their nearest and dearest 
 friends," added Sister Agnes triumphantly. " Think 
 how St. Agnes left her father's house and ran away 
 to St. Francis in the middle of the night. Think of 
 tlie blessed Mother de Chantal, the friend of St, 
 Francis de Sales — how she left her children — and, 
 though her eldest son threw himself prostrate on the 
 door-siii, beseeching his mother with tears and cries, 
 she stepped over his body and went her way as 
 calmly as if nothing had happened." 
 
 There must have been some influence emanating 
 from Mrs. Thorpe after all, for though I had been 
 
A Summons. 117 
 
 brought up to think the Mother de Chantal a model 
 of all excellence, I began to conceive a disgust for 
 her directly — I can't say that I have ever got over it. 
 
 Amabel did not say a word while Sister Angela 
 went on urging the example of one saint after an- 
 other, till she was stopped by sheer want of breath. 
 Then Amabel asked — 
 
 " Does Mother Superior know of this plan V 
 
 " No, I have not mentioned it to her," answered 
 Sister Angela, taken rather aback. "I thought I 
 would see how you took it first." 
 
 "Then, if you please, we will say no more about 
 it," said Amabel, " at least not till you have consulted 
 her. I will consider the matter and then I shall 
 know how to act. Come, Lucy, we must finish our 
 task before dark." 
 
 We sat down to our frame and worked for an hour 
 without saying a word. Then I looked up and, 
 catching Amabel's eye, I saw in a moment that her 
 mind was made up. 
 
 <'Well!" said I. 
 
 "I shall do nothing of the kind," said Amabel, 
 answering my unspoken question. " Did not Mother 
 Superior say that it was our duty to obey Sir Julius ?" 
 
 "Yes, I know she did." 
 
 "Sister Angela had no right either to propose 
 such a thing unknown to Mother Prudentia — Mother 
 Superior, I mean," pursued Amabel. "She and 
 Bome of the others think they can take liberties 
 now. They may find themselves mistaken." 
 
 *'But would you wish to stay?" I asked. "For 
 
Ii8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 my part, I confess, I want to know what the world ia 
 like." 
 
 " Mother Superior would have said that was like 
 wishing to eat of the fruit of the knowledge of good 
 and evil," returned Amabel, smiling gravely. " No, 
 I don't think I want to stay now. I wish to see my 
 father, and my little brother, and step-mother. 
 Besides, the Bible itself says 'Children obey your 
 parents.' ' Don't you know we read that in Father 
 Brousseau's big book ?" 
 
 "But if the Church teaches, and of course it 
 must or Mother de Chantal and St. Agnes would not 
 have done it," I began, but Amabel interrupted me. 
 
 "I don't like to look two ways at once, it only 
 puzzles me. There, our work is finished — ^the last 
 we shall do in this house. Does it not seem strange? 
 Come, let us carry it to Mother Sacristine, and then 
 I want to speak to Mrs. Thorpe." 
 
 Mother Sacristine praised our work to the skies, 
 and lamented, as much as Sister Agnes had done, 
 over our going away. 
 
 " If you were only of age — but when you are, you 
 can come back, you know. I don't believe but it 
 might be managed now. There are plenty of hiding- 
 places where no one would ever find you." 
 
 We glanced at each other, but said nothing, and 
 betook ourselves to look for Mrs. Thorpe. 
 
 " They are all in it ! " said Amabel. 
 
 " I see they are," returned I. " It frightens me. 
 What if they should keep us here ? " 
 
 " There is no use in being frightened," said Ama* 
 
A Summons, iig 
 
 bel, composed as usual. " Wait and see. I have a 
 strong feeling that Mother Superior will not approve ; 
 and if she does not, I would not be in their shoes." 
 
 We found Mrs. Thorpe in her little cell, busily 
 writing something in her pocket-book. 
 
 " Mrs. Thorpe, is my father a Catholic ? " asked 
 Amabel, going to the point, as usual. 
 
 " My dear, that is more than I can tell you," 
 answered Mrs. Thorpe. "His father and mother 
 were so, and he was brought up in that way. My 
 own impression is that he is not much of anything." 
 
 "You do not mean that he has no religion at all !" 
 said Amabel, startled. 
 
 " If he hasn't, he is not the only one, — more's the 
 pity say I," answered the good woman. " But in 
 England just now, as I understand is the case here, 
 a great many fine gentlemen profess infidelity just 
 as they carry clouded canes and tortoise shell snuff- 
 boxes. But your aunts, your mother's sisters, are 
 very religious ladies, in their way, and keep their 
 church regularly — so my sister-in-law tells me, who 
 lives in the same parish." 
 
 " Shall we have to go to church with them ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Corbet, if I were you I would 
 leave that to settle itself," replied Mrs. Thorpe. 
 " You cannot tell just how you may find things, and 
 there is no use in borrowing trouble. ' Sufficient 
 unto the day is the evil thereof.' " 
 
 " That is what I always tell Lucy," said Amabel, 
 " but she picks out her knots a do^en times before 
 
I20 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 she comes to tliem, or they are made at all. But 
 what a nice proverb that is you repeated. Please 
 say it again." 
 
 " Proverb, child ! why, 'tis in the Gospel. Our 
 Lord himself said it. '• SufTicient unto the day is 
 the evil thereof.' Lay it to heart, my dears. It will 
 save you a great deal of trouble." 
 
 I never knew how or when Sister Angela pro- 
 pounded her notable plan to Mother Superior, but I 
 can make a good guess that it was that very after- 
 noon, for she appeared at the table with very red 
 cheeks and all the sisters were so very meek and 
 silent that I fancy they had got what Mrs. Thorpe 
 would have called a wigging at " obedience." Mother 
 Superior never mentioned the matter to us, and of 
 course we never said anything to her. Not but she 
 might have considered all fair in the cause of the 
 church, and the saving of souls, but I think she 
 naturally revolted at anything underhanded, and, 
 besides, our community had too recently emerged 
 from a heavy cloud of disgrace and danger to run 
 any such risk as would have been incurred by the 
 spiriting -away of two English girls of good family 
 at that time. 
 
 Sunday passed as rapidly as last days always do. 
 On Monday the carriage bespoken by Mrs. Thorpe 
 came to the door. We bade a tearful farewell to 
 our old friends and home, and parted from them 
 forever. 
 
 And in this place I may as well say what I fchink 
 about convent life. 1 ^m far from believing all the 
 
A Summons, 121 
 
 scandalous tales that are told, though one may learn 
 from the writings of Roman Catholic authors, as 
 well as from the history of Mother Angelique her- 
 self, what disorders have sometimes existed in them. 
 But I do say the whole system is an unnatural and, 
 therefore, an unhealthy one, and it is liable to great 
 abuses. Here is one of them : A young girl just 
 leaving school, knowing nothing of the world — 
 especially if she be a French girl — is invited to 
 make a retreat. What does that mean ? It means 
 confinement — voluntary, no doubt, in most cases, 
 but still confinement — in a darkened room, witK 
 just light enough to see to read. It means absence 
 of all ordinary occupation, shortened hours of rest, 
 and long fasts. Some book like the " Meditations 
 of St. Ignatius " is put into her hands, full of the 
 grossest and most terrible material images of death 
 and hell. They talk about the ranting of the 
 Methodists, and I won't deny that the local preach- 
 ers and exhorters go too far in this direction at 
 tinies, but I never met with one who would dare to 
 say as much as this famous saint, or as some 
 catechisms do. The decay of the body after death, 
 with all attendant horrors, real or imaginary, is a 
 favorite theme. " You will become that for which 
 there is no name in any language ! " says St. Igna- 
 tius.* Then come pictures of purgatory and hell, 
 wrought up to the highest pitch, and then — the poor, 
 tired, hysterical young creature is invited to pause 
 and seriously consider her vocation in life. Is it 
 
 * Bossuet has the same phrase. I don't know who stole ik 
 
122 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 any wonder that she decides for that vocation which 
 is set before lier as the one of certain safety ? Is it 
 any wonder either that the excitement over, she 
 should too often find that she has made a horrible 
 mistake ? 
 
 I think the peculiar circumstances under which 
 we were placed had their effect in elevating the char- 
 acters of our sisters ; and yet, looking back, I can 
 see what a petty world we lived in — a world, too, 
 which had its envies and jealousies even as the great 
 one. Whoever goes into a convent carries his flesh 
 with him. No walls have ever been contrived to 
 shut out the devil, and where these two are, be sure 
 the third partner — the world — is not far away. The 
 Lord surely knew what He was about when he set 
 people in families, and created the dear ties of hus- 
 band and wife, parent and child, brother and sister. 
 Our Lord Himself lived not in a convent — as He 
 might have done it seems, for Mr. Wesley has told 
 me there were convents, or at least brotherhoods, in 
 those days — but in a family, and a working family 
 at that. One of the very few pictures of Him I ever 
 saw that I liked, is a little print Mother Superior 
 gave me long ago, and which I have still, represent- 
 ing the young Jesus holding a skein of yarn for 
 His mother, just as Judith Postlethwate often does 
 for me. 
 
 There are some good things to be said for convent 
 schools, as I have remarked before. They take good 
 care, so far as I have observed, of their pupils* 
 health ; they teach them to be neat, tidy, and puno- 
 
A Summons, 123 
 
 ttttfcl- &11 of which are very good things. I am sure 
 of one thing I would not send a child to a small- 
 pox hospital unless I wished it to catch the small- 
 pox, and I would not send a girl to a convent school 
 if i had any objesstion to her taking the veiL 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 FLIGHT FROM THE NEST. 
 
 SHALL never forget my sensations when 
 I felt myself fairly outside the convent 
 walls. Though I had lived in France six- 
 teen years and more, I had never seen more of it than 
 was visible from the window of the little room over 
 the porch — the only one to which we had access 
 which opened on the outside world. How different 
 the building looked from the outside. I had never 
 even known of the existence of the two round 
 towers at the outer corners, since only their pinna- 
 cles were visible from the court, and these I had 
 always supposed to be on the roof itself. 
 
 " Why, Amabel, did you know those towers were 
 there ? " I exclaimed. 
 
 " No," answered Amabel ; " and what is that lit- 
 tle building that joins on the church ? " 
 
 " Perhaps it is the cell in which Sister Marie des 
 Anges lived so many years. Don't you remember 
 mother assistant telling us the story ? " 
 
 " Who was she ? " asked Mrs. Thorpe, glad to see 
 us a little diverted from our grief. 
 
 " She was a very holy lady who once belonged to 
 
 (124) 
 
Flight from the Nest. 125 
 
 our house a great while ago — a hundred years, I 
 dare say," replied Amabel, "^he lost her mother 
 when she was about sixteen, and she had a great 
 vocation. Her father, who had several younger 
 children, would not consent to her entering a con- 
 vent, thinking she ought to take care of her little 
 brothers and sisters. So she shut herself up in a 
 room at home, and would not eat with the family, 
 or see any of them if she could help it, and she 
 slept on the floor and wore sackcloth. At last her 
 father died, and she could do as she pleased ; so she 
 built a little cell opening from the church, and 
 caused herself to be bricked up in it with but one 
 window, opening to the church, and there she lived 
 — never coming out, or washing her face, or chang- 
 ing her clothes, till they were all worn out." 
 
 " She must have been a pleasant neighbor ! " in- 
 terrupted Mrs. Thorpe. " I should have liked a seat 
 on the other side of the church myself. In England 
 we think cleanliness is next to godliness. But how 
 did this pious lady spend her time ? " 
 
 " In prayer, mostly," answered Amabel ; " but 
 she used to work beautiful lace and sell it for the 
 benefit of the house." * 
 
 " I should not like to be the one to wear it," re- 
 sponded Mrs. Thorpe, who did not seem to admire 
 this saintly personage at all. " You have told the 
 
 * I beg pardon of the Canadians f 01 transplanting to another 
 time and place this paragon, who really belongs to them. Her 
 biographer remarks that she was exercised with a perpetual 
 aridity of spirit. No wonder 1 
 
126 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 story very nicely, my dear. Shall I tell you a tale 
 of one of my saints V^ 
 
 " Oh ! do, if you please ! " said both together, and 
 Amabel added : " I did not know Protestants had 
 saints." 
 
 "Oh, yes, we have them, but they are rather differ- 
 ent. Well, this young maid, like yours, was bereft 
 of her mother when she was seventeen, and she had 
 four little brothers and sisters. Her father was a 
 clergyman — you know Protestant clergy marry — 
 and very poor. This young lady had been taught 
 by her mother, who was a well-educated lady. She 
 had most of the care of the family, for her father 
 had a large parish, and very little means, so that he 
 was obliged to till a piece of land to help out the 
 living. So my young maid — her name was Mary, 
 too, — heard her brother's Latin accidence, and so on 
 till he was ready to go to a foundation school, where 
 he got an Oxford scholarship, and was made a pro- 
 fessor or master, I don't know just what they call it. 
 Another brother got a berth on a good ship, and now 
 commands a fine vessel of his own. Of her two 
 sisters, one keeps a girls' school at Gateshead, where 
 she has brought up many fine girls to be blessings 
 to their families. The other married a sailor, who, 
 after many prosperous voyages was cast away in 
 sight of his own home ; and now she keeps a shop, 
 where all the fine ladies about come to buy laces, 
 and gloves, and sweet waters, and oftentimes to 
 learn embroidery stitches and the like. My saint 
 herself lived to lay her honored father's head in the 
 
Flight fro7n the Nest, 127 
 
 grave, and to see every one of his children doing 
 well in all ways, and then she went home to her 
 well-earned rest. Yes, indeed, my Mary, my more 
 than mother ! — thou dost rest from thy labors, and 
 thy works do follow thee ! " 
 
 " That is my saint, girls," said Mrs. Thorpe, after 
 a little pause ; " how do you like her ? " 
 
 " I think she was lovely! ^^ said Amabel, with enthu- 
 siasm, " and all the better because she did not choose 
 her own work. It was just as if God himself set 
 her a task, was it not ?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear Mrs. Amabel, God sets us all tasks, 
 if we would but see them." 
 
 "And was this lady your sister ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, my oldest sister ; and if I ever 
 have done any good in this world, it is owing to her. 
 I will show you her picture at home. A traveling 
 artist drew it for us. But it was odd you should 
 never have known of this cell," said Mrs. Thorpe, 
 returning to Amabel's tale. " Does it not open to 
 the church now ? " 
 
 " No ; I believe she was built up in it after she 
 died. But there are a great many places about our 
 house that we never saw." 
 
 " That is what I don't like — I mean all that mys- 
 tery!" — said Mrs. Thorpe. "I like things to be 
 open and above board. Not that I mean to say one 
 word about the ladies in the house we have left, who 
 have been most kind, I am sure. I am only thinking 
 what chances all this concealment gives to wicked or 
 tyrannical persons. Suppose a nun misbehaves, or 
 
128 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 is thought to do so. She disappears, and word goes 
 that she is sick. By and by it is said that she is 
 dead. But who knows what has become of her?" 
 
 " But such things would never happen in a religious 
 house " said I, half offended. 
 
 " My dear, human nature is a poor creature, as 
 my dear father used to say, when he could find no 
 other excuse for somebody. It is not fit to be trusted 
 with arbitrary power." 
 
 "The Jesuits and the archbishop of Paris were 
 religious persons when they persecuted Mother An- 
 gelique and the other people at Port Royal," said 
 Amabel, who had heard that great lady's story many 
 a time from Mother Perpetua ; " but I am sure, Mrs. 
 Thorpe, no one was ever persecuted in our house." 
 
 " I dare say not, my dear ; I was only speaking of 
 what might be." 
 
 This discussion had thoroughly diverted us, and 
 made us forget to turn back for that last look we 
 had promised ourselves. It was just as well, for 
 such last looks are of no particular use. We now 
 began to see so many wonders, and these wonders 
 increased upon us so fast as we drew near the city 
 that we were silent from very amazement, and could 
 only use our eyes. The crowded ways and market- 
 places, the shops, the soldiers marching through the 
 streets, the universal bustle of a seaport town — were 
 enough to surprise and bewilder any country-bred 
 person, much more two little cage-birds like our- 
 selves, who had never in all our lives seen a dozen 
 strange faces. By the time we reached the lodging 
 
Flight from the Nest, 129 
 
 which the care of Captain Lowther had provided 
 for us we were thoroughly tired out, and ready to 
 eat our supper and go to bed earlier even than we 
 were used to do. We had both one chamber, with 
 two little white and pink beds furnished with cano- 
 pies. There was also a full-length mirror in our 
 room, and various other luxuries. I dare say the 
 place would look dingy enough to us now, but at 
 that time it was quite a fairy palace. 
 
 "What a soft bed!" said I, as I lay down; "I 
 don't know what Mother Prudentia would say to it." 
 
 " She would say we must not talk in bed, I sup- 
 pose,'' replied Amabel. "What are they all doing at 
 our old home T 
 
 " They are at service in the church," said I, as a 
 clock on the mantel-piece struck seven. " Does it 
 not seem strange that we may sit up till nine o'clock 
 if we choose." 
 
 " I could not I am sure, I am too sleepy," answered 
 Amabel. " It seems as though I had lived a hundred 
 years since morning. Good night, Lucy." 
 
 The novelty of my position and the strange and 
 to me alarming sounds in the street kept me awake 
 for two hours — a very long time to lie awake at 
 seventeen. I thought over all my past life, and 
 wondered what the future would be like. I wasted 
 a good deal of conjecture upon my probable position 
 at Highbeck Hall — such was the name of the place 
 where Amabel's aunt lived ; I thought of the story 
 of Mary Lowther which we had heard in the morn- 
 ing, and wondered — rather scared at myself for 
 
130 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 doing so — ^whether Protestants were after all such 
 bad people, and whether bringing up motherless 
 children, or even children of one's own, was not as 
 high a vocation as building oneself up in a hole in 
 the wall, and living in rags and dirt for twenty 
 years. Finally I wondered myself to sleep, and did 
 not wake till Mrs. Thorpe called me in the morning. 
 What a wonderful thing it was to have a mirror to 
 dress by. I was positively bewildered by it at first, 
 and found I could manage better in the old way. 
 
 We saw very little of Toulon. There was some 
 disturbance in the town, owing, I believe, to the 
 escape of some galley slaves, which made it unpleas- 
 ant to be in the streets. I know there was a great 
 marching to and fro of soldiers, and once or twice 
 the firing of guns. We went out once, however, 
 under the escort of Captain Lowther, to buy some 
 new clothes, and see some sights. We had new 
 frocks alike of dark silk, which were quite superb in 
 our eyes, and thick grey woolen frocks, and warm 
 cloaks, which Mrs. Thorpe said we should need on 
 the voyage, since it was always cold at sea. On our 
 return from this expedition a great surprise befell 
 us. We found Father Brousseau waiting for us, and 
 learned that he was to go to England in the same 
 ship with us. He informed us that a relative in the 
 north of England had left him a small property, and 
 beside that he wished to visit the noble family where 
 he had once been confessor, and perhaps he might 
 remain with them. He has since told me that his 
 superiors thought it as well for him to leave France 
 
Flight from the Nest. 131 
 
 for a time, since he had drawn upon himself the 
 enmity of a noble and powerful family, who would 
 have no scruple in revenging themselves even on a 
 priest. It was known or guessed that he had been 
 the means of discovering that plot for sacking the 
 convent which had so nearly succeeded, and his life, 
 it was said, had already been threatened by some of 
 the Count de Crequi's family. Those were terribly 
 lawless times in France. The country was full of 
 soldiers disbanded or deserted after the peace, ready 
 to beg, rob, or murder, as might suit their purpose 
 best, and prepared for any desperate undertaking 
 which promised plunder. The great nobles op- 
 pressed their tenants and their weaker neighbors 
 with impunity, and revelled in all sorts of luxury, 
 while the same tenants ate boiled grass and nettles, 
 or died of starvation at their gates. They say peo- 
 ple are making an effort now to set things straight, 
 but from all I hear not much good is likely to come 
 of it. Folks who have been crushed down to the 
 level of brute beasts are pretty likely to act like wild 
 beasts when once they get loose. 
 
 We sailed from Toulon in the first days of August, 
 and arrived in Newcastle in about ten or twelve 
 days. We had a stormy passage, and Amabel and 
 I were very sick a great deal of the time, so that 
 Mrs. Thorpe had her hands full with waiting on us. 
 Father Brousseau was not much better than we, but 
 he made a heroic effort to crawl upon deck every 
 day that the captain would allow him to be there, 
 and, so Mrs. Thorpe averred, gave wonderfully little 
 trouble for a man. 
 
t^2 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 How thankful we were to be once more upon dry 
 land ; even though that land was none of the most 
 attractive. Everyone knows that Newcastle is the 
 very centre of the great coal trade of the North 
 It seemed to us, as we landed on the wharf, and 
 toiled up the narrow steep street to that part of the 
 town where Mrs. Thorpe lived, that everything was 
 begrimed with coal-dust. Tlie very faces of the 
 babies were darkened with it, and we seemed to 
 breathe it in the air. The streets were narrow and 
 the dingy houses were old and tumble-down — and 
 seemed to hum with people, like a hive. I suppose 
 Mrs. Thorpe read some dismay in our looks, for she 
 said kindly, — 
 
 " This is but a poor part of the town, young 
 ladies ; you will come to a better presently." 
 
 And in effect, we did come out on a wider and 
 more quiet street, where there were a few hand- 
 some old houses, and several shops of the better 
 sort, at the doors of which handsome equipages — 
 carriages, or Sedan chairs, were standing. It was to 
 one of the neatest of these houses, that Mrs. Thorpe 
 directed our steps. I noticed at once, that the two 
 good-sized windows were clear and bright, the pave- 
 ment in front well cleaned, and the two stone steps 
 which led down into the shop were as white as 
 hands could make them. 
 
 " Welcome to my poor house, young ladies ! " said 
 Mrs. Thorpe, turning to us as we entered. " I hope I 
 shall be able to make you comfortable, though I am 
 not much used to entertaining ladies of quality. 
 Well, Rebecca, and how do you do ? " 
 
Flight from the Nest 133 
 
 "Right well, Clarissa, and glad to see thee 
 back ! " said a prim little old lady, who rose from 
 her seat behind the counter, and welcomed Mrs. 
 Thorpe with a joy which was more forcibly expres- 
 sed in her beautiful grey eyes, than in her words. 
 We looked at her in some surprise ; taking her in 
 her grey dress, white kerchief and close cap, for a 
 sister of some religious order. 
 
 "Tliese are the two young ladies whom my 
 brother has brought over from France, " said Mrs. 
 Thorpe, after she had shaken hands with her friend : 
 " This is Mrs. Amabel Leighton, and this is Mrs. 
 Lucy Corbet, her companion and kinswoman." 
 
 The good woman made some kind of salutation, 
 and then began asking questions of Mrs. Thorpe, 
 about her voyage, and answering others in her turn ; 
 while we stood patiently, almost forgetting our 
 fatigue in observing the strange new place in which 
 we found ourselves. The shop was a large one for 
 the place and time. It was exquisitely neat, and 
 crammed full of goods — laces, ribbons, fans, china 
 jars, and monsters of all kinds, and the air was 
 quite heavy with the perfume of scented soaps, hair 
 powder, and essences. 
 
 " But there, my dears, I won't keep you here, when 
 1 know you are tired to death. Come up stairs 
 directly. Where is Betsy ? how do you do, my 
 lass ? " as a stout neat looking servant-maid came 
 in, wiping her hands and greeting her mistress in 
 some language, which no doubt was intended for 
 English, but which her Northumbrian burr, made 
 
134 1^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 absolutely unintelligible to me. "I suppose the 
 young ladies' rooms are ready, Betsy ! " 
 
 Betsy signified as much, and Mrs. Thorpe led the 
 way up stairs, and herself introduced us to a little 
 parlor very neatly and prettily furnished, decorated 
 with some beautiful china, and with a great bow pot 
 of flowers standing in the window. There were 
 snow white curtains to the deep windows, and a 
 Turkey rug, old and faded, but still beautiful, on the 
 centre of the floor. The furniture was heavy and 
 black with age, but bright as rubbing could make 
 it; and what most attracted my attention at the 
 moment, a tall press full of books occupied a recess 
 on one side of the fireplace. From this pretty par- 
 lor opened two light closets, each of which held a 
 little bed, a chair, and a dressing-table, with a small 
 round mirror hung over it. The sitting room win- 
 dow looked out on a small, but neatly kept garden, 
 and through an opening between two great trees at 
 the bottom, we could see the tower of a grand old 
 church. 
 
 " This will be your room, my dears — ^young ladies, 
 I should say — as long as you remain with me," said 
 Mrs. Thorpe : " I bade Betsy get it ready, thinking 
 you would like the view into the garden." 
 
 " It is a beautiful room ! " said Amabel : " Dear 
 Mrs. Thorpe, how kind you are to us. But you 
 must not let us take up the best part of your 
 house." 
 
 "Oh! I have plenty of room, never fear," an- 
 swered Mrs. Thorpe smiling : " The house is a large 
 
Flight from the Nest, 135 
 
 one. I used to take lodgers, but I don't do it any 
 more. My shop gives me enough to look to, and I 
 have been wonderfully prospered and cared for. 
 These books and most of the furniture of this room, 
 belonged to my honored father; and were placed 
 here for my sister Mary — the one I told you of — 
 when she came to make her home with me. See ! 
 here are your mails — and I dare say you will like 
 to wash, and change your clothes. It is always the 
 first thing I want to do when I come off the ship." 
 
 A stout serving-man, who looked as if he had 
 never been hungry in his life, brought up our little 
 trunks. Betsy, who had left the room for a minute, 
 followed him with a great can of hot water, and a 
 heap of clean towels ; and Mrs. Thorpe left us to 
 our toilets. Mine was soon made, and as the win- 
 dow was open, I ventured to satisfy my curiosity, by 
 leaning out. I made the discovery that our next 
 door neighbors were very quiet ones. The house 
 stood near a small grey-stone church, standing in a 
 church-yard thickly sown with stones, and un- 
 marked graves. On the other side, our garden was 
 bounded by a high wall on which was trained a vine 
 of some sort; over this, I could just see a bit of 
 what looked like a grand mansion of brick and 
 stone. I announced my discovery to Amabel, who 
 came to look in her turn. 
 
 " Yes, it all seems quiet and nice," said she, "and 
 the room is very pretty. I did not think there could 
 be such a pretty place in this ugly town." 
 
 " It is dreadfully ugly, at least all we have seen 
 
1^6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 of it," I admitted. " Perhaps it is not all so. You 
 know Mrs. Thorpe said we came through a poor part 
 of it. See what a pretty house that is beyond the 
 church-yard, where the gentleman is just coming 
 out. There, he is coming to the church. I wonder 
 if he can be the priest." 
 
 " He does not look like one, though I am sure I 
 don't know what an English priest does look like. 
 But, Lucy, what would Mother Prudentia say to our 
 staring out of window at a strange man ?" 
 
 I drew back quickly enough, feeling, I don't know 
 why, rather vexed at Amabel's words. The gentle- 
 man in question was a tall, stout young man of 
 thirty, or thereabouts, not at all handsome, but with 
 something very attractive in his face. He was 
 twirling a thick stick, and whistling to a rough lit- 
 tle dog, which ran to and fro among the monuments. 
 Somehow I took a liking to that gentleman the 
 moment I saw him. There was a kind of real man- 
 liness about him which made one feel that he was a 
 person to be relied upon in case of danger or dis- 
 tress. I took another peep and saw that he was 
 pulling up some weeds from a baby's grave. 
 
 "Well, my dears, — I must learn to say young 
 ladies, I suppose, now you ar^ at home in England," 
 said Mrs. Thorpe, knocking and entering at the 
 same moment ; " but, laws me, it does come so easy 
 to me to mother all young girls for the sake of my 
 own two, — ^I suppose you are quite ready for your 
 suppers. Will you join us at the table, or shall I 
 send you something up here ? " 
 
Flight front the Nest. 137 
 
 ** Oh, we will go to the table " answered Amabel ; 
 "and, dear Mrs. Thorpe, I am sure we shall be only 
 too glad to be mothered, as you say. We are all 
 ready, if you please." 
 
 " Please, Mrs. Thorpe, who is that lady below in 
 the shop ? " I ventured to ask as we descended the 
 stairs. " Is she a sister ? " 
 
 " No, she is not a sister, but a Friend," answered 
 Mrs. Thorpe, smiling. " She is what people call a 
 Quaker. Have you none in France ? " 
 
 " I do not know," replied Amabel ; " we know not 
 much more about France than England." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, that is true. Well, tlie Friends are a 
 people by themselves, and have their own ways and 
 notions — very odd ones, too, some of them are. 
 They never go to church, and have no sacraments, 
 and no settled order of clergy, but they hold by the 
 Bible, and are very good, honest kind of people. 
 Some of their women, even, are ministers, like 
 Rebecca Carter's sister. Rebecca is a good crea- 
 ture, and very faithful to me, but she has her ways, 
 as who has not ? You must not mind if she calls 
 you by your plain. Christian names. That is a part 
 of her religion." 
 
 At another time I suppose all this would have 
 surprised me very much, but the last two or three 
 weeks had been so full of wonders that I was be- 
 ginning to lose the power of being surprised at any- 
 thing. We followed Mrs. Thorpe into a kind of 
 back-parlor, or better-most kitchen, I don't know 
 just which to call it, where the table was set for 
 
138 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 several persons. Mrs. Thorpe placed Amabel and 
 myself on either side of her, at the head of the 
 table. She then rang a little hand bell, and two or 
 three neat looking young women came in from 
 another room, and took their places near the foot of 
 the board. Mrs. Thorpe said grace, and Amabel 
 and I crossed ourselves, as we had always been used 
 to do. I saw one of the girls glance at another and 
 smile contemptuously. Unluckily, Mrs. Thorpe saw 
 it too. 
 
 " Betty Humble will leave the table," said she. 
 
 Betty colored furiously, and began to stammer 
 some excuse, but Mrs. Thorpe made an imperative 
 gesture, which sent Betty out of the room, bursting 
 into tears as she shut the door behind her with more 
 force than was quite needful. I felt sorry for the 
 girl, though I had felt my cheeks burn the moment 
 before, and I glanced at Amabel, rather hoping she 
 would intercede for the banished Betty; but she 
 said not a word, nor did anything in her face show 
 that she was at all disturbed. The supper was 
 brought in by Betsy, the stout servant maid, who 
 waited at table more skillfully than I would have 
 expected from her appearance. The meal was 
 abundant, and nicely cooked, and, as it was the first 
 meal I ever ate in England I remember it well. 
 We had a fine pair of roasted fowls, boiled potatoes, 
 light as meal (the very first, by the way, that I had 
 ever seen, for they have never been very commonly 
 used in France, and at that time were not known in 
 wa parts). Also, we had a great bowl of furmity. 
 
Flight from the Nest 139 
 
 or wheat boiled with milk, and a mountain of a 
 brown loaf. I thought of our dear mothers and 
 sisters in France, sitting down to their meal of coarse 
 bread and milk, and not too much of that, and it 
 gave me almost a guilty feeling. It seemed as if I 
 had no right to the savory wing of fowl that Mrs. 
 Thorpe put upon my plate, and the tears rose to my 
 eyes in spite of me. Mrs. Thorpe noticed the change 
 in my countenance, as, indeed, she always saw 
 everything. 
 
 " What is it, my dear ? Anything wrong ? " 
 
 " No, madame," I answered, making a great effort 
 to compose myself ; and then, feeling that I owed 
 her an explanation, I added in French, and in a low 
 tone: 
 
 " I was thinking of the mothers and sisters at 
 St. Jean, and wishing they had my supper." 
 
 " Bless your kind heart, Mrs. Lucy, I wish they 
 had ! " answered the good woman : " I am sure 
 they should be heartily welcome to the best my 
 house could afford, if they were only here, or I could 
 send it to them. But do not let the thought spoil 
 your supper, my dear. If those who give to the poor 
 lend to the Lord, the good ladies have a fine estate 
 out at interest into which they will come some day. 
 Anne Thwaites, don't let me see you bend over to 
 your meat in that way — ^you will be growing as 
 crooked as a rams-horn before you are forty." 
 
 Anne, a delicate looking girl, pulled herself up, 
 blushing and smiling at the same time. So the 
 pieal proceeded with a little conversation^ and now 
 
140 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 and then a remark addressed to the apprentice 
 lasses, for so I found them to be. After all was 
 cleared away, the servants — Betsy, the man who 
 had brought up our trunks, and an eldery woman, 
 whom Mrs. Thorpe addressed as Mrs. Crump, came 
 in and took their seats. A large Bible and prayer- 
 book were laid before Mrs. Thorpe ; she read a chap- 
 ter, and then a prayer in a reverent devout manner, 
 all joining in the Lord's prayer at the end. . If she 
 had asked us to be present, I suppose we should 
 have refused ; but either because she thought it the 
 more discreet way, or from sheer forgetfulness, she 
 never said a word about it, but took our attendance 
 for granted. The chapter was the beautiful story 
 of the Shunamite, and that was the first word I ever 
 heard out of the Old Testament, except indeed the 
 Psalms, most of which I knew by heart. I observed 
 that Rebecca Carter did not come in to family pray- 
 ers, but remained in the shop, where also she had her 
 supper. I concluded that this was one of the 
 " ways " that Mrs. Thorpe had told us of. 
 
 It was August, and the days were growing shorter, 
 but the evening was warm and dry, and Mrs. Thorpe 
 invited us to go out into her garden. 
 
 " It is but a small place compared to that you have 
 been used to ! " said slie : " but yet it is not so bad 
 for a town garden, and the church-yard being next, 
 gives us plenty of fresh air." 
 
 "I think it is a lovely garden!" said Amabel 
 with great enthusiasm, and indeed it was. Every 
 uook and corner was improved to some good pur- 
 
Flight from the Nest, I4I 
 
 pose, either filled with such hardy flowers as flour* 
 ished so far north, or with sweet herbs or berry 
 bushes. The sunny wall had an apricot trained 
 upon it, and there were two grand standard pear 
 trees, and a low bushy apple tree, all three laden 
 with fruit. There was also a pretty arbor, covered 
 with a great Virginia vine, just beginning to turn 
 red. 
 
 " My husband brought that vine from over seas in 
 America, himself," observed Mrs. Thorpe, "as 
 well as that tree you see yonder, in the church-yard ; 
 the tree has beautiful flowers upon it. My sister's 
 grave, and that of our two daughters are just 
 under it." 
 
 " Were your daughters grown up, madame ? " I 
 ventured to ask. 
 
 "They were just about your age. They were 
 both taken in one week's time of a fever, which was 
 in the town." 
 
 " That was very sad ! " said I. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, very sad. I hardly knew how to 
 bear it at first, and I do not know but I should have 
 sunk under the blow, only that many of our neigh- 
 bors were ill, and needed my help. Would you 
 believe it, my dears ? In that very house next door, 
 the mother was taken down, and her own sons 
 and daughters would not go near her, but left her 
 wholly to the care of a wretch, who drank the wine 
 given for her patient, and then ran away and left 
 her. I went in to see her, and by good hap, was in 
 time to save her from sinking at the crisis of the 
 
14^ *I^he Foster-Sisters, 
 
 fever. ^ My good Mrs. Thorpe, it is very kind of 
 you to look after Mama ! ' said one of tlie daugh- 
 ters, in her fine lady lisp and drawl ; * but I suppose 
 it is natural to you to like to take care of the sick.' 
 ' Madam ! ' says I : * I hope it will never be natu- 
 ral to me to desert those who need my help, 
 whether they be strangers, or my own flesh and 
 blood,' says I. Oh! I gave them a bit of my 
 mind, I promise you ; they were greatly offended 
 and would not come into my shop for a long time ; 
 but I let them alone and they got over it." 
 
 " Do they live there now ? " I asked, much in- 
 terested. 
 
 " Oh no ! they are all gone. One daughter mar- 
 ried, and died of the small-pox. The other wedded 
 a fine London gentleman, who soon gambled away 
 all her property, and left her in great poverty and 
 distress, poor thing. She lives in a little cottage 
 over in Gateshead, on what she can make from the 
 rent of this house ; which is not much, for it is 
 in bad repair, yet a fine old mansion too, and I will 
 show you over it some day. See ! here are some 
 monthly roses — a bud for each of you." 
 
 " Have you not a bud for me also ? " asked a 
 cheery voice, from over the stone-wall next the 
 church-yard. We all turned round, and there stood 
 the tall gentleman we had seen before. He was 
 leaning on the wall, and lifted his hat politely. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Cheriton : I did not know your Rever- 
 ence was in town ! " answered Mrs. Thorpe, curt- 
 seying low; "I fear there are no more rose-buds, 
 but here is a clove pink if you will have it." 
 
Flight from the Nest, 143 
 
 "And when did you come home from foreign 
 parts ? " asked Mr. Cheriton, accepting the pink 
 with a bow, and putting it in his button-hole. 
 
 " Only to-day, your Reverence. This is Mrs. 
 Amabel Leighton, and her kinswoman, Mrs. Lucy 
 Corbet, who have come home, and are staying with 
 me, till they can go to their aunts at Highbeck 
 house." 
 
 " That is not likely to be very soon, I fear, unless 
 both of these young ladies have had small-pox ! " 
 said Mr. Cheriton. " I have just come home from 
 my father's, and went over to pay my respects to the 
 old ladies, who made me the bearer of dispatches to 
 yourself." Mr. Cheriton bowed to us severally as 
 he spoke, and then produced a letter bound with a 
 bit of floss silk, which he gave to Mrs. Thorpe. 
 Then bowing again, and whistling to his dog, he 
 departed. Mrs. Thorpe led us into her own parlor 
 behind the shop, where we waited in some anxiety, 
 while she read the note the gentleman had handed 
 her. 
 
 " Here is a change of affairs with a witness ! " 
 said she, when she had succeeded in making out its 
 contents. " My dear young ladies, can you content 
 yourselves to live with me for a few weeks ? Your 
 aunt writes that they have two cases of small-pox 
 in the house, and that they are every day expecting 
 Mrs. Chloe, the youngest lady, to come down with 
 the same, and that she would prefer to have you 
 remain with me till the danger is over. I think you 
 told me you had never had the small-pox." 
 
t44 "^^^ Foster-Sisters. 
 
 "Not unless we were very young at the time," we 
 told her. 
 
 "Ah, then we will run no risks. But can you 
 content yourselves with living quietly in my plain 
 way for a little, or would you rather go to my sis- 
 ter's school, where you can have companions of your 
 own age ? " 
 
 We assured her that we would rather stay with 
 her than go anywhere else, and, indeed, I think we 
 both felt it to be a reprieve. We had grown to 
 love Mrs. Thorpe, and to feel confidence in her, 
 and the notion of strange companions of our own 
 age was rather alarming than attractive. So the 
 matter was settled. We would make it our home 
 for the present, with good Mrs. Thorpe, who would 
 on the morrow send word to that effect to our aunts 
 at Highbeck Hall. 
 
 "Amabel," said I, when we were once more alone 
 in our own pretty room, " do you think we did wrong 
 to be present at Protestant worship ? Ought we to 
 have come away ? " 
 
 " No, I don't think so," answered Amabel, after a 
 little consideration. "We could not help it, and 
 there was nothing contrary to religion in the 
 prayers." 
 
 " But there was no Hail Mary ! or any other devo- 
 tion to the mother of God." 
 
 " That is true. I believe Protestants do not honor 
 her as we do. But, Lucy, you know how we used 
 to read the * Imitation of Christ' over and over. 
 Mother Superior always had it by her when she was 
 
Plight from the Nest. 145 
 
 ill, and there is not a word in that about the mother 
 of God, any more than in Mrs. Thorpe's prayer." 
 
 " That is true enough ; I never thought of it be- 
 fore," I answered. Then — changing the subject— 
 •* Are you glad, or sorry, that we are not to go to 
 Highbeck Hall directly ? " 
 
 " Glad, on the whole," answered Amabel. " It 
 will give us a little time to rest, and get used to 
 English ways. Come, let us say our prayers, and 
 get ready for night. Those little white beds look so 
 nice after the berths on board ship." 
 
 They did, indeed, but I had one question more. 
 
 " Amabel, what do you think of Mr. Cheriton ? " 
 
 " I don't think of him at all ; — why should I ? " 
 answered Amabel, a little shortly. "Come, let us go 
 to bed." 
 
 And so ended our first day in England ; but I 
 think Amabel did think a little bit about the tali 
 young rector after alL 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LADY THROCKMORTON. 
 
 HE next day Father Brousseau came to see 
 us. We had been so hurried and flurried 
 at the time of our landing the day before, 
 that we had hardly exchanged a dozen words, and 
 now he came to bid us farewell before going to his 
 friends in the country. They had sent some one to 
 meet him — a gentleman-in-waiting of some kind, 
 and a very solemn and dignified person indeed, who 
 accompanied him to our house. He had furnished 
 the good priest with a suit of raiment, such as is 
 worn by ordinary English clergymen, not wishing, 
 I suppose, to have him attract notice as a foreigner. 
 There were at the time considerable disturbances in 
 the country. A French war was impending, and 
 an apprehended rising of the Jacobites, or adherents 
 to the house of Stewart, which really took place the 
 next year, had awakened the " no popery " feeling, 
 always prevailing more or less in the lower and mid- 
 dle classes. I must say he had not succeeded very 
 well in disguising him, for Father Brousseau looked, 
 if possible, more priestly than ever. He was to 
 leave town that very day, and it was easy to see that 
 
Lady Throckmorton, 14? 
 
 the serving man was anxious to get him away. In- 
 deed, he made his impatience so manifest, that our 
 leave-taking was rather a hurried one. The father 
 gave us some advice as to our conduct, enjoined it 
 upon us to read no heretical books, and attend no 
 heretical services, to say our prayers and keep at 
 home, and to be guided by Mrs. Thorpe in all things 
 not belonging to our religion. He gave us each a 
 little picture, and his blessing, and bade us farewell. 
 I did not see him for many a year afterward, when 
 times were greatly changed for both of us. 
 
 It must be confessed that for a few days we lived 
 rather an idle and unprofitable life at Mrs. Thorpe's. 
 The good woman herself was naturally very busy 
 after her long absence, and she left us much to our- 
 selves. We had never been used to the ordering of 
 our own time any more since we were grown up, 
 than when we were three years old. In the convent 
 every hour brought its own occupation, in the same 
 regular routine, day after day, and year after year, 
 and we never thought of anything else. We had 
 never been trained to think or decide for ourselves 
 in the smallest matter. "A good religious has no 
 will of her own, and no more thinks of guiding her- 
 self than does the needle she sews with," was a 
 favorite saying of Mother Superior's, and we had 
 been brought up on tlie same principle. A man who 
 has never learned to walk alone, will, if left to him- 
 self, stumble just as much at fifty as at three, and 
 will probably hurt himself a good deal more. It is 
 therefore no wonder that being, as it were, thus 
 
148 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 suddenly put on our own feet, and bade to go, we did 
 not know very well how to set about it. 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe, as I have said, had provided us with 
 a parlor of our own, but we liked better to sit in her 
 room which opened from the shop, and watch the 
 many customers — the fine ladies who came for 
 essences, laces, and fans, and the hundred and one 
 nothings in which Mrs. Thorpe dealt — to cheapen 
 china jars and dragons, and go into ecstacies over 
 tiny tea-cups and French painted fans — and the still 
 finer gentlemen who came to see the fine ladies, look 
 ever the last novel — for Mrs. Thorpe added that of 
 a circulating library to her other business — and dis- 
 cuss the latest bit of news and scandal. Mrs. 
 Thorpe usually found or made time to take a walk 
 with us every day, and when she could not go her- 
 self she sent Mrs. Crump, her housekeeper, a most 
 respectable woman, whom we particularly liked, be- 
 cause she had come from Cornwall, and could tell us 
 about the place where our mothers had grown up. 
 
 In the house I am afraid we dawdled sadly. We 
 found ourselves for the first time among books. 
 Mrs. Thorpe, as I have said, kept a circulating 
 library, but she by no means made us free of its 
 contents. However, she picked out for us Mr. 
 Thomson's Poems and Dr. Young's, and the then 
 new romance of Sir Charles Grandison in its seven 
 closely-printed little volumes, (the good Richardson 
 had made fourteen in the first place,) and allowed 
 us to amuse ourselves with these.* To say that we 
 
 * This is an anachronism. "Sir Charles Grandison" waa 
 published in 1751 
 
Lady Throckmorton. 149 
 
 read these books was nothing. We devoured thenij 
 read them aloud to each other, and talked about 
 them from morning till night. Books of any sort 
 other than Lives of the Saints and "Meditations" 
 were such a wonder to us that it is not strange our 
 heads were a little turned with them. I think Ama- 
 bel and I had our first difference of opinion over the 
 amiable Clementina, whom she admired for her won- 
 derful spirit of self-sacrifice and piety, and whom I 
 thought a sentimental little fool — (I have never 
 changed my mind) — and she was downright vexed 
 with me when I laughed outright at the pathetic 
 image of Sir Charles and Clementina on their knees 
 to each other, and the faithful Camilla presenting a 
 smelling-bottle alternately to each of their noses. 
 We were actually rather cool to each other for a 
 whole day, but made up our quarrel at night over 
 Mr. Thomson's description of a thunder shower. 
 
 I have said that Mrs. Thorpe's shop was a resort 
 for all the fine folks in town. It was not long before 
 we began to be observed as we sat in the back par- 
 lor, which was divided from the shop by a screen. 
 In this parlor were kept some special boxes of lace 
 too precious to be trusted to the outer shop, and 
 hither also came the fine ladies to try on the " heads," 
 ruffs, and so on, which they were minded to pur- 
 chase. At this distance of time I may say without 
 vanity that I was an unusually pretty girl, though 
 not so handsome as Amabel. She was and is one of 
 the most beautiful women I ever saw in my life. I 
 had a dark clear skin, with a fresh color, and tho 
 
ISO The Foster-Sistefs. 
 
 crisped or waved black hair so common in Cornwall. 
 Amabel, on the contrary, was fair and delicate as a 
 lily, witli dark clear grey eyes, and a wonderful 
 profusion of straight golden hair, a little inclining 
 to redness. Her features were regular, and she had 
 always a calm placid look, a little wondering, as it 
 were, as though her spirit had not got OA^er its sur- 
 prise at the strange sphere wherein it found itselL 
 Ladies began to notice us, and gentlemen to pass 
 and re-pass the door of the parlor, and put up their 
 eye-glasses to stare at us. All this made Mrs. 
 Thorpe a little uneasy, and she used now and then 
 to make a pretext to send us out of the room. 
 
 One day a grand equipage stopped at the door, 
 with a great clatter of horse-hoofs. A lackey in a 
 fme livery jumped down and opened the door, and a 
 gentleman who was in the shop rushed forward to 
 give his hand to a very line lady indeed, who de- 
 scended from the vehicle. She v/ore an immense 
 hoop, at least eight yards in circumference, a sacque 
 and petticoat of contrasting colors. Her hair was 
 cut and curled close round her well-rouged and 
 patched face, and she wore a very small chip hat 
 cocked up at one side, and trimmed with very rich, 
 white and silver ribbons. These same white rib- 
 bons had a significance which, at the time, I did not 
 understand. The lady was followed by her gentle- 
 woman in waiting, an impudent looking piece, nearly 
 as fine as her mistress, who carried a horrid little 
 lap-dog in her arms. 
 
 "Is it possible?" exclaimed the gentleman, laying 
 
Lady Throckmorton. 151 
 
 his hand on his heart with a theatrical air. " Do 
 my eyes deceive me, or does the adorable Lady 
 Throckmorton deign once more to bestow on oui 
 barbarous town the light of her presence? I had 
 thought nothing would bring you from the Baths at 
 this time of the year." 
 
 "And nothing would but dire necessity, I assure 
 you, Captain Lovelace," answered the lady; "but 
 Sir John's mother, who is much in years and very 
 frail, desired to see her son, and Sir John would not 
 travel without me — indeed he is not very fit to do so 
 — so as I could not deprive the poor lady of what 
 might be the last sight of lier son, I was obliged to 
 quit all the dear delights of the Baths." 
 
 "Angelic goodness !" said Captain Lovelace. 
 
 " Nay, 'twas no such great matter. We shall all 
 come to age and infirmity some day. My lady has 
 been a good mother to her son, and would have been 
 to me if I had but let her." 
 
 The lady spoke these last words with a tone ex- 
 pressive of some emotion. I even thought there 
 were tears in her beautiful eyes. If so, she soon 
 dispersed them, and, as if she were ashamed of her 
 late seriousness, she began to chatter the most 
 arrant nonsense to Captain Lovelace and her dog, 
 alternately, — treating the one with about as much 
 respect as the other, I thought, while she turned 
 over the caps and aprons Mrs. Thorpe showed her, 
 calling one horrible — absolutely hideous and revolt- 
 ing — and another ravishing, angelic! perfectly divine! 
 
 " I must positively try this on, my good Thorpe ; 
 it is just mv style. Has any cue else see^ it ? " 
 
152 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 "Nobody, my lady. I have but this morning 
 unpacked it, and I brought it from France only a 
 few days ago. If your ladyship will step into the 
 parlor."- 
 
 Amabel and I were sitting in the parlor — Amabel 
 reading and I busy with some pretence of needle- 
 work. We usually retired on such occasions, but I 
 had a mind to see a little more of this very fine lady, 
 and I am ashamed to say I purposely upset my 
 work-basket, and set the spools rolling all about the 
 floor. The two grey kittens instantly pounced upon 
 them, and, while I was rescuing my materials, Lady 
 Throckmorton entered the room. She stood as if 
 transfixed for a moment. 
 
 " Whom have we here ? — a ghost from the other 
 world ! " she exclaimed. " Mrs. Thorpe, where have 
 you found this living image of poor little Lady 
 Leighton ? " 
 
 "This is the daughter of Sir Julius Leighton, my 
 lady," answered Mrs. Thorpe, presenting us ; " and 
 this is her cousin and foster-sister. I brought the 
 young gentlewomen from France but a few days 
 since, and they are staying here under my care till 
 the small-pox shall be over at Highbeck Hall." 
 
 " Yes, I heard Mrs. Chloe was in a way to have 
 her youthful beauty spoiled," said Captain Lovelace. 
 
 " For shame ! you spiteful creature ! " said the 
 lady, giving him a blow with her closed fan. " Mrs. 
 Chloe is my particular friend. And so you are Lady 
 Leighton's daughter, as well as her living image," 
 she aided, turning to Amabel, and speaking in quite 
 
Lady Throckmorton. 153 
 
 a different tone. " I knew your mother well, my 
 child. You and my Alice were born on the same 
 day, but she was but a frail creature, fading in her 
 earliest bloom." Again a softer look came into her 
 eyes. I never saw such eyes as hers. They were 
 of a sapphire-blue, very bright and clear, with a 
 sort of hardness and sharpness in them, and flash- 
 ing with a fierce and baleful luster when she was 
 offended. She was indeed a most curious mixture 
 of good and evil, as I came to know afterward, but 
 the evil predominated, being let to have its way 
 unchecked, and she perished miserably at last, poor 
 thing ! 
 
 " Mrs. Thorpe never made a more beautiful or 
 valuable importation, I am sure," said Captain 
 Lovelace, bowing to us both, though he had not been 
 included in — indeed, had been rather pointedly left 
 out of — the presentation. 
 
 Lady Throckmorton's eyes flashed for a moment. 
 
 " Your presence in this room is not required. Cap- 
 tain Lovelace," said she in a stately fashion ; then, 
 as the gentleman retired, with an extravagant ges- 
 ture of humility and despair, " You must not listen 
 to such gallants, my loves," she added, in a lighter 
 tone. 
 
 " I do not, madam," answered Amabel quietly. 
 
 "A dignified young lady, upon my word. And 
 who is this ? " turning to me. " She reminds me of 
 some one, I cannot tell who." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe explained who I was, and her lady- 
 ship was pleased to say she remembered my mother 
 quite well. 
 
154 ^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " She came from Cornwall with Lady Leighton, 
 and they were quite inseparable, I remember," said 
 she. " Your mother afterward married a gentleman 
 who had a small estate in the neighborhood, and 
 was killed by a fall from his horse. Yes, yes ; I 
 remember. My good Thorpe, you must take care 
 of these visitors of yours." 
 
 "I hope to do so, my lady," answered Mra 
 Thorpe, not without emphasis, as I thought. 
 
 " And have you seen anything of the town yet, 
 my rosebuds ? " asked the lady, turning to us. " I 
 suppose not. Come, get your hoods, and I will take 
 you for an airing. No, on second thought, I cannot 
 either, for I promised my old lady to return in time 
 for her afternoon drive. I shall have my own horses 
 another day, and then I will call for you. Mean- 
 time, Mrs. Thorpe must let me present you each 
 with one of these fine aprons." 
 
 So saying, she selected from the stock before her 
 two lawn aprons with more puffs, ruffles, and lace 
 than there was of the original stuff, and bestowing 
 one upon each of us, she sailed out to her carriage, 
 attended by Captain Lovelace, and followed by her 
 maid and dog. This was our first sight of that 
 famous beauty and wit. Lady Throckmorton of New- 
 castle. It would have saved us a good deal had it 
 been the last. 
 
 " There goes a fine woman spoiled," said Mrs. 
 Tkorpe. " I was glad she was obliged to go, I did 
 not like to have you go out with her, and I did not 
 exactly know how to refuse." 
 
Lady Throckmorton. 155 
 
 " But why do you call her spoiled ? " I asked. " I 
 am sure she is very generous in giving us these 
 beautiful aprons." 
 
 " 'Tis not hard to be generous when some one else 
 X)ays the bills," answered Mrs. Thorpe. " However, 
 we will not judge the poor thing. Her notice was 
 at least kindly meant. Perhaps if her children had 
 lived she would have been different. But, my young 
 ladies, though I do not like to deprive you of a 
 pleasure, I fear I must banish you forth of this par- 
 lor during business hours. 'Tis too public a place 
 for ladies of quality, and I have no mind to have 
 you brought under the notice of Captain Lovelace 
 and others of his stamp, of whom we have at pres- 
 ent only too many in the town. So, my dears, you 
 will amuse yourselves as well as you can in your 
 own room." 
 
 We had now no choice but to withdraw, and were 
 soon seated in our own pretty parlor. 
 
 "So it seems we are to be imprisoned in this 
 dull room for the future ! " said I, pettishly enough : 
 " one might as well be in the convent agr\ii^, as shut 
 up in this poky place." 
 
 " You did not think it poky at first ! " sa?^ Ama- 
 bel : " and I think, Lucy, Mrs. Thorpe is right about 
 our sitting in the shop. I am sure Mother Pru<^en- 
 tia would say the same, if she were here." 
 
 "Mother Prudentia is not our governor no\r *' 
 I replied. 
 
 " No ! but Mrs. Thorpe is, now that our relatioBft 
 have put us under her care ; I must say, I don'* 
 
156 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 care to see that Captain Lovelace again ; I thought 
 him very rude," answered Amabel with a flash of 
 her eye, such as I had hardly ever seen before. 
 
 " You did not think Mr. Cheriton rude, when he 
 gave you those flowers over the wall this morning ! " 
 said I. 
 
 " That was very different ! " answered Amabel. 
 " I am sure, Lucy, you can't compare Mr. Cheriton's 
 manners with those of Captain Lovelace. Mrs. 
 Thorpe herself was by and saw no harm. But I 
 don't think it is very nice to be talking about young 
 men in this way." 
 
 " One may as well talk of them as think of them, 
 I suppose ! " I answered, rather flippantly. Ama- 
 bel made me no answer, but withdrawing into a cor- 
 ner, she laid aside Mr. Thomson's poems, and 
 betook herself to her book of " Hours," which had 
 been rather neglected of late. I took up my work, 
 and we sat in silence, till called to dinner. 
 
 A few days afterwards, we were walking with Mrs. 
 Crumb. We had been to carry a basket of food to 
 some pensioner of Mrs. Thorpe's, and were pacing 
 along rather soberly, thinking of the sad scene we 
 had just witnessed, when we heard our names 
 called. We looked and saw Lady Throckmorton, 
 leaning out of her carriage. She was more dressed 
 than ever, with splendid jewels in her ears, and on 
 her neck. Of course we stopped to curtsey, and 
 were passing on, when she beckoned us again ; the 
 coachman at the same time drawing up to the side 
 of the street. 
 
Lady Throckmorton, 157 
 
 " So I have caught you, my doves ! " said she : " 1 
 must positively take you for an airing, and carry 
 you home to have some tea with me. Nay, I will 
 take no refusal. This good woman will make your 
 excuses to Mrs. Thorpe, if any are needed." 
 
 Mrs. Crumb was a very quiet woman, who 
 dressed in the plainest way, and rarely said a need- 
 less word. She did not, however, seem at all 
 dashed at the presence of the great lady, but 
 answered her, even with dignity. 
 
 " So, please you madam, I think the young 
 ladies had better see Mrs. Thorpe themselves, 
 before going any where else." 
 
 "Woman, you forget yourself!" said Lady 
 Throckmorton, with that angry flash of the eye, that 
 I had observed before : " I would have your mis- 
 tress know, that Lady Throckmorton's notice is an 
 honor to any young lady. Come girls — my black 
 haired beauty, I am sure, is not afraid of the old 
 shop-keeper. Come, I ca.nnot keep the horses 
 standing." 
 
 I think Amabel would have refused, but that she 
 saw me determined to accept Lady Throckmorton's 
 invitation, and she would not let me go by myself. 
 So we got into the carriage and drove away, leaving 
 Mrs. Crumb standing on the pavement. 
 ' " Insolent old creature ! " said Lady Throckmor- 
 ton — "but there, never mind her. Tell me about 
 yourselves, and your life — where were you edo 
 cated ? " 
 
 " In France,'* we told her. 
 
158 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " Ah ! that is how you come to carry yourselves so 
 well : and what have you learned ? " I gave her as 
 good an account as I could, of our acquirements. 
 
 " Why ! you are real paragons — I must have you 
 with me, while I am here — I positively must, indeed 
 — nothing takes like a new face, and your conven- 
 tual simplicity is truly charming. It will never do 
 for you to be buried at Highbeck Hall, with those 
 old frights, each more absurd than the other. I 
 must write to your father, Miss Amabel Leighton. " 
 
 This was the first time I ever heard the title of 
 Miss, which was just then coming into fashion. 
 
 " The ladies you speak of, are my aunts, mad- 
 ame ! " said Amabel, with some dignity. 
 
 " That does not hinder their being old frights, 
 child. Oh ! you must not mind me, I say what I 
 think of every one. Well, here we are at home. I 
 must introduce you to my poor old Sir John ; he is 
 not so old either, but a sad invalid, poor man." 
 
 We had driven into a paved court, and now 
 alighted at the door of the handsomest mansion I 
 had yet seen. Lady Throckmorton led us through 
 a grand hall, up a fine oak stair-case, which re- 
 minded me of the great stair-case at St. Jean, and 
 into her own dressing-room ; which was a rather 
 small apartment, so crowded with all kinds of knick- 
 nacks, that it was hard to move, without knocking 
 down a china mandarin, or a shepherdess, or upset- 
 ting a pot pourri. * The air was heavily laden with 
 
 ♦ A pot pourri was a jar filled with rose leaves, spices, and 
 I know not what perfumes, and placed in a lady's chamber. 
 Receipts for preparing them may be found in old cook-books. 
 
Lady Throckmorton, 159 
 
 scents, as that of Mrs. Thorpe's shop. The win- 
 dows were hung with rich draperies, and another 
 curtain was looped over a door, which opened into a 
 richly furnished bed chamber. One of the most 
 noticeable things in the room, was a finely painted 
 portrait of a gentleman, surrounded by a wreath of 
 white roses, so beautifully made, that at first I 
 thought them real, and wondered where they came 
 from. 
 
 "This is my den," said Lady Throckmorton. "I 
 told Sir John I positively could not stay in this hor- 
 rible old pile of bricks unless he would allow me to 
 fit up two or three rooms to suit my own taste. He 
 is a good natured creature, and so, though he wor- 
 ships his hideous old chairs and tables as if they 
 were veritable household gods, he gave me leave to 
 do what I liked with these rooms, and a withdrawing- 
 room down stairs. What do you think of the 
 general effect, eh?" 
 
 She evidently expected us to be quite dazzled with 
 all her splendor, and I indeed was so, though all the 
 time I was conscious of a certain something which 
 pained tiie eye. Amabel answered that we had seen 
 so little of such things that we were hardly good 
 judges. My lady was evidently a little nettled by 
 her coolness, and began to display one fine bit of 
 china and gilding after another till the entrance of 
 her waiting-woman interrupted the lecture. 
 
 "Tea is ready, my lady," said the Abigail, as it 
 was then the fashion to call these personages, " and 
 Captain Lovelace and some other gentlemen are in 
 the drawing-room." 
 
i6o the Poster-Sisterx, 
 
 " Dear me, I had no notion it was so late. You 
 have been so entertaining, girls, that you have lent 
 new wings to time." 
 
 N. B. — We had hardly said ten words between us, 
 but I have observed that people are usually better 
 entertained with their own conversation than that of 
 any one else. 
 
 " See, Wilson, can you make these girls presenta- 
 ble at short notice ? I wish to take them out with 
 me this evening." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson looked critically at us, and began to 
 suggest various additions to our simple toilets. 
 
 "No, on second thoughts, you may let them alone, 
 only select one of my lace aprons and a necklace 
 apiece for them. Those black velvet bands with the 
 pearls sewed on will do. No, let the hair alone, 'tis 
 well enough as it is. Those gipsy hats are very be- 
 coming, only they should be trimmed with white. 
 Don't wear red ribbons, girls, whatever you do, but 
 blue may pass well enough. There, that will answer, 
 Wilson." 
 
 All this time Mrs. Wilson had been pinning on the 
 aprons, tying on the necklaces, and otherwise deco- 
 rating us, till I felt as if I was a doll being dressed 
 for Mrs. Thorpe's show window. I glanced at Ama- 
 bel. She looked more uncomfortable than I had 
 often seen her. There was not much time to notice 
 looks for my lady beckoned us to follow her, and we 
 did so, passing down stairs into a small drawing- 
 room, where was a table set out with a tea equipage 
 in silver, and any number of odd little china cups* 
 
Lady Throckmorton. i6i 
 
 There were two or three gentlemen in the room, and 
 a thin middle-aged lady very plainly dressed, and 
 with a good serene face, which attracted ine at once. 
 In one corner, with a table to himself, sat a thin 
 elderly man, evidently an invalid, to whom we were 
 presented as Sir John Throckmorton. The poor 
 man's face brightened as he heard Amabel's name. 
 
 "And so you are Sir Julius Leighton's daughter," 
 said he kindly. "Your father was an honest, worthy 
 gentleman, and we have had many a day's sport 
 together when we were young. I suppose he is still 
 in London. Will he be coming north before long ?" 
 
 "I do not know. Sir John," answered Amabel. 
 "We have not heard from him since we landed in 
 England." 
 
 " He will come north at the right time, I dare say," 
 said Lady Throckmorton. "Come, Sir John, I can- 
 not have you monopolizing our young ladies. We 
 shall have cutting of throats presently." 
 
 She then gave us seats on each side of herself, 
 and presented the gentlemen as they came up. I 
 remember none of them except Captain Lovelace, 
 who had the impudence to claim a previous acquaint- 
 ance, and Mr. Cheriton, who came in just as the 
 ceremony was concluded. He looked surprised, and, 
 as it seemed to me, not very well pleased, at finding 
 us in such company. I noticed in a moment that, 
 while all the other gentlemen wore white rose-buds 
 in their button-holes, he wore a red clove pink which 
 Amabel had given him that very morning. I think 
 Amabel saw it too, for she blushed and looked con- 
 
1 62 The Foster- Sisters, 
 
 fused. Lady Throckmorton's keen eyes flashed fro^B 
 one face to the other as if she suspected something. 
 
 "So you know my young visitors already, Mr. 
 Cheriton," said she. " How is that V 
 
 "We are neighbors, you know," answered Mr. 
 Cheriton easily, " and as their parish priest and 
 spiritual guide it was my duty to make acquaintance 
 with them." 
 
 I must say I was not pleased with the tone in 
 which he spoke — as if his sacred profession were a 
 thing to be joked about. 
 
 "And you ventured to come hither with a red 
 flower in your button-hole !" continued the lady in 
 the same bantering tone, which yet seemed to have 
 a meaning in it. 
 
 "Red is my favorite color," answered Mr. 
 Cheriton. 
 
 "I have heard it was a thrifty color — no doubt 
 that recommends it," said one of the company with 
 an undisguised sneer. 
 
 "You are right, my lord, it is a thrifty color, and 
 does not change easily," answered Mr. Cheriton, 
 dryly enough. "I have known many white roses 
 turn red, but I don't know that I have ever seen a 
 red one turn white." 
 
 " Let the white ones become the fashionable color 
 and the red will turn fast enough," retorted the 
 other angrily. 
 
 " Possibly, but that fashion has not yet been set.'* 
 
 "Come, come, I will have no sparring," said Lady 
 Throckmorton imperatively. "Captain Lovelace, do 
 
Lady Throckmorton. 163 
 
 you not see that Miss Bunnell has her tea all ready 
 to dispense? What are you thinking of? Give 
 them plenty of sugar, my good Bunnell, and sweeten 
 their tempers." 
 
 On this hint the gentlemen bestirred themselves, 
 and handed us little cups of tea with sponge cakes 
 and other things of that kiiid. I had not yet learned 
 to like tea, which I had never seen till I came to 
 England, and Lady Throckmorton seeing that I did 
 not drink mine, bade Mr. Cheriton exchange it for a 
 cup of cliocolate. My lady herself waited upon her 
 husband, carrying him his chocolate and other 
 refreshments, and spending some minutes in 
 arranging them to his liking. 
 
 " How devoted Lady Throckmorton is to her hus- 
 band ! Is it not a pretty exhibition ?" said Captain 
 Lovelace in my ear, as he stood just behind mo. 
 " She is always so — at least when there is any one 
 to see her. He has all his personal property in his 
 own power, and she has no settlements to speak of ; 
 but of course that has nothing to do with the matter." 
 
 I knew nothing of settlements or personal prop- 
 erty at that time, but I understood the implied de- 
 traction, and felt indignant at it. I had begun to 
 feel very uncomfortable by that time, as if I had of 
 my own accord walked into a net out of which I did 
 not see my way. Presently Lady Throckmorton 
 came back to her seat, and began asking the news of 
 the day. 
 
 "They say the Methodists are coming hither 
 again," said Captain Lovelace. "If so, we shall 
 
164 l^he Foster-Sisters, 
 
 have some sport. You ought to have seen how we 
 served them at Leeds when I was there. There was 
 a bull-baiting in the town, and we drove the bull 
 right in among them, as they stood with open mouths 
 and ears, around their prophet. There was a fine 
 scattering at first, I promise you. But if you will 
 believe it, when the beast got into the crowd, he 
 stood stock still by the side of Mr. Wesley himself, 
 as quiet as he had been a tame dog." * I saw Mrs. 
 Bunnell smile at this, as with a kind of triumph, at 
 wliich I wondered, for it seemed to me a mean and 
 dastardly action. 
 
 " I have taken a shorter way than that," said 
 Lord Bulwer. " I took up a local preacher, and 
 another fellow of that sort who had the impudence 
 to come praying and exhorting among my tenants, 
 and sent them for soldiers on the spot. I told them 
 I would soon stop their prayers, and one of them, 
 if you will believe me, had the impudence to answer 
 me : * You cannot do that, my lord, unless you can 
 stop the path to heaven.' Why, one of those ras- 
 cals had the impudence to tell Dr. Borlase himself 
 that he knew his sins were forgiven." 
 
 Again I saw the smile pass over Mrs. Bunnell's 
 face. 
 
 " These Methodists seem to me to be a harmless 
 sort of folks enough — mere visionary enthusiasts," 
 said Mr. Cheriton, helping himself to a piece of plum 
 cake as he spoke. 
 
 * This incident, or one nearly similar, happened at Pensf ord, 
 March, 1743. 
 
Lady Throckmorton, 165 
 
 " They are traitors — rascals who turn the world 
 upside down — Jesuits in disguise, if the truth was 
 known," said Captain Lovelace. 
 
 " That, of course, would be enough to condemn 
 them in your eyes," said Mr. Cheriton, carelessly, 
 " your aversion to Jesuits, and those who are gov- 
 erned by them, being so well known." 
 
 Again I saw by the expression of the faces around 
 me, that the words had some hidden meaning. 
 
 " Well, well, we shall know how to serve them if 
 they come here," said Lord Bulwer. 
 
 " They have been here already — do you not know 
 it ? " said Lady Throckmorton. " I myself heard a 
 part of one of Mr. Wesley's sermons, and thought 
 him very eloquent. And my good friend Bunnell 
 here, was altogether won over by him, so that she 
 thinks it a sin to wear so much as a feather or a 
 necklace." 
 
 " Is that true, Mrs. Bunnell ? Nay, I cannot have 
 that," said Mr. Cheriton, turning to the lady, who 
 had sat quietly behind her mistress. " I look upon 
 you as one of the pillars of my church." 
 
 " Mr. Wesley withdraws no one from church," 
 answered Mrs. Bunnell, in her clear, even tones. 
 " On the contrary, it has been objected to him that 
 he makes trouble for the clergy and sextons by 
 bringing so many to the sacrament." * 
 
 " I could bear a little trouble of that kind, me- 
 thinks," said the rector; "but surely, Mrs. Bunnell, 
 
 * See Charles Wesley's Journal. 
 
1 66 The Foster'Sister.\ 
 
 you do not justify such presumption as a common 
 man saying that he knows his sins are forgiven ?" 
 
 " The paralytic was but a common man to whom 
 One said, ' Thy sins be forgiven thee ! ' " answered 
 Mrs. Bunnell. "And why should you read the 
 absolution in church if no one is to believe himself 
 absolved ? " 
 
 " Come, come, Bunnell, we want no conventicles 
 here. You and Mr. Cheriton must settle your dis- 
 putes elsewhere than at my tea-table." 
 
 " Nay, madam, she did but answer my question," 
 said Mr. Cheriton, good-naturedly. 
 
 " Then you need not have asked such a question," 
 returned the lady sharply. " I hate people who are 
 always dragging religion in by the head and shoul- 
 ders, reminding one of everything dismal that one 
 wishes to forget. Commend me to a preacher like 
 yourself, Mr. Cheriton, who gives us good moral 
 discourses that don't make one uncomfortable. I 
 hate the Methodists, with their rant and pretence of 
 spirituality, and what not, and I hope if the preach- 
 ers come here again, they will get a warm reception. 
 Gentlemen, if you have finished your tea, we will 
 ask to be excused, as I propose to take my young 
 friends to the theater this evening." 
 
 The gentlemen took their leave on this hint, and 
 Mrs. Bunnell also withdrew. Sir John's man came 
 and carried him off, and we were left alone with my 
 lady. 
 
 " Bunnell is a good creature, and devoted to me," 
 said her ladyship, when we were by ourselves, " but 
 
Lady Throckmorton. 1 67 
 
 I think I shall have to let her go if she keeps on 
 with her high-flown notions. I told her the other 
 day that she might be content to let Mr. Cheriton 
 think for her in such matters ; and what do you sup- 
 pose she answered me ? Why, that as Mr. Cheriton 
 could not be saved or lost for her, she must needs 
 think for herself. But come, it is time we were 
 going. See, here is a fan apiece for you," pulling 
 out a handful from a box ; " take your choice." 
 
 " But, madam, I think we should be going home," 
 said Amabel. " It is growing dark." 
 
 "Nonsense, child! You are going to the play 
 with me, and then I will set you down at home, or 
 bring you back here, if it is too late. Nay, not a 
 word," with an imperative gesture, as Amabel would 
 have spoken. " You are in my hands, and must do 
 as you are bid." 
 
 She left the room for a few moments, and Ama- 
 bel turned to me. 
 
 "What shall we do?" said she. "Oh, how I 
 wish we had never come." 
 
 " It was all my fault, " I answered: " but I don't 
 see how to help it now ; we cannot find our way 
 home alone, through this great town, especially as it 
 is growing dark. If Mrs. Thorpe wanted us, she 
 would send for us." 
 
 " True ! " said Amabel : " She knows where we 
 are, and could send Timothy for us." She had 
 done so, we found afterwards, but we were not told 
 of it. " We must do as my lady bids us, till we can 
 get away; but Lucyl I do not like her, nor this 
 place." 
 
1 68 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Nor I ! " I answered : " I feel as if we had got 
 into the hands of the fairy Melusene, that Mother 
 Prudentia told us of. I have not seen one person 
 who seemed real to me, except that nice Mrs. Bun- 
 nell — and Mr. Cheriton." 
 
 My lady returned at this moment, so we had no 
 chance for any further conversation. We went 
 with her to the play ; I don't remember what it 
 was, and indeed, there was such a buzz of conversa- 
 tion, and the lights and music so bewildered me, 
 and gave me such a headache, that I had much 
 ado not to burst out crying. I was thankful 
 enough when the evening concluded. Captain 
 Lovelace had been in the box all the evening, 
 and had full possession of her ladyship's ear and 
 attention. I fancy from words that I caught, that 
 there was some political intelligence going among 
 them. I saw that many of the ladies wore white 
 ribbons, and others red ; while a few seemed to have 
 tried to make a compromise between the two. 
 
 " What ails you, child ? " said my lady somewhat 
 sharply, as the flay being at last concluded, she had 
 time to notice me. " You are as white as a ghost.'* 
 
 " Lucy has a bad headache, madame ! " said Ama- 
 bel, seeing that I was trying in vain to speak. 
 
 " A headache ! oh that is nothing — and yet it 
 might be the beginning of an illness too ! " added 
 her ladyship : " Where had you been when I met 
 you this afternoon ? " 
 
 " To visit a poor sick woman, madame." 
 
 " A poor sick woman — very likely she had small- 
 
Lady Throckmorton, 169 
 
 pox or something, and here you have been sitting 
 with me all this time ! " exclaimed her ladyship : 
 " Who knows what I may have caught." 
 
 " The poor woman had nothing infectious, " Ama- 
 bel began, but Lady Throckmorton cut her short — 
 
 " There ! don't talk to me child — Williams, take 
 these young ladies to Mrs. Thorpe's, and come back 
 for me as quickly as you can ; and mind you open 
 all the glasses of the carriage. There ! Good 
 night." 
 
 I hardly know how Williams made a passage for 
 us through the crowd, but he did somehow, and we 
 were quickly carried to Mrs. Thorpe's door, which 
 indeed, was not far off. The good woman was up, 
 and opened to us before the lackey had time to 
 knock. She received us in absolute silence, and led 
 the way to our room, where she lighted our candles, 
 and turning round she addressed us with emphasis. 
 
 " Young ladies, I excuse you this time, seeing 
 that you were, so to speak, taken at unawares ; but 
 this is a thing that must never happen again ; your 
 aunts, who have known me for many years, have 
 seen fit to place you under my care, and to me you 
 must be accountable — as much so, as the youngest 
 apprentice I have. I would not have a young mai- 
 den in my house on any other terms — no ! not if she 
 were the Queen's own daughter. You know my 
 conditions now, and I expect you to abide by 
 them." 
 
 She bade us a short good night, and was turning 
 away, when Amabel made bol4 tp ask her for son^e 
 
I/O The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 drops for my head. She was all sympathy directly, 
 helped me to undress, and brought me I knew not 
 what of smelling-salts and Hungary water. The 
 kindness set me off into the fit of hysterical crying, 
 which had been impending all the evening. Mrs. 
 Thorpe dosed me with sal volatile, and sat by me 
 till I fell asleep, to be tormented half the night with 
 horrible dreams, in which I was alternately a fly, a 
 mouse, and a persecuted Methodist ; and Lady Throck- 
 morton a spider, a fly, and a mad bull, intent on 
 sending me for a soldier. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 MRS. DEBORAH. 
 
 HE next morning, I waked feeling weary 
 and weak enough. Amabel was already 
 up, and I saw her seated near the win- 
 dow with her work. I lay a little while thinking 
 over what had happened, feeling both ashamed of 
 myseK, and vexed at Mrs. Thorpe. What right 
 had she, a tradeswoman, to set up to dictate to, and 
 order a gentleman's daughter? And yet, at the 
 bottom of my heart, I felt that she was right, and 
 I was wrong. 
 
 I made a move presently, and Amabel came to 
 me. 
 
 " Is it very late ? " I asked : " Have you been up 
 long?" 
 
 "It is not late, but I have been up more than an 
 hour ! " answered Amabel : " I have been thinking 
 about a great many things, Lucy. When you are 
 dressed, I will tell you what they are." 
 
 "Well ! now tell me your thoughts ! " said I, as I 
 finished my rosary, (which I still said every morn- 
 ing,) and sat down on the other side of the window. 
 *' I hope they are not very deep, or I shall not under- 
 
 '^ (I/O 
 
1^2 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 stand them, for I feel dreadfully stupid and heary. 
 What would Mother Prudentia say to our being out 
 till eleven o'clock, and that at a play ? " 
 
 " She would say we were very wrong, and so we 
 were:" answered Amabel with decision. "Lucy, 
 we must never do such a thing again." 
 
 " I don't think it was anything to make such an 
 ado about! " I answered: "we could not help going 
 with my lady at last." 
 
 " But we could have helped it at first ! " returned 
 Amabel : " we might have listened to Mrs. Crumb, 
 when she told us what was right." 
 
 " Mrs. Thorpe has no right to order us so ! " I 
 said, speaking out what I had been thinking. 
 
 " She has a perfect right, seeing that my aunt has 
 placed us under her care ! " said Amabel : " Think 
 too, how kind she has been to us. How good she 
 was last night ; %he did not wish to turn you out of 
 her house, because you had a headache, like that 
 other woman." 
 
 I remembered this, and began to feel ashamed of 
 myself, for thinking of our kind hostess as I had 
 done, and at last I agreed with Amabel that we had 
 done wrong, and must ask pardon, as much as if it 
 had been Mother Superior that we had offended. 
 My heart began to feel a little lightened, when I 
 arrived at this point, for the time when conscience 
 stings us worst, is while we are refusing to allow 
 that it stings at all. We knew that Mrs. Thorpe 
 spent a little time in her closet every morning 
 before she came to breakfast, and we determined to 
 eeok her ther^. 
 
Mrs. Deborah. 1/3 
 
 " There is another thing I have been consider- 
 ing ! " said Amabel, when this matter was finally 
 settled : " we have lived a very idle life, lately. 
 Just think ! we have been here nearly three weeks, 
 and what have we to show for it ? not one thing." 
 
 " We have read a good deal ! " I answered. 
 
 " Yes ! but not in a way to do us any good ; we 
 have not done any lessons, or worked, either for our- 
 selves or the poor ; we have not kept to any rule, 
 such as we have always been used to." 
 
 " I know it ! " I answered ! " I have thought of it 
 a good many times. But then you know, Amabel, 
 we have never been used to making rules, or decid- 
 ing anything for ourselves, and somehow one does 
 not know how to set about it." 
 
 " But people must learn to make rules for them- 
 selves ! " said Amabel, with that gentle decision 
 which has always characterized her, when her mind 
 is made up. " Only a very small part of the people 
 in the world can live in convents : otherwise every- 
 thing would be at a stand still ; and those who 
 live in the world, must often decide for them- 
 selves, and regulate their own conduct, and I don't 
 see why we should not do so." 
 
 " But, Amabel, we cannot observe all our own 
 convent rules here ! " I objected : " It would turn 
 the house upside down, if we were to insist on hav- 
 ing our meals at just such times as we used to at 
 St. Jean." 
 
 " Those things are not of much consequence ! " 
 answered Amabel : " For aught I know, one may as 
 
174 T^h^ Poster-Sisters. 
 
 well eat at one time as another. But we can take 
 certain hours for working for the poor, and others 
 for profitable reading and so on. That would dis- 
 turb nobody ; and I am sure we should accomplish 
 a great deal more, and feel better ourselves. Sup- 
 pose we make a set of clothes for that poor little 
 lame girl we went to see yesterday. It will soon be 
 cold weather, and she will need a warm gown and 
 woolen hose. Did you not see how thin her things 
 were, and how carefully mended ? " 
 
 I agreed that it would be a very good plan, and 
 then we sat a few minutes in silence. 
 
 " There is one thing that puzzles me ! " said I 
 presently : " Every one says, that the religious life is 
 the highest, and yet it is plain that only a few peo- 
 ple out of all the world can enter it ; because, as 
 you say, the work of the world would come to a stand 
 still, if nobody married and brought up children, and 
 were shop-keepers and lawyers, and so on. But yet, 
 it seems as if every one ought to serve God in the best 
 possible way ; and if the religious life is the best 
 way, then every one ought to be religious. I do not 
 understand it." 
 
 " Every one has not a vocation ! " said Amabel. 
 
 " But if a vocation pleases God most, then every 
 one ought to have it ! " I persisted. 
 
 "I have heard Mother Prudentia say, that the 
 religious were like the cream that rises to the top of 
 the milk ! " said Amabel : " The skimmed milk may 
 have its uses too." 
 
 "The skimmed milk may have its uses, but J 
 
Mrs. Deborah. 1 75 
 
 don't believe it is the best for the children!" 1 
 returned. " And that is what they get, poor things, 
 if all the best women are to become nuns, and leave 
 only the second-rate ones to become mothers and 
 bring up the little ones." 
 
 "Now you are reasoning, an^ using your own 
 private judgment ! " said Amabel, a little severely — 
 " and you know the church forbids that." 
 
 I did not answer but I thought all the more. 
 How was I to help using my private judgment, so 
 long as I was in a world full of things to be judged ? 
 And even if I gave up in everything to the church, 
 was it not because my private judgment told me 
 that was the right way ? It was a very puzzling 
 business, and the worst was, that having begyn to 
 think, I could not stop. 
 
 " There ! " said Amabel, rising as the clock 
 struck eight — "now we can go to Mrs. Thorpe. 
 Come, Lucy ! " 
 
 We found the good woman in her closet ; a small 
 room opening from her parlor, where she had a 
 table, and chair, a shelf or two of books, a clock, 
 and her large Bible and prayer-book, both of which 
 lay open. 
 
 " Good morning, my dear young ladies ! " said 
 Mrs. Thorpe, as heartily as if nothing had hap- 
 pened : " I did not think you would be awake so 
 early, and told Betsy not to disturb you." 
 
 " We have been up a long time, but we did not 
 wish to interrupt you ! " answered Amabel : " Mrs. 
 Thorpe, we have come to say, that we are very sorry 
 
1/6 The Foster- Sisteri, 
 
 for what happened yesterday, and we will never go 
 anywhere again without your permission." 
 
 " And I am sorry I cried so last night ! 'M added 
 on my own account. Crying when reproved was a 
 great offence in our convent days. 
 
 " Bless you, my dear, you could not help it ; it 
 was only a fit of the mother — hysterics, folks 
 call it now-a-days — ^from being tired, and over 
 wrought. But I don't want to be arbitrary with 
 you, my dears. You are not children any more, and 
 though I do hold to absolute obedience on the part 
 of young folks to their elders who have the charge, 
 and must answer for them, yet I would have it a 
 reasonable, and not a blind obedience. The world, 
 my dears, is full of snares for the young, and espec- 
 ially for young maids — snares of which they know 
 and can know nothing, neither what they are nor 
 how to guard against them; neither should they 
 wish to know, seeing that the very knowledge of 
 evil tends in some measure to corrupt the mind. 
 * Can a man touch pitch, and not be defiled ? ' asks 
 the good book ? and so young people, and particu- 
 larly young maids, whether gentle or simple, must 
 be contented to do what they are bid, and come 
 and go as they are told by those to whom the Lord 
 has given the ordering of them. Many a girl who 
 is now on the streets of Newcastle ruined in body 
 and soul, and made as the offscourings of all men, 
 might be safe at home, if she would but have 
 trusted in, and been guided by her mother, whose 
 heart she has broken, bringing her down in shame 
 and sorrow to her grave." 
 
Mrs. Deborah. ijy 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe spoke with such feeling and ten- 
 derness, that it brought the tears to both our eyes. 
 
 *' There, now I have preached my little sermon, 
 and we will say no more about this matter ! '' re- 
 sumed Mrs. Thorpe, in a more cheerful tone. " We 
 will have our breakfast, and then I have something 
 else to say to you." 
 
 We usually breakfasted alone with Mrs. Thorpe, 
 who liked to sit chatting over her cup of tea, hav- 
 ing regulated her domestic affairs at an early hour. 
 We had not then learned to drink tea, and Mrs. 
 Thorpe had had a pot of chocolate prepared for us. 
 We sat sipping it, while she opened her great 
 subject. 
 
 "My dears, do you think you are making the 
 most of your time ? " 
 
 We looked at each other, and smiled. 
 
 " No, madam ! we have been very lazy since we 
 came hither ! " answered Amabel : " Lucy and I 
 were talking that matter over this very morning, 
 and agreeing that we must set ourselves at work." 
 
 " Why, that is well ! " said Mrs. Thorpe, evidently 
 much pleased : " I don't much believe in praise to 
 the face, which is open disgrace, the old rhyme says j 
 but I must needs say, that two more candid young 
 people I never met with. Then reverting to her 
 subject — "I think you told me you had learned 
 music." 
 
 "We learned to sing, and a little of the organ;** 
 Amabel answered. 
 
 " How would you like to learn the harpsichord ? " 
 asked Mrs. Thorpe. 
 
1/8 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 AmabePs ^eyes sparkled. We had seen one of 
 these wonderful instruments at Mrs. Lowther's 
 school, whither we had gone one day with Mrs. 
 Thorpe ; and we had heard one of her young ladies 
 play a lesson of Mr. Handel's. 
 
 " Because ! " continued Mrs. Thorpe without 
 waiting for an answer, or perhaps seeing one in our 
 faces : " I have taken a fine instrument from a lady 
 in this town who owed me money, and had no other 
 means of paying me ; and I would rather you used 
 it than not. I daresay now, you are thinking it was 
 hard-hearted in me, to take the poor lady's harpsi- 
 chord ; " added Mrs. Thorpe abruptly, changing the 
 subject. 
 
 " No, madam ! I do not believe you would ever do 
 anything hard ! " I answered. 
 
 " If the lady had been poor, and had gone in debt 
 for necessaries, I should never have done it ! " con- 
 tinued Mrs. Thorpe ; " but such was not the case. 
 She is a widow lady, with a handsome jointure 
 enough, to maintain her as nicely as need be, in a 
 somewhat quiet way, but that does not satisfy her. 
 No ! she must needs flaunt it with the finest in the 
 county ; and she has run in debt on every side, till 
 there is hardly a tradesman within a mile who has 
 her not on his books. Not one thing does she ever 
 deny herself that she wants. Poor Gileson the con- 
 fectioner, who has a sickly wife and six little ones, 
 told me that she owed him more than fifty pounds. 
 Ah ! my dears, we hear much about hard-hearted 
 creditors, but I have seen a deal more of hard-hearted 
 
Mrs. Deborah, 179 
 
 debtors in my time. But I had no mind to wait on my 
 fine lady or to lose by her either ; so I told her I must 
 have either money or money's worth before night ; 
 so she turned me over this harpsicord and some 
 laces. Now I know an excellent elderly gentleman 
 in this part of the town, who plays very finely. He 
 is the organist in Mr. Cheriton's church, and is glad 
 to eke out a living for himself and his wife, by giv- 
 ing lessons in music, arithmetic, and other things, 
 for he is a fine scholar they tell me. What would 
 you say to taking some lessons of this gentleman ? 
 it would occupy you pleasantly, and you would be 
 improving yourselves at the same time. I was 
 never for driving young folks from morning till 
 night, but I don't like to see their days running to 
 waste, either. Time, my dear young ladies, is a 
 thing which once lost, can never return. If you 
 lose your health, you may recover it ; if your money, 
 you may earn or inherit more ; but days wasted can 
 never be found again, either in time or eternity, 
 that I know of." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe spoke impressively, as was her wont 
 when on serious subjects. 
 
 " But not to talk of that now," she added in her 
 usual business-like tone. "Your honored father, 
 Mrs. Amabel, bade me use my own judgment with 
 regard to your expenses, so I am not afraid to under- 
 take this matter. The harpsichord will be here this 
 morning, and I will send to Mr. Lilburne to wait 
 upon you at once." 
 
 " There is another thing we were talking of this 
 
I So The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 morning," said Amabel when this matter was settled. 
 " Lucy and I were always accustomed to spend some 
 of our time in working for the poor while we lived 
 at St. Jean, and we thought if you approved we 
 would make some warm garments and hose for that 
 poor lame girl we went to see yesterday. We both 
 have most of the money left that you brought us, 
 and if you would kindly buy us the stuffs and the 
 worsted we might set ourselves at work directly." 
 
 She put her hand in her pocket as she spoke, and 
 withdrew it with a very startled look. 
 
 " My purse is gone !" said she ; " and just look — my 
 pocket is cut open from the top to the bottom." 
 
 " It must have been done at the theatre last night," 
 said Mrs. Thorpe, looking at the pocket which had 
 clearly been slit from top to bottom with some sharp 
 instrument. "Were you much mixed up in the 
 crowd ?" 
 
 "Yes. Don't you remember, Amabel, how we 
 were squeezed just outside the door? The man 
 could hardly make way through the press. And 
 mine is gone too," I added, pulling out my pocket as 
 I spoke, and having much ado not to burst into tears. 
 It was the very first money I had ever owned, and it 
 seemed such a cruelty to deprive me of it, and where 
 were poor Annie's warm clothes to come from ? 
 
 " I dare say the pickpockets made a fine harvest," 
 said Mrs. Thorpe. " It is a very favorite scheme of 
 tlieirs, and the theatre is a favorite place for their 
 operations. But there, don't cry, my dears, perhaps 
 I can help you about the clothes. You had better 
 
Mrs. Deborah. l8i 
 
 look at your camlet dresses and see whether they do 
 not need mending, and if so do it at once. Camlet 
 ravels so badly. I will match the color for you in 
 fine sewing-silk." 
 
 A customer at this moment called Mrs. Thorpe 
 into the shop. We betook ourselves to our own 
 room, and there we did have a little cry together 
 over our lost guineas. But there was no use in 
 wasting time in regrets, and there were our new 
 gowns of plum-colored silk camlet, each with a long 
 slit down the side to be mended. Mrs. Thorpe 
 matched the silk nicely, and after the repairs were 
 finished we set to collecting all our working materi- 
 als. We had begun several pieces at St. Jean, and 
 purchased quite a little store of embroidery silks 
 and lace thread, in Toulon. Amabel proposed that 
 we should take up these pieces and finish them in 
 rotation. We still had our table covered with them 
 when Mrs. Thorpe came up and began admiring 
 them. 
 
 "I'll tell you what, my dear Mrs. Amabel and 
 Mrs. Lucy, (I shall never learn to use this new- 
 fangled title, and I don't know that I care to either. 
 In my young days to call a lady a Miss was to give 
 her about the worst name one could devise), but I'll 
 tell you what, young ladies, I was going to offer to 
 provide you with the stuff for your work, but if 
 you choose to finish these two cravats which I see 
 you have begun, I can sell them for you for money 
 enough to clothe the poor girl and send her to school 
 iuto the bargain, and then the gift will be all your 
 
1 82 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 owiic But they must be done soon, for fashions, you 
 know, change like the moon, only one can't calculate 
 on their changes." 
 
 Here was an unexpected way out of our trouble. 
 I confess the thought did cross my mind that it was 
 somewhat beneath the dignity of young ladies of 
 quality to work for money, and I said as much to 
 Amabel when Mrs. Thorpe had left the room to 
 superintend the moving of the harpsichord. 
 
 " But we are working for the poor in making the 
 lace as much as if we were knitting hose or making 
 shifts," replied Amabel. " The mothers and sisters 
 used to work for money, and they were of noble 
 family." 
 
 " But they were religious, and vowed to humility 
 and poverty," I objected. "Does not that make a 
 difference ?" 
 
 " The more I think about it the more it seems to 
 to me that no one person is bound to be religious 
 more than another," said Amabel. "You know we 
 should both have become nuns if we had had our 
 way, and why are we to be less devoted because we 
 live here instead of at St. Jean ?" 
 
 Our conversation was interrupted by the entrance 
 of the man with the harpsichord, a handsome new 
 instrument, which they placed in our parlor. Mrs. 
 Thorpe followed with her arms full of music-books, 
 and bringing with her a tall white-haired old gentle- 
 man, whom she introduced as Mr. Lilburne. I took 
 a great liking to him at once. He examined the 
 harpsichord, pronounced it a fine one and in perfect 
 
Mrs. Deborah. 183 
 
 tune, and, at Mrs. Thorpe's request, played some 
 airs, which he said were from Mr. Handel's oratorio 
 of the Messiah. Finding that we could read music 
 and had some knowledge of the theory, he gave us 
 a lesson, promising to call the next day but one and 
 hear us play it. 
 
 This was destined to be a day of surprises. Ama- 
 bel was carefully playing over her lesson, and I was 
 busily working at my lace piece, when we heard 
 some one coming up stairs, and Mrs. Thorpe herself 
 throwing open the door announced, with some 
 trepidation — 
 
 "Mrs. Deborah Leigliton — ^your aunt, Mrs. Debo- 
 rah Leighton, Mrs. Amabel." 
 
 We both rose to our feet with a start and courtc- 
 syed to the tall lady in a riding habit who stood in 
 the door. Mrs. Deborah was the oldest of the ladies 
 at Highbeck Hall, and was at that time turned of 
 fifty. She wore her own gray hair without powder, 
 turned up under a man's beaver with a handsome 
 feather and gold clasp. I had never seen a riding 
 habit near at hand at that time, and the coat and 
 waistcoat, almost exactly like a man's, with the deep- 
 laced pockets and cravat, struck me with surprise. 
 Mrs. Deborah wore large gold ear-rings, and the 
 seals of a watch dangled below her waistcoat. In 
 her hand she carried a riding whip with a silver 
 handle. 
 
 " There, don't come too near me, girls ! I don't 
 suppose there is any infection about me, but it is 
 best to be safe," she said, speaking in a strong deep 
 
184 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 voice, which yet had a certain music in it. " I need 
 not ask which is which. This, I am sure, is Ama- 
 bel, from her looks, and this Cornish girl is Lucy 
 Corbet. You are your father's girl, child, as Ama- 
 bel is her mother's," looking at me with a curious 
 contraction of her mouth, as of one in momentary 
 pain. "Your father was a goodly and gallant man, 
 child. I knew him well. And your mother was 
 one of whom the world was not worthy. There, be 
 a good girl and you shall never want a friend while 
 I live. And you are Amabel, eh !" turning to her. 
 "You are a beauty like your mother, but beauty is a 
 fading flower — you know that, don't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, madam," answered Amabel. 
 
 "Well, and how do you find yourselves ? I will 
 git with you a little seeing I am here, and my good 
 friend, Mrs. Thorpe, will send me a glass of ale." 
 Mrs. Thorpe withdrew on this hint, and Mrs. Debo- 
 rah seated herself near the door and continued her 
 catechism. 
 
 "There, there, sit down" — ^for, of course, we had 
 remained standing. "And how do you find your- 
 selves ? Are you comfortable here ?" 
 
 "Yes, madam, we are very happy here," Amabel 
 answered. 
 
 " But what do you do with yourselves ? Do you 
 go out ? You must not dawdle away your lives, you 
 know. When we have you at Highbeck we will 
 teach you to ride ; but that will not be very soon, 1 
 fear." 
 
 We told her how Mrs. Thorpe had arranged for 
 our lessons from Mr. Lilburne. 
 
Mrs. Deborah. 1 85 
 
 "A most respectable person. I know him well, 
 but methinks you should have a governess, or some- 
 thing of that sort. Have you not even a maid V 
 
 " No, madam, we have always been used to wait 
 upon ourselves," answered Amabel. 
 
 "Perhaps that is a good thing; however, I will 
 see about it. Now, girls, I — we, I should say — hoped 
 to have you at home before this time, but poor Chloe 
 has had the small-pox as well as two of the maids, 
 and Burdon, our butler — a pretty thing to be sure to 
 be taking small-pox at his time of life. Poor Sister 
 Chloe is not getting up well. She has a cough and 
 pains in her chest, and the doctor says she should 
 have a change. So we are going to take her to Cul- 
 lercoats for the sea air and to drink the waters, and 
 leave the house to be thoroughly aired and cleaned. 
 We may be gone till near Christmas, and what to do 
 with you in the meantime ? You are rather old for 
 school except as parlor boarders, and I do not like 
 that way of living. What do you say, niece ? You 
 look like a sensible, steady young woman — ^tell me 
 what you think of the matter." 
 
 "Why should we not remain as we are, madam " — 
 
 "Don't say madam, say Aunt Deborah," inter- 
 rupted the lady. 
 
 "Why should we not stay as we are. Aunt Debo- 
 rah ? Mrs. Thorpe is very kind and looks after us 
 well, and she has put us in the way of improving 
 ourselves, as you see. Why should we not stay 
 here?" 
 
 "I have no objection, I am sure, so you are prop» 
 
1 86 The Poster-Sisters, 
 
 erij looked after, as you say " replied Mrs. Deborah. 
 " But you must not run about alone, or with any one 
 but such as Mrs. Thorpe recommends. 1 will talk 
 to her about this matter of a governess or com- 
 panion. She is a good woman and well brought up, 
 and a safe adviser for you. But what is this, and 
 whom have we here V 
 
 The new comer whom Betsy brought up stairs 
 was no less a person than Mrs. Wilson, Lady Throck- 
 morton's maid. She came with inquiries from her 
 mistress as to our health, and an announcement that 
 her ladyship would call at two o'clock in her carriage 
 to carry us abroad for an airing. The woman had 
 taken no notice of Mrs. Deborah, who sat listening. 
 Her black eye-brows gathered closer together till 
 they met above her nose. I came afterward to watch 
 the drawing together of those eye-brows as one 
 watches a thunder-cloud. When Mrs. Wilson had 
 done Mrs. Deborah answered deliberately, as though 
 weighing every word. 
 
 " Then you may tell my Lady Throckmorton from 
 me, Mrs. Deborah Leighton, the aunt of these young 
 ladies and their guardian, that neither now nor at 
 any other time will they go abroad with her. I ab- 
 solutely forbid their having any thing to do with her. 
 Do you hear me, woman ?" 
 
 It was evident from Mrs. Wilson's face that she 
 did both hear and understand, but she took no notice 
 of Mrs. Deborah, except to turn her back upon her 
 while she repeated her message to us. 
 
 "You have your answer," said Amabel with dig- 
 
Mrs. Deborah. 187 
 
 nity. "Do you not hear? We are obliged to Lady 
 Throckmorton for her goodness, but my aunt has 
 forbidden us to go out with her." 
 
 "Now, or at any time ! " added Mrs. Deborah. 
 
 "Please to return these things to your mistress ! " 
 said Amabel, putting into Wilson's hand a parcel 
 containing the finery she had lent us, and which we 
 had packed up to send by Timothy. Mrs. Deborah 
 watched her down the stairs, as a dog watches the 
 retreat of some intruder, whom he has half a mind 
 to fly at and rend. She then shut the door, and 
 returned to her seat. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " she asked : " Have you 
 set up gadding already ? How came you to know 
 this fine lady ? " 
 
 Amabel told her the story of our adventures, and 
 her knitted brows gradually relaxed, especially 
 when I took the blame on myself, saying that I 
 thought Amabel would not have gone but for me. 
 
 " Well, well ! you are but young, and as new to 
 the world as callow goslings ! " said she. 
 
 "Lady Throckmorton was your mother's friend 
 once, Amabel, and for her sake I am sorry now, that 
 I sent her so rude a message. But she was very 
 different in those days. She has been talked about 
 — compromised, though I say not, that she was 
 aught but imprudent. She lives for the world, and 
 calls about her all the gay dissipated young sparks 
 in the country, such as I would not have you meet. 
 She plays high too, and has, I hear, lost a great deal 
 of money.^ ^ There, we will say no more, only mind, I 
 
1 88 The Foster- Sisters. 
 
 will have no more visiting or going out witli her. 
 Well ! and where have you been to church ? next 
 door, I suppose. Mr. Cheriton's father lives in our 
 parts, and though poor is a gentleman of good 
 family. He is like enough to become heir to Lord 
 Carew in Devonshire, I hear. How do you like the 
 son ? He is called a good preacher." 
 
 Amabel replied that we had not heard him 
 preach, though we had made his acquaintance, and 
 explained that being Catholics, we had not been to 
 church, the only chapel in Newcastle being closed 
 at present. 
 
 " Catholics, eh ! I never thought of that," said 
 Mrs. Deborah, looking rather annoyed : " It has 
 always been the rule in our family that the girls 
 should follow their mother's religion ; but my neph- 
 ew, it seems, has found means to evade it. I don't 
 know what my sisters will say. But never mind, 
 now, your consciences shan't be interfered with, if 
 I can help it. Well, then we will consider matters 
 settled, and that you are to stay here. I will talk 
 to Mrs. Thorpe about a proper companion for you. 
 Meantime, here is a token for each of you ! " and 
 she laid down two guineas upon the table. " Oh ! 
 by the way, niece, have you -heard from your 
 father?" 
 
 " No, aunt ! " answered Amabel : " 1 had hoped 
 for a letter, or perhaps a sight of him before long." 
 
 " I do not believe he will come north at present — 
 and perhaps it is just as well on the whole, that he 
 should not!" answered Mrs. Deborah: "His wife 
 
Mrs. Deborah. 189 
 
 has great influence with him, and from all I hear, 
 she is not likely to let him burn his fingers ; not 
 that I believe these tales of the Prince's landing. 
 Well, there ! good bye. Be good girls, and God 
 bless you." 
 
 We looked at each other, as the door closed on 
 Mrs, Deborah. "Well, how do you like her?" 
 said I. 
 
 " Very much ! " answered Amabel, with decision, 
 as usual : " I think she is rather rough, but I arn 
 sure she is good. How very kindly she spoke to 
 you. Do you not like her ? " 
 
 " Yes ! very much, " I answered ; and indeed, 
 Mrs. Deborah's way of putting me on an equality 
 with Amabel, had extracted from my mind a root 
 of bitterness which had vegetated there for a long 
 time. Ever since our last talk with Mother Supe- 
 rior about returning to England, I had fully made 
 up my mind never to leave Amabel, whatever hap- 
 pened ; but I had shed some proud tears in secret, 
 at the thought of being degraded from an equal and 
 companion, to a mere waiting-woman. That trial 
 was not to come upon me, at least for the present. 
 
 That same afternoon, a messenger came from 
 Lady Throckmorton, bringing back the aprons that 
 we had worn at the theatre, with the following note. 
 
 *' OirU : 
 
 You may tell your aunt, that I might easily enough 
 repay the affront she has seen fit to put upon me, but I scorn 
 such paltry revenge. As to you, I meant to do you a kindness 
 which you might have taken for such ; but of course, such 
 
190 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 chits as you have but to do as you are bid. I am not m the 
 habit of taking back my gifts, for such I meant 'em. You can 
 either keep the things, or put 'em in the fire. 
 
 Clarissa Throckmorton." 
 
 " What shall we do with the things ? " said I, 
 taking up the packet, which Amabel had laid on the 
 table. 
 
 " We can do nothing but keep them, under the 
 circumstances ! " answered Amabel. " I am sure I 
 don't want to have them, " said I. 
 
 " Nor I : Perhaps we can find a way of bestowing 
 them in charity some time ; meantime let us put 
 them away. I am glad my aunt laid her commands 
 on us so plainly, it saves us a great deal of 
 trouble. " 
 
 " What shall we do if Lady Throckmorton writes 
 to your father, as she said she meant to do ? " I 
 asked, remembering all at once, all her ladyship 
 had said on that matter. 
 
 " We shall see when the time comes." 
 
 " But you must allow, Amabel, it was kind in her 
 to ask us ! " said I : " She could have had no motive 
 in it, but to give us pleasure, that I see." 
 
 " I am not so sure ! " answered Amabel. " I 
 don^t like to look out for mean motives. At the 
 same time, I can't help remembering a word she let 
 drop — ^ I must positively have you with me. Noth- 
 ing draws like a new face. ' Pon't you recollect ? " 
 
 I did recollect, and my ever ready pride brought 
 the blood to my cheeks, as I thought of being used 
 as a decoy to capture the kind of game which Lady 
 
Mrs, Deborah, 191 
 
 Throckmorton affected. " Well, I know one thing, 
 I wish we had never seen her ! " said I. 
 
 " We never should have seen her probably, if we 
 had obeyed Mrs. Thorpe's hints, and stayed up 
 stairs, " answered Amabel : " But come, never mind 
 her. Hear me play over my lesson." 
 
 Amabel took to the harpsichord at once. I can- 
 not say I ever liked it. I was fond of singing and 
 of the lute, and I believe I might with proper in- 
 struction have become something of a proficient 
 upon the latter. But I liked best of all to do fine 
 needle work, for which I always drew my own pat- 
 terns, mostly from nature. That very afternoon, 
 taking a longer walk than usual, we found ourselves 
 outside the walls, where was quite a little coppice of 
 wood and brambles. Here, I discovered some fern 
 leaves of a kind quite new to me, and very graceful. 
 Such things always gave me a degree of exquisite 
 delight, such as I could never find words to express ; 
 and which I believe Amabel thought rather child- 
 ish. I carried home a handful of the leaves and 
 arranged them into a pattern. Mrs. Thorpe had in 
 her shop some beautifully fine and sheer linen, 
 which she said came from China. I bought a 
 square of this linen with a part of the guinea Mrs. 
 Deborah had given me, and began a handkerchief, 
 which so interested me, that I found myself in dan- 
 ger of forgetting my lessons altogether; till I made 
 a positive rule to myself, that I would work at it 
 only just so long every day. 
 
 If there was some trouble in being thus forced to 
 
192 * * The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 decide for ourselves, there was also a good deal of 
 pleasure, and it had this advantage ; that our minds 
 and wills were made stronger, instead of weaker 
 by the process. After a day or two, Mrs. Thorpe 
 announced to us that she had found a lady who 
 would come to us every day from nine till six ; walk 
 out with us and give us such instruction, especially 
 in English, as was in her power. I confess I was 
 not pleased with the prospect, and I suppose Mrs. 
 Thorpe saw as much in my face, for she added — 
 
 " You know, ladies, I am only acting in accord- 
 ance with Mrs. Deborah's orders. I dare say, you 
 find it pleasanter to be by your two selves ; but you 
 know, my dears, that the pleasantest things are not 
 always the best. Mrs. Cropsey is a very well edu- 
 cated lady, who has seen good society in her day ; 
 but she has lately been left a widow, having lost her 
 husband and two children, as it were, at one blow ; 
 and she is only too glad to do something to sup- 
 port herself — poor thing." 
 
 " Who was her husband ? " asked Amabel. 
 
 " He was a clergyman of the church of England, 
 Mrs. Amabel — a poor curate, to a gentleman who 
 holds two livings, and a stall at Durham besides. 
 Poor Mr. Cropsey caught a fever from a poor man 
 he attended, and carried it home to his children. 
 They just managed to make both ends meet in his 
 lifetime, and you may guess there was not much left 
 for his widow. I don't wish to speak evil of digni- 
 ties, or to criticise my spiritual pastors, which is 
 against the catechism, and bad manners besides ; 
 
Mrs. Deborah. 193 
 
 but I must say it does vex me to see Doctor Turn- 
 bull riding in his fine coach, with his lady and 
 daughters, dressed out as never was, spending 
 money like water ; while the poor creatures that do 
 all the real work, have hardly bread to eat, nor clothes 
 to cover their backs and those of their children, 
 not to mention money to lay up against a rainy 
 day." 
 
 " Our priests do not marry ! " observed Amabel, 
 with a little tone of superiority : " so they have no 
 cares of this world to distract them from their 
 sacred duties." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe smiled — a shrewd, slightly sarcastic 
 smile, of which I had learned to be a little afraid. 
 
 " My dear ! " she asked abruptly : " how many 
 priests did you ever know anything about ? " 
 
 We looked at each other. 
 
 " There was Father Brousseau ! " said I. 
 
 " And the Bishop — ^but we could not say we knew 
 him, of course ; we only saw him two or three 
 times," added Amabel. 
 
 •' And Father Dubois ! " I added. Amabel frowned 
 at me. The truth was, that Father Dubois had 
 come for two or three weeks in place of Father 
 Brousseau, when that gentleman was called away ; 
 and had created a sad scandal by drinking too 
 much wine, and singing songs which were not 
 sacred by any manner of means. 
 
 It was even darkly hinted among us, that he had 
 called Mother Assistant, " Ch^re Amie," which 
 means in French something quite different from 
 the words which literally translate it into English. 
 
194 ^^^ Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " You see you are hardly competent to decide on 
 that matter," said Mrs. Thorpe: "I have seen a 
 good many priests in my travels, both French and 
 German." 
 
 " I am sure Father Brousseau is a good man ! " 
 said I, rather indignantly, as Mrs. Thorpe appar- 
 ently pulled herself up, in what she was about to 
 say. 
 
 " That he is, my child ! " agreed Mrs. Thorpe, 
 emphatically : " I wish all clergymen, both priests 
 and ministers, were like him. But to return to the 
 matter in hand. I hope, my dears, you will like this 
 lady, and be kind to her. Young persons can do 
 very much to make the lives of their governesses 
 pleasant and easy, or the reverse. I am not much 
 acquainted with Mrs. Cropsey, but Mr. Cheriton 
 knows her well, and indeed it was he who recom- 
 mended her to me." 
 
 " I dare say we shall like her very much ! " 
 replied Amabel promptly : " and as you say, it will 
 no doubt be better for us to have some one with us, 
 to overlook our employments, as we have always 
 been used to do. When is she coming ? " 
 
 " She has asked to wait till next week, as she has 
 to settle up her affairs, and dispose of what furni- 
 ture she has. Mr. Cheriton has bought the poor 
 gentleman's books, of which he had a good many, 
 considering. Mrs. Cropsey has insisted on giving 
 me two china jugs, which were her mother's, on 
 account of a debt she owes me, for thread, hose, and 
 80 on. I don't wish to sell them, so with your 
 
Mrs. Deborah, 195 
 
 leave, I will put them on the top of your cabinet, 
 here. Perhaps she may buy them back some day." 
 
 "What do you think?" I asked of Amabel, as 
 Mrs. Thorpe left the room. 
 
 "About Mrs. Cropsey ? I think we must make the 
 best of her, and learn all we can of her. Anyhow, 
 Lucy, we won't be set against her beforehand ; that 
 would not be fair. I dare say she is a nice person." 
 
 " She must be, of course, since Mr. Cheriton rec- 
 ommended her!" said I demurely, and bestowing 
 extra pains on the stem of my fern. 
 
 "I suppose he would not recommend her, of 
 course, unless he considered her suitable," returned 
 Amabel, and she immediately began practising with 
 such energy that there was no more chance for 
 conversatioo. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE INNOCENT BLOOD. 
 
 HE next day was Sunday, a day which nsu 
 ally hung rather heavily on our hands. 
 There was a Roman Catholic Chapel in 
 Newcastle, but it had been closed ever since our 
 arrival, and the priest had left town. Tlie rumors 
 of a second attempt of the Chevalier de St. George, 
 or the Pretender, (that unlucky gentleman being one 
 or the other, according as the speaker were Whig or 
 Jacobite,) though as it turned out totally unfounded 
 at that time, had made it expedient for such of the 
 Catholic clergy as knew the value of peace to keep 
 out of sight. But these rumors had now begun to 
 die away. It was reported that King Louis had for- 
 bidden the chevalier to fight with his army in Flan- 
 ders, or even to visit it; that his highness was living 
 quietly in the neighborhood of Paris, amusing him- 
 self with shooting and playing, and other more 
 questionable diversions, and that there was not the 
 least likelihood of his getting together another fleet 
 at present to re-place that which had been scattered 
 by the storms of the preceding winter. The Jaco- 
 bites still held up their heads, and used their pass- 
 words, and wore their white ribbons; but I could 
 
 (196) 
 
The hinocent Blood, 1 97 
 
 not but observe that a large number of the fine bonnets 
 which sailed into the side entrance of St. Anne's 
 were trimmed with red plumes and flowers. 
 
 Amabel had one of her rare headaches that day. 
 She got up, but was obliged to go to bed again. I 
 applied the usual remedies, and she by and by began 
 to amend, and at last fell into the deep sleep which 
 usually ended these attacks. As I knew that she 
 was not likely to wake for some hours I ventured to 
 leave her, and, taking my book of " Hours," I stole 
 down into the garden, and seated myself in a shady 
 corner, a favorite place of mine, where one of the 
 buttresses of the old gray stone church projected 
 into our garden. There was a window directly over 
 my head, out of which several lights were broken, 
 and as I sat I could hear the voice of Mr. Cheriton 
 reading the service, and the droning responses of 
 the old clerk. Mr. Cheriton had a good voice and 
 read remarkably well. He had too much taste to 
 mumble the service, as many clergymen do, or to 
 repeat it like a child going through the pence table. 
 Not that I should have seen any thing wrong in it if 
 he had, for I was used to say my own rosary much 
 in the same way. Mr. Cheriton had also a musical 
 ear, and his efforts, joined to those of Mr. Lilburne, 
 the organist, had made the singing the best in town, 
 so that many fine people came purposely to hear it. 
 These people were sometimes to be seen coming 
 away before the sermon,* which I should think could 
 hardly have been very pleasing to Mr. Cheriton. 
 
 * A piece of low breeding not altogether unknown now in 
 churches where music is used as an "attraction." — L. E. G. 
 
198 The Foster-Sister*. 
 
 I had not said to myself that my object: in choking 
 the corner under the church wall was to hear the 
 service, and yet such was really my purpose. I had 
 begun to be very curious about the ways and worship 
 of Protestants, and would have liked very well to go 
 to church with Mrs. Thorpe for once, but I had not 
 yet ventured to propose such a thing to Amabel. 
 However, I said to myself that there could be no 
 harm in listening so long as I did not join in the 
 heretical worship. So I did listen with all my ears, 
 and made the discovery that the service — prayers, 
 hymns, and all — was in English, so that I under- 
 stood every word. 
 
 "How strange that they should have the Church 
 prayers in the common vulgar language that they 
 use every day," said I to myself, and then the 
 thought occurred to me, that as most of the wor- 
 shippers were common vulgar people, perhaps it was 
 as well that the prayers should be in a language 
 which they understood. Presently I made another 
 discovery, which was, that the priest did not have 
 all the service between himself and the choir, but 
 that the people actually joined in it. Any one who 
 looks into the matter will see that in the Romish 
 Church there is no such thing as common prayer as 
 we understand it. The priest and his assistants 
 perform the mass, and the choir sings the responses, 
 wliile the books of those who are able to read contain 
 various devotions, such as are considered appropriate 
 to different portions of the service. There may be as 
 
The Innocent Blood. 199 
 
 many different prayer-books as there are worshippers. 
 But here I heard the voices of all the school chil- 
 dren, and many of the congregation beside, join in 
 the "Good Lord deliver us," and other responses of 
 the litany. I had now given up all pretence of 
 reading and listened with all my ears. I found my- 
 self strangely affected by these English prayers. 
 The short petitions seemed calculated to meet almost 
 every case of need or sorrow common to man. I 
 felt the tears very near my eyes, and when the choir 
 sung the twenty-third psalm — 
 
 " The Lord is only my support. 
 And He that doth me feed. 
 How can I then lack anything 
 Whereof I stand in need. 
 
 In pastures green He feedeth me 
 
 Where I do safely lie, 
 And after leads me to the streams 
 
 Which run most pleasantly " — 
 
 the drops ran over. I believe this was the first time 
 I had ever thought of God, Himself, as my Father, 
 or as a possible friend. The Father was to me up 
 to that time, as an awful stern power far away in 
 the heavens, yet watching all I did with a jealous 
 eye ; from whose wrathful justice I was to be saved, 
 if at all, by the intercession of Mary, and by her 
 commands laid upon her Divine Son, in my favor. 
 I listened eagerly for the sermon, but it disap- 
 pointed me ; I could hardly tell why. It was well 
 written and faultlessly delivered, no doubt, but I 
 must confess the whole might have been summed 
 
200 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 up, as Jenny Trevathy summed up one of poor old 
 Doctor Brown's one day last summer, "It is nice 
 to be good, and naughty to be wicked, and if you 
 are good, you will have a nice time, and if you are 
 not, you won't." But of how to be good — ^how to 
 get rid of that traitor within, which was always cor- 
 responding with the tempter without, and opening 
 the doors to him — of that I heard nothing. 
 " To resolve was everything, " Mr. Cheriton said, 
 but I had not yet found to resolve was anything. I 
 got up as the congregation began to disperse, and 
 went into the house. I found Amabel up, and bath- 
 ing her face with cold water. 
 
 " How is your headache ? " I asked. 
 
 " Quite gone," she answered : " Have you been 
 sitting here all the morning ? " 
 
 " No ! I have been in the garden, listening to the 
 music in the church. Do you know, Amabel, they 
 have all their service — prayers and chants and all 
 — in plain English, and the people join in them ? " 
 
 " Yes, I knew as much as that ! " answered Ama- 
 bel : " but I am not sure it was right to listen to 
 them. " 
 
 " There was no harm in them, that I could see, " 
 I answered : " They seemed to me very good pray- 
 ers." 
 
 " They are heretical, and so they cannot be good," 
 answered Amabel, in her mildly positive way. 
 " They have no mass at all, and even what they 
 call the communion, only once in a month, and you 
 know Lucy, the perpetual adoration of the Blessed 
 
The Innocent Blood, 201 
 
 Sacrament was instituted partly to atone for the 
 affronts offered to it, by Protestants." 
 
 " How far away all that seems ! " said I : " Does 
 it to you ? " 
 
 " Almost always. It is Sister Lazarus' turn at 
 the post now ! " said Amabel, with a far off dreamy 
 look in her eyes : " It always came at this time on 
 Sunday. I heard her tell Mother Prudentia once, 
 that Satan always assaulted her at that time, by 
 making her wonder whether or not Sister Anne 
 was scorching the fowls, and letting the soup boil 
 over." 
 
 " The dear mothers and sisters — how often I have 
 wished I could send them some of the nice things 
 we are always having to eat," said I. 
 
 " Sister Lazarus is a much better cook than Bet- 
 sy, " returned Amabel, jealous for the honor of her 
 old friend ; " Mrs. Thorpe herself said she never 
 saw such cooking." 
 
 " Yes, but think how little she has to do with. I 
 wish our own dinner was ready, but I think Mrs. 
 Thorpe is later than common." 
 
 " There she comes now. Please fasten my ker- 
 chief behind, Lucy ! " 
 
 " Well, my dears, did you think I was never com- 
 ing ? " said Mrs. Thorpe : " It is a Sacrament Sun- 
 day, and there was such a number of communicants 
 as I never saw before. Almost all poor-looking 
 people, too. The free seats were quite filled, and 
 some of the men were rough-looking fellows enough. 
 However, they all behaved wonderful well — a deal 
 
202 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 better than some of their betters, I must say. 
 I don't want to set up to judge the quality, 
 but I doyHt like to see all this curtesying, and 
 bowing, and passing of snuff-boxes, and sugar 
 plums. That sort of thing may do well enough at 
 the theatre, but to my mind, 'tis very unsuitable to 
 the church of God." 
 
 "We don't have such things in our churches ! " I 
 said, rather boastfully. 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe gave an odd little smile. She had 
 been many times in Paris, and the low countries ; 
 and Protestant as she was, she had seen a deal 
 more of Romish churches than we had. 
 
 ** So much the better, my dear ! " said she : " as I 
 said, church is no place for them. I saw my Lady 
 Throckmorton make up a face of disgust at Mr. 
 Cheriton himself, as some poor women came in, and 
 sat down in the free seats near her." 
 
 " What did Mr. Cheriton do ? " asked Amabel. 
 
 " I could not see that he gave her so much as a 
 glance," said Mrs. Thorpe. " Folks say — some of 
 the straiter laced kind at least — that Mr. Cheriton 
 is too fond of the theatre and card-table for a 
 clergyman ; but at least he knows what belongs to 
 good behavior in church, and he gave the sacrament 
 to the poor women with as much care and gravity 
 as he would have done to a princess." 
 
 " I heard say, that the Methodists were coming to 
 town, and were to have preaching this morning, at 
 five o'clock at the Sand-gate," observed Mary Lee 
 modestly. " Perhaps that was what sent so many 
 to the communion." 
 
The Innocent Blood. 203 
 
 " The Methodists would be more likely to keep 
 them away, from what I hear ! " replied Mrs. 
 Thorpe : " It is said, they teach that there is no use 
 at all in ordinances, and they set up the commonest 
 sort of people to preach, and to administer the 
 sacraments." 
 
 " I do not think that is quite true, mistress ! " 
 said Mary, who very seldom ventured to speak a 
 word : " My Aunt Kesiah, who is with us now, used 
 to hear Mr. Wesley preach in Bristol, and there- 
 abouts, when she lived in those parts last year ; and 
 she said great complaint was made by some of the 
 clergy, that Mr. Wesley and his brother sent so 
 many to the sacrament. * The sexton at Kings- 
 wood, where all the colliers live, was downright 
 vexed about it, aunt said. They do have preachers 
 of the common people I believe, but they are only 
 preachers." 
 
 " They are all Papists, and in league with the 
 Pretender. My father says so," said Betty 
 Humble. 
 
 " Anyhow, they preach to the poor colliers and 
 miners, that nobody had thought of before, any 
 more than if they were brutes," said Mary, with 
 some spirit : "My aunt says, that there at Kings- 
 wood, where all sorts of wickedness, drinking, 
 swearing, fighting, and what not used to go on, you 
 hardly hear a bad word, or see a drunken person 
 now-^-days. The very women mend their own and 
 
 * See Charles Wesley's memoirs, concerning the colliers of 
 Kingswood. 
 
 14 
 
204 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 their children's clothes, and strive to keep their 
 houses neat, and the men sing psalms, and hymns, 
 when they go to and from their work, instead of 
 wicked vile songs, as they used to." 
 
 "The Methodists bewitch them," said Martha. 
 "There was John Bristate's wife — she used to be the 
 greatest scold in the Sand-gate — and made naught of 
 heaving the cat at John's head, and now she is like 
 a lamb. John says it makes him just feared at 
 times when he comes in late, to find his supper wait- 
 ing by the fire, and to see Sally knitting, and the 
 poor beast of a cat that used to dread her very step 
 sitting in her lap or on her gown." 
 
 " If he would rather have a cat thrown at his head 
 than to see it sitting on his wife's gown he is not of 
 my mind," said Mrs. Thorpe dryly. "I like a cat 
 well enough, but not in that way, and I should say 
 it would be altogether more, healthful to the cat." 
 
 "I heard a gentleman — it was Lord Bulwer — say 
 that some preacher declared that he knew his sins 
 were forgiven," said I ; " and Mrs. Bunnell had some 
 talk with Mr. Cheriton about the matter, and she 
 said it was in the prayer-book." 
 
 " I don't think that can be, and it does seem great 
 presumption in a common man to pretend to know 
 that his sins are forgiven," observed Mrs. Thorpe. 
 "I have no spite against the Methodists, but the 
 good old Church of England is good enough for me, 
 as it was for my father before me, and so it ought to 
 be for you, Mary Lee. Don't you be led away by 
 e,ny new-fangled notions, but do your duty toward 
 
The tnnjcent Blood, 10^ 
 
 God and your neighbor according to the catechism 
 and you will be all right, never fear." 
 
 Mary's pale cheek flushed, and she looked as if 
 ehe would like to say more, but as we all rose from 
 the table at that moment to return thanks she had 
 no opportunity. My own curiosity was greatly 
 roused by what I had heard of these strange people, 
 and I made up my mind that I would question Mary 
 and find out more of what her aunt had told her. 
 
 We always went out for a walk on Sunday after- 
 noon, and not uncommonly a friend or two of Mrs. 
 Thorpe's would drop in for a cup of tea, a chat, and 
 a game or two at cards or backgammon, followed by 
 a little supper. Mrs. Thorpe, I am sure, saw no 
 harm in these things, or she would never have done 
 them, for she was not one to go against her con- 
 science in anything. At the same time she was 
 greatly shocked and distressed at finding Amabel 
 and me working at our embroidery frames one Sun- 
 day afternoon. She exacted from us a promise that 
 we would never do so again, and told us a tragical 
 tale of a maid of honor of Queen Elizabeth's who 
 had died from pricking her finger with a needle while 
 sewing on Sunday, adding that she knew the story 
 was true, for she had seen a wax-work image of this 
 wicked young lady when she was in London, with 
 the blood running; down her finger as natural as life. 
 I don't think we were as much impressed with this 
 tale as Mrs. Thorpe intended. Being a maid of 
 honor to Queen Elizabeth, we thought the judgment 
 might have come upon her for that reason, and not 
 
206 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 because she sewed on Sunday, for we had been caught 
 to regard good Queen Bess as the personation of all 
 that was evil in women. But I am getting a long 
 way from that memorable Sunday. 
 
 We had been out for a walk, as I have said. St. 
 Anne's Church stood on the corner of the street 
 down which we returned, and we had just drawn 
 near to it when we heard the noise of many hoarse 
 voices, which at once reminded me of the noises 
 which had so terrified me in Toulon, and of the 
 voices of the robbers as we heard them while con- 
 cealed in the great cavern at St. Jean. 
 
 "What can that be?" exclaimed Mrs. Thorpe. 
 "Let us hurry home, young ladies." 
 
 At that moment Mr. Cheriton came out of his 
 house and joined us, saying that he would see us to 
 the door, as there seemed some disturbance in the 
 street. We turned round the corner of the church 
 and at once found ourselves face to face with the 
 danger. A riotous mob of persons — wharfmen, sol- 
 diers, and women of the lowest sort — were pouring 
 up the street in which we lived. Just before them 
 two men — one a plain man in decent black, the other 
 apparently an officer of some sort — were supporting 
 between them the form of a fainting woman, and 
 trying to shield her from the blows that were aimed 
 and the missiles that were thrown by the rioters. 
 Three or four gentlemen on horseback mingled with 
 the crowd, and were evidently setting them on. In 
 one of them I recognized Lord Bulmer, whom T had 
 seen at Lady Throckmorton's. 
 
The Innocent Blood, 207 
 
 At th 3 moment we reached our own door a better 
 aimed missile than the ofliers struck the man in 
 black on the head and knocked him down. It 
 Beemed as if the whole group would be trampled 
 into dust by the multitude that came pouring on like 
 a drove of wild cattle ; but help was at hand. Mr. 
 Cheriton sprang forward and, placing himself 
 between the woman and the mob, with one flourish 
 of his big stick, as it seemed, he laid low two of 
 his opponents, and cleared a ring round him. At 
 the same moment a mutual recognition took place 
 between Mrs. Thorpe and the young officer. 
 
 "Dick Thorpe, is this you?" 
 
 "Aunt Thorpe, for Heaven's sake open the door 
 and take this poor distressed woman into your house. 
 These beggarly long-shore cowards have all but 
 killed her." And he added a string of hard words 
 which I will not set down here. Swearing, which is 
 now going out of fashion among gentlefolks, was as 
 common as breathing at that time. Mrs. Thorpe 
 was not the woman to disregard such an appeal. 
 She flung open the private door of the shop. The 
 poor man had picked himself up by this time, and, 
 with the help of young Mr. Thorpe, carried the 
 woman into Mrs. Thorpe's private parlor. 
 
 Meantime Mr. Cheriton was addressing the mob. 
 He informed them in energetic language, level to the 
 lowest understanding among them, that they were 
 a set of cowards and sneaks, unworthy of the name 
 of Englishmen ; that they deserved kicking — not to 
 say hanging — and it was a wonder if they did not 
 
2o8 The FosterSisteri, 
 
 get their deserts. He would like to see the first 
 man who would dare attack the house whose mistress 
 had taken in the poor creature. As he spoke he 
 twirled his stick, and looked round him as though 
 he would enjoy breaking two or three more heads. 
 
 The viler part of the mob began to slink away by 
 that time, and the better sort to look rather shame- 
 faced. 
 
 " But these be the Methodees, parson," one ven- 
 tured to say. 
 
 " They be in league with the Papists and the Pre- 
 tender," said another. 
 
 "Rubbish!" returned the rector; "they are harm- 
 less people. Who has been telling you such a pack 
 of lies?" 
 
 " His lordship says so," returned the first speaker, 
 looking at Lord Bulmer, who kept his ground, though 
 the other gentleman had drawn off. 
 
 " Then his lordship might be in better business," 
 retorted Mr. Cheriton. "You are well set to work, 
 my lord, hounding on these men to such a villainous, 
 cowardly persecution of a few harmless enthusiasts." 
 
 " Mr. Cheriton, your cloth protects you," said Lord 
 Bulmer, turning very red. " If it did not — " 
 
 "If it did not I should be safe enough, I dare 
 say," returned Mr. Cheriton, in a tone of the most 
 stinging contempt. " The valor which exerts itself 
 against poor Methodist preachers and helpless 
 women is not likely to be very dangerous to any thing 
 of its own size. Go home, my men, go home, and 
 thank Heaven that you have been saved from the 
 doing of a horrible cov'^^dly crime." 
 
The Innocent Blood. 2O9 
 
 The crowd had much thinned by this time, and the 
 few men who remained looked sheepish enough. 
 
 " Then you don't think they be Papistees ?" one 
 man ventured to say. 
 
 " No, I don't, and if they were it would be no way 
 to convert them. Pray, how did this disgraceful 
 row begin V 
 
 " 'Twas the gentry as put us up to it," the man 
 begun, but I heard no more. Amabel and I had 
 been peeping through the blinds of the room over 
 the shop, when Mrs. Thorpe, who had sent us away 
 from her room down stairs, came and called us. 
 
 " The poor woman has come to herself, but she 
 must be got to bed without delay, and all the girls 
 are out save Betty Humble, who has hid in the coal- 
 hole and won't come out. My dear young ladies, 
 will you do this distressed creature a good turn by 
 getting a bed ready for her V 
 
 "Yes, indeed," answered Amabel and I both 
 together. 
 
 " Then just make up the bed in the front bedroom 
 as quickly as you can. The blankets are all there, 
 and you will find linen on the second shelf of the 
 press in my room. There is the key. I will come 
 up and do the rest." 
 
 We set to work with all zeal, admiring the thick 
 softness of the feather beds and the beautiful 
 smoothly-laundered linen. We ran hither and 
 thither, bringing what was wanted, and making our- 
 selves useful in all sorts of ways." 
 
 " See what it is to have the use of one's hands," 
 
2IO The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 said Mrs. Thorpe, as she came down stairs and found 
 the table set and every thing ready for supper. 
 " My dears, I never thought of your doing so much. 
 Betty Humble, if you do not stop that noise this 
 instant I will empty this bucket of water over you." 
 This to Betty, who, having come out of her coaly 
 refuge, was trying to attract a little interest to her- 
 self by going into hysterics in the corner. " Don't 
 let me hear another sound from you if you want any 
 supper to-night. Come, young ladies. Kesiah Lee is 
 sitting with the poor woman above." Mary ran and 
 fetched her the moment she came home, like a good 
 brave girl as she is, instead of bawling and screech- 
 ing in the coal-house. ^ 
 
 "Well, I can't help myself," began Betsy. "I 
 always did have nerves when any thing was the 
 matter." 
 
 "Then let me hear thee say nerves again and 
 thow'lt get thy ears cuffed," returned Mrs. Thorpe. 
 " Nerves, indeed ! A pretty thing for every 'prentice 
 lass to be setting up with neryes like a fine lady. 
 Nerves are for the quality, not for those who have 
 their living to earn." 
 
 " How is the poor woman ?" I asked, when we had 
 taken our seats at the table. 
 
 "Very bad !" answered Mrs. Thorpe, shaking her 
 head. " I doubt she will hardly get through it. My 
 nephew has gone for the doctor, and Kesiah Lee, 
 who knows all about such matters, has promised to 
 stay all night. We will do our best for the pooi 
 thing." 
 
The Innocent Blood, 21 1 
 
 **And her husband T asked Amabel. 
 
 "Like one distracted poor man at first, but he is 
 quite calm now, though one may see by his face how 
 much it costs him. 'Tis enough to wring one's heart 
 to see him smile and speak cheerfully to his poor 
 wife, and then turn to the window and stifle his grief. 
 What could ever have possessed him to bring a 
 woman in her condition into a crowd passes my 
 guessing. K the poor thing dies some folks will 
 have murder on their souls." 
 
 Mrs. Crumb and Betsy had come home by that 
 time, so there was no more need for our services, 
 and Mrs. Thorpe sent us to our own room with the 
 recommendation that we should go to bed early, as 
 we had had such a fatiguing day. 
 
 " You need have no fear ! " said Mrs. Thorpe. 
 " My nephew will stay in the house all night, and he 
 has brought with him two or three sturdy sailors 
 from his own ship, to garrison the fort, as he says." 
 
 This news produced a wonderfully reviving effect 
 on Betsy's sinking spirits. She at once made 
 known her willingness to sit up too, that she might 
 be on hand if help were wanted. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say ! " returned Mrs. Thorpe : " you 
 go to bed, and don't let me hear your voice again 
 this night. Do you go to bed too, my dear young 
 ladies, and don't forget the poor woman in your 
 prayers, for she needs them, if ever distressed crea- 
 ture did." 
 
 " Let us say the Litany of the Holy Virgin for 
 her 1 " said I, when we were alone together. 
 
212 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Amabel was not quite sure, whether or no it 
 would be right to do so for a heretic ; but at last she 
 agreed, and we went through it devoutedly enough, 
 addressing the Lord's mother in a way that seems 
 to me now to be sheer idolatry. I was a long time 
 falling asleep, for when the necessity for action 
 was over, I found out for the first time that I had 
 been scared ; and though I did not have a fit of the 
 nerves like Betty, I started at every sound, and 
 strained my ears to hear every movement in the 
 other part of the house. It was not till cock-crow- 
 ing that I fairly fell asleep. 
 
 Nevertheless, I waked rather early. The house 
 was very still, and a late robin was singing sweetly 
 in the garden. I could hear some one stepping 
 about softly now and then, but that was all. I 
 dressed and opened our parlor door. That of the 
 room opposite was open, as was also the window, 
 which I rather wondered to see. The room was 
 very neat, and Mrs. Thorpe worn from her vigil, 
 and with traces of tears on her bright face, was just 
 drawing the snowy curtains together. As she 
 caught my eye she beckoned me, and as I came to 
 her side she softly parted them again, and turned 
 down a fine white sheet which covered the bed. 
 There lay the poor woman ; her marble face beauti- 
 ful with the peacefully joyful smile of death, and oh 
 me — on her arm lay like a little waxen image — a 
 dead baby. 
 
 " Is it not a pitiful sight ? " said the good woman. 
 " The babe was born about daybreak, and for a lit- 
 
The Innocent Blood, 213 
 
 tie we hoped it might live, but it just breathed long 
 enough to be christened, poor little dear, and its last 
 sigh passed away with its mother's. She had her 
 senses to the last, and I warrant you, it was a piti- 
 ful thing to hear how she strove to comfort her hus- 
 band, and prayed for those who had brought her 
 to this pass. I will never say a word about the 
 Methodists again." 
 
 I have seen many a sorrowful sight in my day, 
 but never I think one which touched me like that. 
 As I thought of Lord Bulmer with his languid fine 
 gentleman airs, and remembered how he had set on 
 the mob to murder these innocent creatures, my 
 heart was like to burst with grief and indignation. 
 I was to hate him worse before I had done with 
 him. 
 
 " There, don't make yourself ill with crying, 
 that's a dear ! " said Mrs. Thorpe : " The poor 
 thing's troubles are over, and she will never suffer 
 again ; and as to the dear baby, we know the Lord 
 took such in his arms and blessed them, even when 
 the disciples would have hindered him. Go down 
 into the garden if you will, and gather some rose- 
 mary and lavender, to strew over the winding-sheet, 
 and a white rose or two, to lay in the babe's bosom. 
 We must make things look as pretty as we can." 
 
 I observed already, how neatly the bodies were 
 dressed, and disposed. As Mrs. Thorpe had sug- 
 gested, I hurried down to the garden and gathered 
 my hands full of sweet herbs, with which the place 
 abounded. 1 was busily searching foj.- some of the 
 
214 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 late violets which bloomed in a sunny border, when 
 I was accosted by young Mr. Thorpe. 
 
 " The poor woman above is dead, I hear ! " said 
 he, after a morning salutation — " and her babe also. 
 'Tis a cowardly murder, if ever there was one." 
 
 " You did your best to save them ! " I said. 
 
 " Yes ! and should have succeeded, for the mob 
 were inclined to hear the preacher at first when he 
 turned to speak with them ; but that cowardly fel- 
 low — Lord Bulmer as they call him, and one or two 
 more of his sort, set them on, crying out that he 
 was a spy for the Pretender. A spy indeed! we 
 know who would have favored him if he had been. 
 But I shall mayhap meet this fine Lordling again, and 
 we shall see whether he wears the white feather, as 
 well as the white cockade. I crave your pardon, 
 madam, I should not use such language before you, 
 but I am a plain sailor, and not much used to ladies* 
 society. Can I give you any help ? " 
 
 " I would like a cluster of those white rose-buds !" 
 said I, looking up to where a beautiful Noisette rose 
 was trained against the wall ; " but I fear they are 
 out of reach." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! " was the answer. Mr. Thorpe 
 clambered up the rough wall at the peril of his neck, 
 as it seemed to me ; but before I had time to be 
 scared, he was on the ground again, and put the 
 roses into my hand. 
 
 " Thank you. They are beautiful," said I : " but 
 you should not have run such a risk for them." 
 
 *' Oh, it was no rjsk for a sailo^' ! " he answere4 
 
The Innocent Blood, 215 
 
 carelessly, " one does harder things than that every 
 day on ship-board." 
 
 I began to be a little shy, so I thanked him 
 again, and returned to the chamber of death. Tlie 
 poor husband was there, sitting by his dead wife and 
 child, his face bowed in his hands; not weeping, 
 but as it were crushed with the great weight of his 
 grief. He did not raise his head as I came in ; we 
 arranged the flowers and herbs I had brought, and 
 then Mrs. Thorpe paused, as if uncertain wliat to 
 do next. At that moment Mr. Cheriton entered the 
 room. 
 
 " How is he ? " he asked in a whisper. 
 
 " Just the same ! " answered Mrs. Thorpe in the 
 same tone : " he will neither eat nor speak. If he 
 would weep, it would be something; I fear for his 
 reason." 
 
 Mr. Cheriton stood for a moment, as if hesitating 
 what to do. He has since said, that he never in all 
 his life longed so much to comfort any one, but he 
 did not know what to say. At last he drew a 
 prayer-book from his pocket, and saying in his deep 
 voice, " Let us pray ! " he kneeled down and began 
 the last collects in the burial service. Amabel who 
 had now risen, knelt beside me. We heard some 
 one come in softly, and take his place with the rest ; 
 when we arose, we saw that it was a strange clergy- 
 man — a neat little man in very precise black, with 
 a face full of power and benignity. He went 
 straight up to the preacher, laid his hand on his 
 head, and said in that voice whose melody 04ce 
 heard, was qever forgotten — 
 
2i6 The Foster- Sisters^ 
 
 " My poor brother, may the God of all comfort, 
 sustain thee." 
 
 John Edwards looked up at the words, and burst 
 into a passion of tears and sobs. 
 
 " It was our first child ! " said he brokenly — " our 
 very first ; and we had lived together so lovingly for 
 fourteen years." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe beckoned us all out of the room, and 
 left the friends together. Kesiah Lee was standing 
 on tlie landing-place. 
 
 " He will comfort him if any one can," she whim- 
 pered : *' it is Mr. Wesley, himself," 
 
 1 
 
CHAPTEE XIL 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 RS. Thorpe sent us young ones down stairs 
 to our breakfast, and presently came 
 down herself, and carried away a cup of 
 tea, and some biscuits. 
 
 " Mr. Wesley has persuaded the poor man to lie 
 down and take some food ! " said she : " 'Tis won- 
 derful to see the power he has over him." 
 
 "You ought to take something yourself, Mrs. 
 Thorpe ! " said Mrs. Crumb who was presiding at 
 the table : " you will be ill, and have a turn of 
 spasms again if you keep on your feet so, without 
 eating anything." 
 
 " I am coming down directly to give Mr. Wesley 
 his breakfast, and then if Rebecca thinks she can 
 manage with Mary Lee's help in the shop, I will lie 
 down a bit. I am weary, that is the truth. Betty 
 Humble will finish sewing the trimming on those 
 short coats for Mrs. Thistlewood's baby, and mind 
 it is done neatly, my girl." 
 
 She went away as she spoke, carrying the tray 
 she had prepared. Betty looked anything but 
 satisfied. 
 
 (217) 
 
2i8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 ** Yes, that is always the way ! " she grumbled. 
 " Mary can go to the shop where she can see every 
 one, and I must sit poked up stairs, sewing my 
 eyes out. It is too bad." 
 
 " I am sure I would willingly change places with 
 you if mistress were willing ! " said Mary. " I do 
 not love to serve in the shop at all." 
 
 " Then ask her — do ask her ! " returned Betty 
 eagerly : " So many folks will be sure to come in 
 this morning to hear the news." 
 
 "You will do no such thing, Mary!" said Mrs. 
 Crumb decidedly : " your mistress knows what she 
 is about, and I will not have her fashed with such 
 follies. You know very well, Betty, the last time 
 you served in the shop, you broke a china jar, worth 
 a half year's work, all because you were gaping and 
 staring instead of minding your business. I think 
 the remembrance of what is up over our heads, 
 might give you some serious thoughts for once." 
 
 "That is just it!" whispered Betty: "I am 
 afraid to stay up there, with a corpse in the house." 
 
 "And what do you think the dead woman is 
 going to do to you ? However, you can bring your 
 work down to my room, if you like." 
 
 Amabel and I arranged our room, and then began to 
 wonder what we should do next ; we could not prac- 
 tise our music, neither did we feel like diverting our- 
 selves with Sir Charles Grandison. At last Ama- 
 bel proposed that we should take our work and Mr. 
 Thomson's poems into the garden, and work or 
 read as we fancied. It was a lovely day ; a broeae was 
 
The Funeral. 219 
 
 blowing, just enough to cool the air and bring in 
 the freshness of the sea, to mingle with the smell of 
 the late haying, and the stocks and gill-flowers in 
 the borders, and make music in the great cedar that 
 grew in the church-yard. Amabel had just finished 
 reading '*The Autumn," when we became aware 
 that she had another auditor than myself. Mr. 
 Wesley had come out of the house, approaching 
 with so gentle a step that we had not heard him, 
 and stood listening to the reading. We both rose 
 in some little confusion, and courtesyed an answer 
 to his polished greeting. 
 
 " Pray do not let me disturb you ! " said he, as he 
 seated himself on the other bench of the little arbor : 
 " It is a pleasure to find young ladies so well em- 
 ployed. Will you permit me to rest here for a 
 short time ? I have been riding since dawn." 
 
 Amabel made some polite answer, and Mr. Wes- 
 ley took up the book she had laid down. 
 
 " 'Tis a fine poem, is it not ? " said he : " Have 
 you read the hymn with which the book con- 
 cludes?" 
 
 " We have not got as far as that ! " said Amabel. 
 
 Mr. Wesley turned over the leaves, and began that 
 
 sublime hymn, beginning 
 
 "These as they change, Ahnighty Father, these 
 Are but the varied God." 
 
 I shall never dissociate these lines with the 
 melodious voice and expressive manner of Mr. Wes- 
 ley. When he had finished, we sat silent for a few 
 minutes. 15 
 
220» The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " That is beautiful ! " said Amabel at last, with a 
 kind of sigh. 
 
 " It is indeed ! " answered Mr. Wesley : " I hardly 
 know of more than one finer." 
 
 " And what is that, Sir ? " I ventured to ask. 
 
 " One that I dare say you have often read with- 
 out thinking of it in that way ! " answered Mr. 
 Wesley, smiling. 
 
 " We have read very few books, " remarked 
 Amabel : " we were brought up in a French con- 
 vent, and never saw any but ' Meditations ' and 
 ' Lives of the Saints, ' till we came to live here." 
 
 "Nevertheless, I think you know the poem I 
 mean ! " said Mr. Wesley : " Shall I read it for 
 you?" 
 
 " If you will be so good ! " said Amabel. He 
 took a small Bible from his pocket, and to our sur- 
 prise began to read the hundred and fourth psalm. 
 I had read it, and repeated it often enough, but 
 somehow his voice gave it a new interpretation. I 
 could see the bounds which had been set, that the 
 sea might not pass — ^the springs and brooks, feed- 
 ing the rivers running among the hills, and nour- 
 ishing the trees, wherein the birds build their nests, 
 the rich meadows, and wide harvest fields. 
 
 " Is not that a picture gallery ? " said Mr. Wes- 
 ley, when he had finished. " A clever artist 
 might paint a landscape from every verse of that 
 psalm." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Amabel, with that 
 light shining in h«r placid eyes which showed that 
 
The Funeral, 221 
 
 her feelings were strongly moved. " I never knew 
 that there was so much in that Psalm before." 
 
 "Ah, my maiden, we go through the Bible as we 
 do through the world — with our eyes shut!" said 
 Mr. Wesley, rather sadly. " ' Open Thou mine eyes, 
 that I may behold the wondrous things of Thy law,' 
 should be the daily prayer of every one of us." 
 
 "We have never read the Bible, only here and 
 there," said I, rather scared at my own boldness. 
 " I have often wished that I might." 
 
 "And why, then, do you not read it, my daughter? 
 Who is to hinder you ?" 
 
 "We promised that we would not read any hereti- 
 cal books," said Amabel, with rather a severe glance 
 at me. 
 
 "But, my child, you do not call the Word of God 
 a heretical book, do you ?" 
 
 "N — no!" answered Amabel, rather puzzled by 
 this view of the case. "It cannot be, of course. 
 But the church teaches that it is not fit to put into 
 the hands of every one of the common people." 
 
 "The Church must consider our Lord and His 
 apostles greatly in the wrong, then," said Mr. Wesley, 
 smiling. 
 
 "How so?" asked Amabel, startled and shocked, 
 but interested in spite of herself. 
 
 "Why because it is expressly told us that He 
 preached His discourses to great multitudes, and 
 that the common people heard Him gladly. Also 
 the epistles were all written to the whole of the 
 churches to which they are addressed. And if the 
 
222 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 common people heard Him gladly then, why should 
 they not do so now ? And again, you know that the 
 Latin Bible used by the Romish Church is called the 
 Vulgate, do you not ?" 
 
 " I know that it is, but not the reason," replied 
 Amabel. 
 
 " Because, my daughter, it was translated, by St. 
 Jerome, into the common Latin, which was the vul- 
 gar tongue in those days of half the known world — 
 the very tongue in which the ladies talked of house- 
 hold matters and the fashions of the day, and prat- 
 tled with their little ones, and scolded their maid- 
 servants even as they do now. He translated the 
 Scriptures that every one might drink freely of 
 divine knowledge, and though his version is some- 
 what deficient, Hebrew being not as thoroughly 
 studied as in later days, yet has it been a well-spring 
 of life to thousands of thousands of devout souls 
 now passed to their eternal rest." 
 
 "We are not to use our own judgment, but to be 
 guided by the Church," said Amabel. 
 
 "That is what I cannot understand — I mean how 
 we are to help using our own judgment," I ventured 
 to remark. "As long as we heard only one side it 
 might be easy enough, but when one is in the world 
 hearing all sorts of opinions, how are we to help 
 judging?" 
 
 "We are to believe as the Church commands," 
 answered Amabel. 
 
 "But why? Is it not because we judge the 
 Church to be the only safe guide ? And is not that 
 
The Funeral, 223 
 
 our own judgment as much as if we came to any 
 other conclusion ? It seems to me so." 
 
 "And you are right, my child. You can no more 
 use another man's judgment in such matters than 
 you can breathe with his lungs. A man asserts his 
 ownership of an estate just as much by giving it 
 away all in a lump, as if he bestowed it by ten 
 shillings at a time." 
 
 "I should like to read the Bible if it is not 
 wrong," said Amabel. " The bits we used to read 
 with Father Brousseau in his great English Bible 
 were so interesting. But I used to wonder why he 
 never showed us those places where the Lord's disci- 
 ples worshipped the Holy Virgin, and where he 
 taught them about the worship and traditions of the 
 Church." 
 
 " Perhaps you may find out the reason when you 
 read the book," said Mr. Wesley, with a smile, in 
 which a little sarcasm mingled with the sweetness. 
 "Well, my children, we have had a pleasant, and, I 
 trust, a profitable hour together. Now will you tell 
 me where the rector of this Church, Mr. Cheriton, 
 lives? I must speak with him concerning the 
 funeral of this poor woman and her babe." 
 
 "Mr. Cheriton will save you that trouble," said 
 the gentleman himself. " By your leave, fair ladies." 
 As he spoke he made a flying leap over the low stone 
 wall which separated our garden from the church- 
 yard, and lifted his hat politely. 
 
 "Your servant, sir ! I conclude I have the honor 
 of addressing Mr. Wesley. I trust our poor frieod 
 up stairs has been comforted by your coming." 
 
224 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 "I left him sleeping, and hope he may awake 
 refreshed. I usually find that grief is somewhat 
 mitigated when it can be brought to the point of 
 expression. 'Tis the silent and dry sorrow that 
 kills. I have to thank you for the service you ren- 
 dered him in the hour of danger." 
 
 "It was nothing," answered Mr. Cheriton, care- 
 lessly. " *Twas not in human nature to see an inno- 
 cent man and a helpless woman trampled by a set of 
 brutes." 
 
 " I have seen such things in human nature a good 
 many times of late years," said Mr. Wesley. " From 
 whence do such things come except from human 
 nature ? But not to discuss that matter at present. 
 My poor brother has expressed a wish that I should 
 perform the funeral services for his wife and child. 
 I told him that I must first consult you, and if you 
 saw no objection, and thought there was no danger 
 of a disgraceful disturbance " — 
 
 " Of course there can be no objection," said Mr. 
 Cheriton. " I shall be only too glad to have you do 
 BO, and as to any disturbance, the man who dares 
 molest you will have to deal with me." And he 
 shut his mouth in a way that gave his handsome 
 face rather a grim expression for the moment. 
 
 " Oh, as to that, I have faced mobs too often to 
 fear them greatly," said Mr. Wesley; "but I would 
 not involve you in an unpleasant affair. I believe, 
 however, that the people will be peaceable enough if 
 left to themselves." 
 
 "I dare say. K you will do me the honor of 
 
The Funeral. 225 
 
 walking with me I will show you the place where I 
 think the grave may be made. Good morning, 
 ladies." 
 
 The gentlemen bowed and walked away together. 
 Amabel and I gathered up our affairs and returned 
 to the house. She went straight up stairs, and I 
 went into the shop parlor to seek some thread for 
 my work. I was selecting my skeins from the 
 drawer when I saw Captain Lovelace come in and 
 inquire for gloves. He was followed by Lady 
 Throckmorton. I stepped out of sight behind a 
 screen, being somewhat anxious to observe them. 
 
 "Where is Mrs. Thorpe?" asked Lady Throck- 
 morton as Rebecca Carter rose to wait upon her. 
 Rebecca usually attended to the department of baby 
 linen and the like, feeling, as she said, more freedom 
 in selling useful things than in dealing with laces 
 and other unprofitable articles, but she never hesi- 
 tated to attend to the other matters when needful. 
 
 " She is lying down, having been up all night," 
 answered Rebecca. " I can probably serve thee." 
 
 " Oh, that reminds me !" said Captain Lovelace. 
 " 1 hope the poor woman was no worse for her fright 
 yesterday — I mean the Methodist ranter's wife." 
 
 " She is no worse," was the brief reply. I saw 
 Captain Lovelace's face clear up with an expression 
 of relief. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said he, heartily. 
 
 "You need not have troubled yourself," said Lady 
 Throckmorton, languidly. "That kind of people 
 are not like U9. The blow which shatters the porce- 
 lain does not hurt the common clay." 
 
226 The Foster-Sisiers. 
 
 "And you say she was not hurt?' said Captain 
 Lovelace, forgetting the compliment which her lady- 
 ship evidently expected. 
 
 " Nay, I said not so," answered Rebecca. " I said 
 she was none the worse, which is true, seeing that 
 she has but changed a painful life here for the rest 
 of the faithful hereafter. She is dead, and also her 
 babe." 
 
 "Dead!" said Captain Lovelace, in a kind of 
 whisper. " Dead !" The color all went out of his 
 face, and he had his hand on the counter as if to 
 sustain himself. 
 
 " Even so," said Rebecca, calmly. " She passed 
 away at day dawn, praying for forgiveness to her 
 murderers with her latest breath, if that be any 
 comfort to them." 
 
 Captain Lovelace did not look as though it were 
 any comfort to him. I never saw a more horrified 
 face. He stood looking at Rebecca as though she 
 held the gorgon's head in her hand instead of a 
 bottle of lavender water. 
 
 "Well, well, my good woman, we do not wish to 
 hear her funeral sermon. You may tell Mrs. Thorpe 
 from me that if she expects the patronage of ladies 
 of fashion she must not make her house an asylum 
 for ranters. She will not find her account in it, as 
 I for one shall withdraw my custom." 
 
 Now Rebecca was a little deaf, and, like some 
 others in the same case, she could make her deafness 
 serve her turn when she did not wish to hear or to 
 understand. She did so in this instance. 
 
The Funeral, 227 
 
 "Account — didst thou wish for thy account? Oh 
 yes, I can give it thee at once," said she, and, open- 
 ing a drawer, she drew forth a formidable looking 
 paper of several pages. " Friend Thorpe has had it 
 ready for several days. Perhaps thou wouldst like 
 to take it home and look it over, or if thou dost 
 prefer I can send it to thy husband." 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Lady Throckmorton, "the woman 
 is deaf and stupid as a post. Captain Lovelace, will 
 you come home and dine with us, or shall I set you 
 down any where ?" 
 
 "Your ladyship must excuse me," said Captain 
 Lovelace. "I — I am too disordered to be fit com- 
 pany for your ladyship. I feel myself very unwell." 
 And, not even waiting to hand her ladyship to her 
 carriage, as she evidently, expected, he pulled his hat 
 over his brows and walked away. 
 
 That very afternoon Mr. Cheriton received a 
 twenty-pound note, with an anonymous request that 
 he would apply it to the funeral expenses of Mrs. 
 Edwards, and give the remainder, if any, to her 
 husband. The next day the town was ringing with 
 the news that Captain Lovelace and some other 
 gentleman, after a deep carouse, had fallen out over 
 the gaming table, had fought a duel at day-break, 
 and were both lying dangerously wounded — Captain 
 Lovelace probably fatally so. Truly the sorrow of 
 the world worketh death. He did not die, however. 
 After a very long and tedious illness he was able to 
 be abroad once more, and for the rest of his life was 
 as remarkable for sobriety and earnestness as he had 
 formerly been for the reverse. 
 
228 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Mrs. Edwards' funeral was a little hurried, as Mr. 
 Wesley was obliged to leave town. I never saw 
 such a concourse of people as were gathered together. 
 The church-yard was literally packed, but there was 
 not the least disturbance. When Mr. Wesley and 
 Mr. Cheriton came out of the church to meet the 
 coffin at the gate every one made way for them, and 
 many a rough head was uncovered as the little pro- 
 cession passed by. The spot selected for the grave 
 was close by our garden wall, so that Amabel and I 
 in our bow window could see and hear all that went 
 on. I was deeply affected, as all thoughtful persons 
 must be, by the wonderful solemn beauty of the 
 English service. 
 
 "Is it not beautiful?" said I. 
 
 "Yes, indeed ; I should like to read it over by my- 
 self. But hush, Mr. Wesley is going to speak." 
 
 " 'He that believeth on me, though he were dead, 
 yet shall he live, and he that liveth and believeth on 
 me shall never die.' " 
 
 These were the words Mr. Wesley took as the text 
 of his address. In all that vast multitude you might 
 have heard a pin drop, as in carefully measured sen- 
 tences, in that full melodious voice, restrained in the 
 midst of his utmost earnestness, he spoke of the 
 promises of everlasting life to the believer, of the 
 certainty of death and judgment, of the awful near- 
 ness of the eternal world, and besought all to make 
 their calling and election sure while yet the choice 
 was in their power. I saw Mr. Cheriton standing, 
 in fixed and absorbed attention, by Mr. Wesley's 
 
The Funeral, 229 
 
 side. When all was over the multitude dispersed 
 very gravely and silently, with hardly a word spoken. 
 I saw but two faces which expressed decided disap- 
 proval. These belonged to the old clerk and the still 
 older sexton. We had learned to know these wor- 
 thies well, and had quite won the heart of the latter 
 by carrying some custards of our own concocting to 
 his poor, toothless, bed-ridden wife. Mr. Cheriton, 
 as I said, stood in fixed attention till the discourse 
 was ended, and the people had for the most part 
 withdrawn. Then he put his arm within Mr. 
 Wesley's. 
 
 " Come into my house and dine with me ! " said 
 he earnestly : " Come, I must have more talk with 
 you ; you have put many new thoughts and feelings 
 into my head, and heart. Come and tell me what 
 to make of them." 
 
 The two gentlemen walked away together, and 
 entered the sashed door which opened from the 
 church-yard, and led — so Mrs. Thorpe had told us — 
 into the Rector's study. 
 
 "What dost thou think of that, John Sexton?" 
 asked the clerk of the other old man, who was 
 diligently fitting the sods over the grave of poor 
 Mrs. Edwards and her babe. 
 
 " I like it not— I like it not. Master Tubbs ! " 
 replied the sexton. "There were never no such 
 goings on in my young days. I have n't lived to be 
 eighty-six and as able to do my work as ever I was 
 — ^y^, and one as has kept his church regular ever 
 •ince he can remember — yes, and helped my father 
 
230 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 in this very church-yard, as he did his father and 
 grandfather afore him ; to be called a miserable sin- 
 ner at my time of life, except it be by yourself and 
 parson, in the regular way of business, Master 
 Tubbs. I don't say as they did right as brought 
 the poor woman and her babe to this pass — nor 
 neither do I say it is right to have Methodists and 
 Ranters a preaching in this here church-yard of St. 
 Anne's, either." 
 
 " Mr. Wesley is a regular clergyman of the 
 Church of England ; so Mr. Cheriton tells me, and 
 he ought to know," remarked Master Tubbs dubi- 
 ously. " But who ever heard of a regular-bred par- 
 son going out into the fields and preaching to 
 colliers and such trash, at five o'clock in the morn- 
 ing ? And that Mr. Wesley did this very morning 
 on Chowden Fell." 
 
 " So I hear ! " returned the clerk. " More than 
 that. Master Smith, the butcher in our street, was 
 coming home from buying fat sheep, and he stopped 
 to listen. ' More shame for you. Master Smith, and 
 you with a family pew of your own in church, ' says 
 I. ' You would n't say so, Master Tubbs, if you'd 
 heard 'im, ' says he : * Why, those foul-mouthed 
 men and women — as never used a good word in 
 their lives unless it was to swear by it, stood with 
 the tears running down their black grimy faces, 
 when Mr. Wesley preached to them about their sins 
 being washed whiter than snow. And when he 
 had ended, they all crowded round him to get a 
 word ; and one after another was crying and say- 
 
The Funeral, 23 1 
 
 iDg, " What shall I do to be saved ? " and " Oh Master 
 Wesley, can such a sinner as I be saved ? ' " ' That 
 just shows the truth of what I say, Master Smith,' 
 says I. ' When did you ever see any one with the 
 tears running down under Mr. Cheriton's preaching 
 or Doctor Thurston's, ' says I. ' Well,' says he, ' it 
 seems to me like what it says in the Scripture about 
 going to seek the sheep that was lost.' That was 
 a little too much for me, and says I, very dignified 
 like — ^^ Master Smith, I bid you good morning. 
 I've been clerk of this here parish thirty year, and I 
 don't think it becomes me, to stand and hear the 
 Scripture applied to colliers and ballast men,* says 
 I, and I walked off." 
 
 " Parson's taken up with Mr. Wesley, anyhow ! " 
 said the sexton doubtfully. " He carried him home 
 with him." 
 
 " I wish it may end well, that's all ! " returned 
 Master Tubbs : " I don't want our church crowded 
 with poor folks, as it was last Sunday. Ours has 
 been the most select congregation in town and I 
 don't want to see it otherwise in my day." 
 
 For myself, I can hardly tell how the discourse 
 affected me. It was so utterly different from any- 
 thing I had ever heard before, that I knew not 
 what to make of it. I wanted time to analyze my 
 feelings and thoughts. We sat silent awhile, and 
 then Amabel spoke suddenly. 
 
 " Lucy, I am going to read the Bible." 
 
 "After promising not to read any heretical 
 books ! " said I. 
 
232 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " I have been thinking of all Mr. Wesley said to 
 us ! " she replied : " I don't see how the Bible can 
 be called a heretical book. As far as I understand, 
 there are several different kinds of Protestants, and 
 all of them seem to have scholars of their own. If 
 one made a great error in the translation, the 
 others would be sure to find it out, and show it up 
 — ^yet it seems they all use the same translation." 
 
 " Mother Assistant used to say, that all the sec- 
 taries in Christendom became so by reading the 
 Bible ! " said I. " She said if every body came to 
 read it and judge it for themselves, there would be 
 an end of the church. I never could understand 
 how that could be. But what did you think of Mr. 
 Wesley's sermon? It was not much like one of 
 Father Brousseau's, was it ? " 
 
 " Not at all like it ! But if you ask what I think, 
 I don't know ; only I think it is beautiful in him, to 
 go and preach to the poor colliers that no one has 
 cared for. It is like what we used to hear of St. 
 Vincent de Paul, among the poor. I wish I could 
 hear him once more." 
 
 We saw no more of Mr. Wesley that night, only I 
 looked out before I went to bed, (it was as bright 
 moonlight as we ever have in England,) and saw 
 two dark figures pacing arm in arm, up and down 
 the paved walk which led from the rectory door to 
 the church porch, and from their relative size, I 
 concluded that they were Mr. Wesley and Mr. Cheri- 
 ton. 
 
 The next morning, Mr. Wesley came to bid us 
 
The Funeral. 233 
 
 good-bye. He thanked Mrs. Thorpe in warm terms 
 for her kindness to his poor brother and sister as he 
 called them, and delicately offered to repay any 
 charges she had been at, concerning them. But 
 this Mrs. Thorpe positively declined. 
 
 " I did but do as I would be done by ! " said she : 
 " Any woman would have a heart harder than the 
 nether mill-stone, who should refuse help to 
 another woman in her case. How a man of sense 
 such as poor Mr. Edwards seems to be, should 
 expose his wife to such peril, passes my comprehen- 
 sion. 'Twas sheer madness." 
 
 " He was taking his wife to Berwick to pass the 
 time of her trouble with her own mother, whom she 
 had not seen for many years ! " replied Mr. Wes- 
 ley. "He had preached at the Sand-gate before, 
 and had never met with any disturbance ; nor do I 
 think there would have been any had the people 
 not been set on." 
 
 He then turned to Amabel and myself, who were 
 standing behind Mrs. Thorpe, as we had just risen 
 from breakfast. 
 
 " And to you, my dear young ladies, what can I 
 say but to thank you, and leave you the blessing of 
 an unworthy sinner. Be sure you will be in my 
 prayers, and my thoughts, and perhaps we may 
 sometime meet again. Meantime, will you accept 
 and read these books ? " 
 
 He opened a parcel which he carried, and pre- 
 sented us each with a pretty copy of the New Testa- 
 meat. Then once more bidding us farewell, he 
 
*234 ^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 went his way, passing through the shop, where 
 stood Mrs. Wilson, Lady Throckmorton's woman, 
 selecting some ribbons for her mistress. As Mr. 
 Wesley passed her, she gave vent to a modish oath, 
 asking perdition to take her, if she could find any- 
 thing fit to be seen. 
 
 " Madam ! " said Mr. Wesley : " I advise you to 
 consider your words. It may be that perdition will 
 overtake you, whether you find what you seek or 
 not." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson started with a kind of suppressed 
 shriek, and then trying to put a bold face on it, she 
 lifted her impudent black eyes to Mr. Wesley's face. 
 But they fell again instantly before his, nor did she 
 •peak another word till he 1/jf t the shop. 
 
CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 NEWS AND CHANGES. 
 
 DO not believe any book was ever de- 
 voured with more earnest curiosity and 
 attention, than those Mr. Wesley gave us. 
 All our books of amusement were laid aside for the 
 time, and though we still practised our music les- 
 sons, it was as a matter of duty. We were equally 
 amazed at what we found, and what we did not find. 
 Above all were we surprised, that so little was said 
 about the Holy Virgin, and the invocation of the 
 Saints ; and we began to think the Book must, 
 after all, be a Protestant forgery, till a lucky dis- 
 covery set us right. Mrs. Thorpe observed — as 
 what did she not observe ? — ^how closely we were 
 occupied in our new studies, and one day she came 
 up with a key in her hand. 
 
 " I am thinking, young ladies, that since you are 
 80 taken up with the books Mr. Wesley gave you, 
 you may like to compare them with the Bible used 
 in your own church. I know my father had one 
 among his books — ah yes ! here it is," and she took 
 down a good sized volume, and laid it on the table. 
 
 *'The books ought all to be taken down, and dusted 
 '6 (23s) 
 
236 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 oftener than they are ! " she added : " but I do not 
 like to trust Betsy, and Mrs. Crumb and I have 
 been too busy lately, to see to them." 
 
 I at once offered to undertake the care of the 
 books, and Mrs. Thorpe left me the key, saying she 
 was sure there was nothing among them to do me 
 any harm. They were not indeed likely to do me 
 either harm or good, consisting as they did, mostly 
 of books of divinity, volumes of sermons, and other 
 heavy reading not likely to be attractive to a young 
 person. I found among them, however, Mr. 
 Evelyn's life of Mrs. Godolphin, and some other 
 memoirs, which I read with pleasure and profit. 
 
 We studied the Bible Mrs. Thorpe had handed 
 us — ^the Douay Bible as it is called, from the place 
 where it was published — and were surprised to find, 
 that though the notes contained a great deal about 
 the Virgin, the Saints, etc., there was no more in 
 the text, than in that of the books Mr. Wesley had 
 given us. 
 
 " How I msh we had some one to teach us ! " said 
 Amabel, rather impatiently. 
 
 " Perhaps Mrs. Cropsey will be able to do so when 
 she comes ! " I answered : " but, Amabel, I wonder 
 what becomes of Mr. Cheriton." We had got into 
 tiie way of exchanging a few words with this gen- 
 tleman almost every day, either in the garden, or 
 as we met him in our walks, which we did rather 
 frequently. But we had never seen him to speak 
 to him, since Mr. Wesley's visit, and we had heard 
 ixom Mrs. Thorpe — ^it being Sunday — that he did 
 
News and Changes, 237 
 
 not preach that day, his place being supplied by 
 one of the curates from St. Nicholas. 
 
 " I heard the old clerk say, that Mr. Cheriton 
 was gone away for a few days, but would be back 
 before next Sunday," answered Amabel. " I wish 
 Mr. Wesley would come back and preach again." 
 
 " Perhaps he will ; I heard he was going north- 
 ward, and would return this way. K he preached 
 in the church, I should like to go and hear him. 
 Do you know, Amabel, I think I shall go to church 
 with Mrs. Thorpe next time ; you know she always 
 goes on Friday morning. I do want to see what a 
 Protestant church is like, and I am sure there is no 
 harm in the prayers, for I have read them all 
 through." So I had in a prayer-book I had found 
 in the book-case. 
 
 " Some things in them are the same as ours," 
 remarked Amabel, thoughtfully. " The Te Deum and 
 the Magnificat and the Psalms are the same. And 
 I like the Collects very much, they say so much in 
 such few words." 
 
 " Kesiah Lee says the Methodists and Mr. Wesley 
 too, pray to God in their own words, and ask Him 
 for what they need," said I. I said that seemed like 
 great presumption,, and she said that so long as He 
 was really our Father, it seemed as if we ou^jfc to 
 be as free to go to Him as to our earthly Father. 
 
 " St. Theresa used to make prayers, I know," said 
 Amab^; "it is in her life. But then she was a 
 saint." 
 
 "WeU, St. Paul says all God's people are called to 
 
23^ The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 be saints. We will ask Mrs. Cropsey about it ; she 
 is coming to-morrow, you know." 
 
 But Mrs. Cropsey was not destined to be any great 
 help to us when she came. She was a pretty little 
 woman in widow's weeds, who was so obviously 
 scared at the charge she had undertaken that our 
 awe of her was speedily changed into compassion. 
 It was well for her that we had previously been taught 
 obedience and docility, for I am sure we should never 
 have learned them from her. She was an admirable 
 musician, and sung charmingly, but as to any thing 
 else we were as able to instruct her as she us. One 
 thing she did teach us, however, and that was to 
 read English properly. She had a very lady-like 
 way of speaking, free from provincialisms and 
 accent, and under her tuition we speedily got rid 
 both of our French ways — Gallicisms, Mr. Lilburne 
 termed them — and the Northumbrian tones and 
 forms of expression which we had engrafted upon 
 them. We read aloud to her in the poets and in 
 some history of England — I forget whose — only I 
 know it was dreadfully dry and stupid, but by good 
 luck we found the great folio of Stowe's Annals 
 among the books in our book-cases, and that most 
 entertaining writer got us over, our dislike to the 
 study of history. Mr. Lilburne, finding that we had 
 a thirst for knowledge, proposed to give us lessons 
 himself in geography and arithmetic twice or thrice 
 a week. We soon settled into ways almost as regu- 
 lar as those we were used to at St. Jean. We 
 studied and practised in the morniag under Itfrs. 
 
News and Changes, 239 
 
 Cropsey's superintendence, (I was more interested 
 in my music after I found out that I had a voice,) 
 devoted two or three hours to needle-work after din- 
 ner, walked out with Mrs. Cropsey, who, by the way, 
 was not nearly so entertaining a companion as good 
 Mrs. Crumb, and spent our evening as before — study- 
 ing our Bibles. We did not find in Mrs. Cropsey the 
 help we had hoped for in this latter pursuit. It is 
 trueVe read a chapter with her every morning ac- 
 cording to the calendar, but she did not encourage 
 us to ask questions about what we read, and, indeed, 
 evidently disliked to have us do so. She was one of 
 those numerous persons who make use of the Scrip- 
 tures and certain religious forms as if they were a 
 kind of speM or incantation to bring good luck upon 
 them, rather than a real intercourse with a real per- 
 son. She had never been taught to think for herself 
 in any thing, and had taken all her opinions, if such 
 they could be called, from her father and her hus- 
 band. She was terrified at the very name of Mr. 
 Wesley, and besought us, even with tears, not to be- 
 come Methodists, of which there was at present no 
 great danger, seeing that we did not even know 
 what a Methodkt was. 
 
 "They are subverters of the Church and State, 
 my dears," said she. "What can happen when the 
 commonest people are taught to think that they may 
 know their sins forgiven, and they themselves chil- 
 dren of God, but that they should think themselves 
 equal to the best in the land ?" 
 
 " It does seem as if that might be true," remarked 
 
240 The Poster-Sisters, 
 
 Amabel, thoughtfully, "because if one was really 
 the child of God one could not very well hold any 
 higher rank. Perhaps that is the reason the king of 
 France objected so much to the Protestants." 
 
 " But I think the Catholic Church teaches much 
 the same thing," said I. "You know that even in 
 France a man who is a priest may command the 
 king himself to do him reverence, though the priest 
 may be a bourgeois or even a peasant by birth." 
 
 "And yet there are many convents where none 
 but the daughters of noble families are admitted," 
 said Amabel. "It was so in our house in former 
 times. Don't you know how, when it was reformed 
 under the Mother Angelique, a house of the same 
 order was founded at Toulon for the daughters of 
 bourgeois ? But I don't believe Mr. Wesley wishes 
 to subvert the government, Mrs. Cropsey. Kesiah 
 Lee says he prays for the king, and so do the 
 preachers." 
 
 " My dear, don't speak of him," said Mrs. Cropsey, 
 nervously. "I am sure such doings as his are not 
 proper, or they would have been found out before. 
 Besides, my late lamented husband knew him at Ox- 
 ford, and he has told me often and often that he and 
 his brother, Charles, belonged to a knot of young 
 men who used to do all kinds of odd things — ^visiting 
 the people in the jails and alms-houses, and prajing 
 with them, and receiving the sacrament every Sun- 
 day. Why, Mr. Cropsey said there was a man in 
 prison who was hung for forgery — ^lie wrote a man's 
 name for the sake of getting ten pounds — and Mr. 
 
News and Cha^tges. ^4! 
 
 Wesley went to see him, and talked and read to him 
 till he actually made him believe that his sins were 
 pardoned, and he was going straight to paradise." 
 
 " Well, there was the thief on the cross ! " said 
 Amabel : " I dare say he had done worse than write 
 a man's name for ten pounds, and the Lord prom- 
 ised Paradise to him." 
 
 But Mrs. Cropsey evidently thought that an en- 
 tirely different matter. She was made so evidently 
 uneasy with our questions, that we ceased to ask 
 them, and should have gone on working out our 
 puzzles by ourselves, I dare say, had it not been for 
 Mr. Lilburne. This gentleman had once been in 
 deacon's orders, but his voice failing him entirely, 
 and having an uncommon genius for instrumental 
 music he had taken to that entirely for a living. 
 But he was well instructed in the Scriptures in their 
 original tongues, and was besides a man of earnest 
 and sincere piety. He happened upon us one even- 
 ing when we were in the midst of our Bible reading, 
 and heard us discussing some matter on which he 
 was able to help us. From that time a Bible lesson 
 formed part of his regular instructions to us. He 
 was in some sort a clergyman, so Mrs. Cropsey 
 thought he must needs be all right as to his ortho- 
 doxy. She used to sit by and listen to his instruc- 
 tions with a very puzzled face, but I think she did 
 acquire some new ideas after all. However, I am 
 running ahead of my story. 
 
 The next Friday we went to morning prayers at 
 St. Anne's — ^the first time I ever saw the inside of 
 
242 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 a Protestant church. It was a very old building, 
 and made me think at once of the choir at St. 
 Jean's. But the chancel was half taken up with 
 two great square packing-boxes of family pews, and 
 there were others on each side. The pulpit, a great 
 carved pile, over-topped the reading-desk and com- 
 munion table, and had a little door at the back for 
 the minister, which reminded me at once of the 
 door in Mrs. Crumb's cuckoo clock. This pulpit, I 
 learned afterwards, was a comparatively new erec- 
 tion, and was considered by every one a great 
 improvement. 
 
 There were very few people in church, not more 
 than a dozen, and they were for the most part poor 
 people who sat on the narrow hard benches in the 
 middle aisle. I observed Mrs. Bunnell in Lady 
 Throckmorton's pew, and a few elderly ladies were 
 scattered up and down the church. 
 
 Mr. Cheriton read the service. I thought him 
 much changed since I last saw him; he looked 
 somewhat thinner, and a little more haggard, but 
 his face had a calm, resolved, and peaceful expres- 
 sion. His voice was as melodious and well-man- 
 aged as ever, but had a new ring of earnestness in 
 it. When he read that wonderful confession, he 
 seemed to put new life and meaning into the words. 
 One perceived that he felt himself a miserable sin- 
 ner — one of those lost sheep whom the Lord came 
 to seek and to save. It was all the difference 
 between the outbreathings of a truly penitent sinner, 
 and the elocution of a fine actor. 
 
News and Changes, ^43 
 
 When the prayers were over, Mr. Cheriton spoke 
 a few words on the Gospel, wliich was that for St. 
 Matthew's day. He pictured the surprise and dis- 
 gust of the proud self-righteous Scribes and Phari- 
 sees, at the approach of the despised publicans and 
 sinners — ^their utter amazement as Jesus sat down to 
 meat with them — the rebuke with which the Lord 
 met them and the tenderness with which he turned to 
 the poor people who were hanging on his words as he 
 said, " I am not come to call the righteous, but sin- 
 ners to repentance." 
 
 "Is there," — said Mr. Cheriton in conclusion — 
 " is there a heart here, which feels itself bowed down 
 under the load of sin, which it would fain cast off, 
 but cannot ? Is there one of you knowing himself 
 to be a lost sinner, and seeing no way of escape ? 
 Then the Son of Man is come to seek and save you. 
 Come and cast your burdens on him — come and 
 confess all your sin — the plague, it may be secret 
 or open, of your own heart — come and say like the 
 poor leper, 'If thou wilt, thou canst make me 
 clean ! ' and be assured, His gracious hand will be 
 stretched out with the words, ' I will ! Be thou 
 clean.' " 
 
 I saw a poor faded creature, who had come in 
 late and shrunk into a corner, burst into tears and 
 bow her head on the bench before her. Others looked 
 at each other as though they could not " tell what to 
 make of it ; and I saw one or two smiles of con- 
 tempt mingled with wonder. 
 
 "But to those who are satisfied with them- 
 
^44 ^^'^ Foster-Sisters. 
 
 selves ! " continued Mr. Cheriton, " the Pharisees 
 who think themselves good enough already, and 
 look down on their fellow sinners as if they were 
 worms of the dust — to you, if such there be here — 
 the Holy One hath another message. ' Thou say- 
 est I am rich, and increased with goods and have 
 need of nothing; and knowest not, that thou art 
 wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and 
 naked. ' " 
 
 I can give no notion of Mr. Cheriton' s manner 
 as he said these words, and the verse following 
 them. They concluded the discourse, which did 
 not take up ten minutes in all. He then finished 
 with a collect and the benediction. 
 
 I saw Mrs. Bunnell's good plain face, bright w^ith 
 satisfaction. Poor Master Tubbs in his desk, 
 looked utterly dazed and confounded. Two or 
 three maiden ladies — or so I judged them to be, 
 conferred together, with somewhat sour and indig- 
 nant faces. Most of the poor women in the free 
 seats seemed pleased, and I saw two of them shake 
 hands, as those who congratulate each other on 
 some delightful event. After a moment's whis- 
 pered colloquy, they approached the poor creature I 
 have mentioned who sat sobbing in her corner, and 
 after a little talk, they assisted her to rise, ar- 
 ranged her somewhat disordered dress, and led 
 her away still weeping between them. 
 
 "Do you see that?" said Mrs. Thorpe, pointing 
 out the group to Mrs. Crumb. 
 
 "I see — ^poor thing!" said Mrs. Crumb, compas- 
 
News and Changes, 245 
 
 sionately. " 1 am glad to see any one befriend her. 
 To think how I remember that girl — a perfect rose- 
 bud in her poor mother's house — and to see her now 
 trampled, as it were, in the very mire of the streets." 
 
 "Who is she T I ventured to ask. 
 
 "One whose name even I would not have you 
 know," said Mrs. Thorpe; "and yet I might make 
 her the text of a sermon. She was one who would 
 needs judge and decide for herself where she would 
 go, and what she would do, and whom she would 
 consort with. She fell into wicked hands, as was to 
 be expected, broke her mother's heart, and brought 
 her gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, was the play- 
 thing of an hour to be cast out and trodden under 
 foot of man." 
 
 " She must have felt as though the sermon was 
 meant for her," said Mrs. Crumb. "I am glad Joan 
 Bristall has taken her up. But what did you think 
 of the sermon?" 
 
 "That is more than I can tell you just now," 
 answered Mrs. Thorpe. " I must think it over. I 
 know it came home to me as no sermon ever did 
 before, except Mr. Wesley's the other day at Mrs. 
 Edwards' funeral. 
 
 "I thought it savored a good deal of enthusiasm," 
 said Mrs. Cropsey , nervously. " I hope Mr. Cheriton 
 is not going to turn out an enthusiast like Mr. Wes- 
 ley. What a dreadful thing it would bel" 
 
 "What is an enthusiast?" I asked. 
 
 "An enthusiast? Why, a person who is enthusi- 
 astic — ^a person who — really, my dear, I don't quitQ 
 
246 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 know how to explain it — but it is very dangerous to 
 be an enthusiast in religion. Mr. Cheriton has 
 always been such a comfortable preacher, and such 
 a favorite with everybody. It would be a great pity 
 if he should run away after enthusiasm like poor 
 Mr. Wesley and his brother." 
 
 Saturday was a holiday, and Mrs. Thorpe, leaving 
 the shop in charge of Rebecca, carried us off for a 
 long walk into the country, bringing up at a farm- 
 house belonging to a cousin of hers, who had a fam- 
 ous dairy. The good woman, who was a widow with 
 several tall sons and daughters, made us very 
 welcome, and regaled us with all sorts of country 
 dainties. Here, too, the conversation turned on the 
 Methodists. 
 
 " Eppie, my dairy-woman, is wholly taken up with 
 them," said she, "and so is her husband. Mrs. 
 Thirlwall, our rector's wife, was here yesterday deal- 
 ing with me to turn them away, because they went 
 to the Methodist preaching at five o'clock on Sunday 
 morning up on the Fell, and again to what they call 
 — what is it, Meg ? 
 
 "A class meeting," said Meg. 
 
 "Yes — a class meeting at Mary Chewrel's cottage 
 in the evening. * But,' says I, ' Mrs. Thirlwall, don't 
 Hodge and Eppie go to church ? I thought I saw 
 them stay to the sacrament.' 'Yes, they did,' 
 answers the lady. 'AVell,' says I, * so long as they 
 goes regular to church and sacrament, and does 
 their work regular, and as well or better than they 
 ever did before, I don't see as I has any call to di^ 
 charge two old servants,' says I." 
 
News and Changes, 247 
 
 "And then she says, Mrs. Thirlwall does,'* added 
 Meg, taking up the tale as her mother paused for 
 lack of breath. "'But, Mrs. Davis, I tell you they 
 are not content with that, but they have meetings in 
 their own cottage, where they sing hymns.' 'Would 
 you rather hear Hodge singing songs on the ale- 
 bench J' mother says she. "And I like Mr. Wesley's 
 hymns," added Meg, with decision. "I think the 
 words and tunes are beautiful." 
 
 "Why, how do you know them?" asked Mrs. 
 Thorpe. Mrs. Davis looked a little embarrassed. 
 
 "Well, you know my poor Annie has been in a 
 very low-spirited and dwining way ever since her 
 misfortune. One could hardly get a word out of her 
 by times for days together, and she took no interest 
 in any thing. I was much afraid she would go out 
 of her mind. But somehow, I don't know how, 
 Eppie got talking with her, and one evening she says 
 to me, ' Mother, if you don't say no I want to go and 
 hear the Methodist preacher on the Fell to-morrow 
 morning.' I was that surprised that I did not know 
 what to think, for she had hardly spoken for a 
 month, and you know she has felt that hard toward 
 me that she would not look at me if she could help 
 it. Now what would you have done, Cousin 
 Thorpe T 
 
 " I should have let her go." 
 
 "Well, and so I did. Says I, ' Nan, my dear, you 
 may go, and welcome, if you will let Meg go with 
 you, for you know you are not very strong,' says I, 
 ' and I should feel easier in my mind if I knew she 
 
^4^ The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 was along.' So they were up and away before it 
 was fairly light. I waited with some anxious 
 thoughts for her to come home, and the minute she 
 got in I saw that some change had come over her. 
 It was like as if a hard set mask had fallen, and 
 showed my own Nan's face underneath as it used to 
 be before she saw that — well, I won't call him by 
 name. *Well, Nan, did you have a good preaching ?' 
 says I. Up she comes to me and casts herseK right 
 on my neck. ^Mother,' says she, 'I've been a 
 wicked, undutiful, self-willed girl to you. I was 
 bound to have my own way, take me where it would, 
 and when I couldn't I was determined to die. But 
 the Lord has showed me my sin, and I've given it 
 all up to Him,' says she, raising of her eyes. * It's 
 all over now. Mother, forgive me, and I will try to 
 be your own Nan again.' And then I kissed and 
 hugged her," concluded the good mother, wiping her 
 eyes, and she put on her apron and fell to serving 
 breakfast just as she used to do. " I am afraid she 
 isn't long for this world, but it is a joy to see her 
 happy once more. Now do you wonder that I 
 haven't a word to say against the Methodists ?" 
 " I am sure, I do not," answered Mrs. Thorpe- 
 "Where is Nan V I dreaded to ask for her after 
 all I had heard. 
 
 " She is gone down to Judy Lechmire's to make 
 her bed, and carry her some broth, and read the 
 Bible to her a bit. Judy is bed-rid, and she does 
 not get too much kindness, for she has been a bad 
 un in her day, surely, and the folk hereabout do take 
 her for a witch. Here comes Nan now." 
 
News and Changes, 249 
 
 I glanced out of the window and saw approach- 
 ing, a tall pale girl with the red-gold hair and clear 
 skin so common in these parts. She looked ill, and 
 moved languidly ; but her face was the very abode 
 of peace. She greeted us kindly, and seemed par- 
 ticularly glad to see Mrs. Thorpe. 
 
 " After dinner Nan and Meg shall sing you one 
 of their hymns ! " said Mrs. Davis ; " for Meg is as 
 wholly taken up with them as her sister. And 
 though the church is good enough for me, I won't 
 deny that the Methodists have worked such a 
 change as I could never have believed if I had not 
 seen it, among the wild folks hereabouts, specially 
 the colliers." 
 
 Accordingly Anne and Meg sung for us with 
 much feeling, that hymn of Mr. Wesley's, beginning, 
 "Jesus, lover of my soul." 
 
 They both had sweet well-regulated voices, and I 
 am sure I never enjoyed any music more. While 
 we were driving home, Mrs. Thorpe told us some- 
 thing of poor Nan's history. She had fallen in 
 wi^ a young man in the neighborhood, a suitable 
 match enough for all that at first appeared ; but by 
 what seemed an accident, Mrs. Davis discovered 
 beyond all doubt that the man in question was a 
 drunkard, a gambler, and an utterly worthless 
 wretch. All this decided Mrs. Davis that the 
 match must be broken at once; but Nan, on the 
 news being opened to her, absolutely refused to 
 believe the accusations against her lover, till he 
 proved the truth of them beyond question, by going 
 
250 The Foster- Sisters, 
 
 off with the pretty giddy wife of a laborer on his 
 father's farm. The news threw poor Anne into a 
 fit of something like frenzy, which passed into the 
 sullen melancholy that Mrs. Davis had described. 
 She often refused food for days together, nor would 
 she speak to her mother, whom she blamed with the 
 wilfulness of partial insanity for all that had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 " And I am sure 'tis no wonder my poor cousin 
 Davis should like the Methodists, since they have 
 given her back her daughter ! " said Mrs. Thorpe : 
 "I have heard that the preachers made people 
 crazy, but this does not seem like it." * 
 
 The next morning we were in church betimes, 
 for from what she had heard, Mrs. Thorpe said she 
 had no doubt there would be a great crowd, siace 
 the fame of the Friday lecture had gone abroad, 
 and the matter was much talked about. So it 
 proved. People kept coming and coming, till every 
 seat of the church was occupied and many persons 
 stood in the aisles, and passage ways. Lady 
 Throckmorton was in her pew in the chancel, with 
 a bevy of smartly dressed ladies and gentlemen, 
 nodding, passing snuff-boxes, whispering and courte- 
 sying to friends all over the church, as freely as in 
 a theatre. The free seats were filled with poor 
 folks and some gentry as well. I thought Lady 
 Throckmorton was trying to make Mr. Cheriton 
 look at her, but if so she did not succeed, for he 
 
 * Mr. Wedey seems to have h£kd a strange power orer the 
 insane. See several accounts in his wonderful joumaL 
 
News and Changes. 25 1 
 
 never turned his eyes towards her, more than if she 
 were not present. 
 
 As the service went on, a hush gradually fell 
 upon the congregation. Voice after voice chimed 
 in with the responses, and there was a truce to the 
 whispering and nodding among the fine folks ; only 
 Lady Tlirockmorton and two or three of those 
 about her, kept it up after the sermon began, but 
 even with them there was a hush as the text was 
 ^nounced. 
 
 " God so loved the world, that He gave His only 
 begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him 
 should not perish but have everlasting life." 
 
 I cannot pretend to analyze the sermon. I only 
 know that it seemed to bring me just what I wanted. 
 Ever since I could think at all, I had felt a certain 
 void in my heart which nothing seemed to supply. 
 I had learned to fear the Father, as I said, as some 
 far off Ruler, in whose hands I was a helpless, use- 
 less atom, and the Son, as my stern inexorable 
 Judge ; but I had never thought of loving them. 
 All my love was for the Holy Virgin and the Saints. 
 But no creature however exalted can satisfy the 
 cravings of an awakened nature. I felt myself 
 blindly groping in the dark, as it were, for some 
 hand to load me ; some help to support me. I was 
 haunted by the dread of death, and what should 
 come after it — of that tremendous spectre of purga- 
 tory which the Roman church hath set up, to haunt 
 the death-beds— not ©o much of impenitent as of 
 
 penitent sinners. I longed to be good ; but I found 
 17 
 
252 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 that when I would do good, evil was present with me. 
 Even while in the convent, I had wearied desperately 
 of the ronnd of " good works " so called, the end- 
 lessly repeated prayers, the fasts and vigils, and hour 
 long " meditations,'' when I never could tell at the 
 end of the hour what I had been thinking about. 
 Since I had come to Newcastle, I had left off 
 all these exercises to a great degree, but my con- 
 science had never been easy under the omission. 
 And there was another thing that haunted me. 
 There was now no priest in Newcastle or very near ; 
 suppose I should die suddenly and without the 
 sacraments ; suppose it should be a mortal sin after 
 all, to read the Bible and listen to the English pray- 
 ers, and I should die without the opportunity of 
 confession. All these considerations made me very 
 unhappy at times. 
 
 But now I learned that the Father was indeed my 
 Father — that he had loved me, even me, with a love 
 such as no human creature could so much as under- 
 stand — that he desired my salvation far more than 
 I did, and that instead of making the way hard, he 
 had made it easy — so easy indeed, that it was hard 
 to take in, by one who had always been taught that 
 salvation was a thing to be earned. But as Mr. 
 Cheriton went on with his calm discourse, bringing 
 text after text, passage after passage, to the support 
 of his argument, I seemed to be assured that all 
 was true. Yes, here was one I could — I did love 
 and believe in — one to whom I could and did trust 
 myself, for time and for eternity ; and such a sweet 
 
News and Changes. 253 
 
 peace descended upon my soul, as I have no words 
 to describe. I glanced at Amabel. To my surprise 
 I saw her color raised, and her lips compressed, 
 while her eyes had that peculiar dilation, and rais- 
 ing of the eye-brow, which showed she was excited 
 and displeased. 
 
 The sermon being closed, Mr. Cheriton gave 
 notice that he should preach again in the afternoon, 
 and then after a slight pause, he said — 
 
 " If there are any in the congregation, who wish 
 for personal religious conversation or instruction, I 
 shall be glad to meet them in the vestry after after- 
 noon service. I will also give notice that the chil- 
 dren of the parish will be catechised by me, next 
 Sunday afternoon, after evening prayers." 
 
 People exchanged looks of surprise, and Master 
 Tubbs looked as if he thought the rector had taken 
 leave of his senses. 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe's seat was quite near the chancel, 
 and as we waited a little for the crowd to disperse, 
 I saw Lady Throckmorton waylay Mr. Cheriton as 
 he descended from the pulpit to the vestry. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Cheriton, you have given us a fine dis- 
 course this morning ! " said she, in her light mock- 
 ing tone. " Pray, do you intend to take a leaf out 
 of Mr. Wesley's book, that you are preaching up 
 faith and love at such a rate ? But come, since you 
 have enchanted us all with your eloquence, come 
 home and dine with me ? " 
 
 " Your ladyship must excuse me I " said Mr. 
 Cheriton bowing. 
 
254 1^^^ Fosier-Sisiers. 
 
 " Oh ! we are too good to dine out on Sunday any 
 more, I suppose. We shall soon see you mounted 
 on a table and preaching to the ballasters and sai- 
 lor's women in the Sand-gate, or to the Chowton 
 colliers, like your great apostle of ranters himself." 
 
 " Madam ! " returned Mr. Cheriton : " I wish with 
 all my heart you had never seen me in any worse 
 place ! " and bowing again, he passed to the vestry 
 s,nd shut the door. 
 
 We walked home very silently, and went up to 
 our room almost without speaking a word. When 
 we had laid aside our hoods, I got out my Testa- 
 ment to read the chapter from which the text had 
 been taken. 
 
 " What did you think of all that ? " said Amabel 
 abruptly. 
 
 " I liked it ! " I answered. " It made me happy 
 — happier than ever I was before — to think that the 
 Lord should be my friend, that he should love me 
 and desire my salvation so much as to — " and here 
 I broke down and wept, as though my very soul 
 would dissolve in tears. 
 
 "Well, why do you cry then?" said Amabel 
 ratlier tartly. 
 
 " I don't know, unless it be for joy ! " I answered, 
 striving to compose myself. " It seems such a bur- 
 den lifted off from one's shoulders, to think that one 
 has not to earn one's salvation ; that all that which 
 we Gould not do for ourselves has been done for us, 
 and we have only to take it." 
 
 " Tliat is what I do not like, an(il cannot beUeva ' " 
 
News and Changes. 255 
 
 Baid Amabel with energy : " It just does away with 
 all merit — don't you see that it does ? — and makes 
 us all alike miserable beggars. According to what 
 Mr. Cheriton said this morning, the greatest saint 
 that ever spent his life in prayers and penances, is 
 just as much dependent on undeserved mercy, as 
 that poor wretch we saw on Friday." 
 
 " Exactly, and that just suits me, because I never 
 had any merit ! " said I : "As far as I understand 
 Mr. Cheriton, all we have to do, is to accept of this 
 undeserved mercy — to give up our hearts to Him, 
 and then we are His. Then instead of our good 
 works being payments of so much for so mueh — 
 trafficking with Heaven, as St. Francis says — they 
 are labors of love — work set by a loving Father to a 
 dutiful child, instead of tasks imposed on a servant 
 or slave by a hard master. Don't you know how 
 Jlilother Prudentia used to say that love makes easy 
 service ? " 
 
 But Amabel would not see, or could not. Her 
 pride — one of the strongest traits in her character — 
 was alarmed. She had always been very particular 
 in all religious observances. Her natural gentle 
 ness and her pure taste had kept her from open 
 transgression; and she could not bring herself to 
 own that she was as much a lost sinner as any poor 
 fellow-creature on whom all men looked down. All 
 that week she was clearly very unhappy; but she 
 would not say a word on the subject, either to me 
 or Mr. Cheriton, who called to see us more than 
 once. I was glad to observe however, that she dili- 
 
±$6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 gently studied her Bible and prayer-book. One 
 evening I observed that when I was ready for bed, 
 she had made no preparation for the same, but was 
 reading on. 
 
 "Don't you mean to go to bed, Amabel?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Not just yet ! " said she : " Please don't mind 
 me, Lucy, I must sit up awhile." She kissed me, 
 and I saw she longed to be alone, so I went to bed. 
 Waking up after awhile I saw her kneeling by the 
 table, her head bowed almost to the ground. I did 
 not speak, or show by any movement that I was 
 watching her. She continued in this attitude a long 
 time ; indeed, till I went to sleep again. When I 
 rose in the morning, she was sitting by the window 
 still reading in the Testament. 
 
 " Lucy, I have given it all up ! " said she, the old 
 still light in her beautiful eyes, which showed she 
 was happy once more. 
 
 " Given up what, dear ! " I asked. 
 
 " All the struggle ! " said she : " I have seen my- 
 self just as I am, and if I had not seen some one 
 else at the same time, I should have given up in 
 utter despair. Oh ! what a fool, what a fool I have 
 been. Lucy, I have thought myself a saint, and 
 now when I look back on my life, I can see not one 
 thing to boast of. It has been all seK — self — 
 throughout — self-righteousness, self-pleasing, self- 
 exaltation. But I have given all up. I am only 
 too thankful to be received as the poor creature I 
 am. I am contented to leave myself here and here- 
 
News and Changes, 257 
 
 after in God's hands ; and such a sweet peace has 
 come over me as I cannot describe. Do you think 
 it can be a delusion ? or does it really come from 
 above." 
 
 " It comes from above like everything good, I am 
 sure ! " I answered, overjoyed. " Why should you 
 doubt it ? Have we not the promise that such 
 peace shall keep our hearts and minds, if we will 
 only let it. But Amabel, Mr. Wesley is coming 
 again on Sunday. You can consult him if you 
 like." 
 
 Mr. Wesley preached to a crowded congregation 
 on Sunday, and afterward we had a long conversa- 
 tion in the garden. I cannot repeat all the good 
 advice he gave us, though I am sure I have profited 
 by it all my life. I have never been one of his blind 
 worshipers — to think every thing was right because 
 he did it. On the contrary, I think he made some 
 mistakes. But I do say that a nobler, purer minded, 
 more unselfish person never lived, or one better fitted 
 to be a spiritual guide. To him the unseen and 
 eternal things were the real things, and all others 
 were but shadows, or at best but means to one great 
 end. He was far from being the morose, severe 
 man that some people have pictured him. On the 
 contrary, I have never seen any one who enjoyed life 
 more, or carried on his face more clearly the imprint 
 of cheerfulness, and even gaiety. 
 
 Mr. Wesley rejoiced greatly over the change which 
 had taken place in St. Anne's Church and its pastor, 
 but he warned Mr. Cheriton that he must make ready 
 
258 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 to take up the cross, since it surely awaited him if 
 he persevered in the course he had begun. 
 
 " He that would live godly in Jesus Christ must 
 suffer persecution," said Mr. Wesley. " Unhappily 
 religion is just now at a very low ebb in this our 
 beloved country and Church. Those who should be 
 sentinels are sleeping on their posts if not going 
 over to the enemy outright, and he who strives to 
 awaken them must expect their enmity, aye, though 
 he prove every word he says to be in agreement with 
 the standards of that very Church he is accused of 
 striving to pull down." 
 
 "True," said Mr. Cheriton, "I am taken to task 
 severely for teaching that a man may know his sins 
 forgiven, and that by those who read the Absolution 
 every day. But I dare not condemn my brethren, 
 seeing what mine own life has been," said Mr. 
 Cheriton, sadly. " I am sometimes all but ready to 
 despair when I think of the company I have kept 
 and the scenes I have frequented. But I trust I 
 shall have strength given me to face whatever comei 
 to me in the way of my duty,'* 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 NEWS. 
 
 R. WESLEY was right in saying that Mr. 
 Cheriton might make up his mind to suffer 
 persecution. He was also right in saying 
 that religion was at a low ebb in the Church of 
 England at that time. With some most honorable 
 exceptions, pastors seemed to content themselves 
 with a perfunctory performance of such duties as 
 they could not get rid of. They read prayers on a 
 Sunday, when they could not afford a curate at less 
 than a man-cook's wages to do it for them, preached 
 now and then a moral essay, of which the substance 
 was pretty much poor little Betty's — that it was 
 pretty to be good and naughty to be bad — and too 
 often spent the rest of the Lord's day in idle amuse- 
 ments, especially in card-playing and light reading. 
 It was considered to show a want of taste, and even 
 a want of good manners, to mention religion out of 
 church, and any man who showed the least earnest- 
 ness on the subject was at once dubbed an enthusiast, 
 or suspected of being a dissenter. Of course there 
 were honorable exceptions, as I said, among clergy 
 
 (259) 
 
26o The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 and laity, and there were many humble souls who 
 fed on the sincere milk of the word, and were com- 
 forted by those wonderful and glorious prayers which 
 no indifference on the part of the reader could quite 
 spoil. 
 
 Into the midst of this state of things descended 
 the Wesleys, preaching the plain unvarnished truths 
 of the Gospel, declaring all men lost sinners, with 
 no way of escape but by personal repentance, and a 
 personal acceptance of the salvation offered to all 
 alike, preaching to the poor colliers and miners and 
 others, who had been suffered to live like the brutes 
 and perish like them, teaching them that they, even 
 they, might and ought to sustain personal relations 
 to the God who made them, and setting before them 
 a wonderful ideal of personal purity and holiness, 
 attainable to every one who would seek it in the right 
 way. They did indeed preach deliverance to the 
 captive, and opening the eyes to them that were 
 blind. Doubtless there were among the converts 
 many cases of delusion, many of mere animal ex- 
 citement, and some of sheer hypocrisy, but no one 
 who knows what was the state of such places as 
 Kingswood and the mining villages in Cornwall, 
 before and after the preaching of the Methodists, 
 can doubt that the good done was greatly in excess 
 of the evil. 
 
 Mr. Wesley had already been preaching for several 
 years, and people had become in some degree used to 
 his erratic course. But when Mr. Cheriton, the rec- 
 tor of St Anne's, son of one of the best families 
 
News. 261 
 
 in the country, and probable heir to a title — when ho 
 took to preaching faith and repentance, and " all that 
 sort of thing," as Mrs. Cropsey said — ^his course 
 caused a great sensation. Still more, when he took 
 to holding week-day services, giving lectures and 
 teaching classes in the poorer parts of the parish, 
 when he talked to the very children in the parish 
 school about loving their Saviour. At first the nov- 
 elty of the thing brought many of the genteel people 
 of the town to hear him, but they soon fell off. As 
 the sexton said, they were willing to call them miser- 
 able sinners in the way of business, but it was an- 
 other thing to hear themselves proved so, and to have 
 plainly held up before them, in the clearest Scripture 
 language, the consequences of continuing in such a 
 course. So by degrees the fine people fell ofP, and 
 their pews stood empty Sunday after Sunday, while 
 the free seats and those of the trades-people were 
 always crowded. 
 
 Then the most outrageous stories were circulated 
 about Mr. Cheriton. He was a drunkard and a 
 gambler. He had half a dozen low intrigues on his 
 hands with girls who came to his classes. He used 
 his influence for the worst purposes, and had been 
 thrashed by the father of one of his victims. We 
 heard plenty of this sort of stuff, for Mrs. Thorpe's 
 shop continued to be a rendezvous for all the fine 
 people, notwithstanding her audacious conduct in 
 taking in the poor preacher's wife. Mrs. Cropsey, 
 who disapproved vehemently of Mr. Cheriton's 
 course for no particular reason except that Mr 
 
262 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Cropsey had never done so, tried her best to induce 
 us to go with her to St. Nicholas' Church, where 
 the congregation were certainly not disturbed by 
 any extra earnestness on the part of the preacher. 
 But we liked Mr. Cheriton too well to leave him. 
 We had taken to spending an hour two or three days 
 in the week in the school. The old dame, who had 
 been half blind and more than half deaf for a dozen 
 years, had been persuaded to retire on a pension, 
 paid out of Mr. Cheriton's own pocket, and a new 
 mistress had been found in the person of a widowed 
 sister of Mrs. Bunnell, Lady Throckmorton's humble 
 companion. She was a woman of good education, 
 and certainly made a great change in the parish 
 school. The little maids really learned to read, to 
 sew, and to spin, to keep themselves neat, and be- 
 have nicely in the church and in the street. It was 
 even proposed to teach them to write, but such an 
 outcry was made at this daring innovation* that the 
 matter was dropped for the present. I had a knit- 
 ting class, and Amabel undertook to instruct some 
 of the elder and more promising girls in fine work 
 of various sorts, that they might be prepared to take 
 places as nursery and dressing-maids. Mr. Cheriton 
 never came to the school while we were there, and, 
 indeed, we saw much less of him than formerly. 
 He was kept very busy and so were we, and I sup- 
 pose a feeling of delicacy on his part might have 
 had something to do with it. I had seen from the 
 first how greatly he was taken with Amabel, and I 
 
 See Mrs. Hannah Metre's Letters. 
 
News, 263 
 
 presume he thought it would not be honorable for 
 him to try to engage her affections in the absence of 
 f\ny of her relatives. 
 
 It was about the first of October, when a letter 
 came from London with sad news. Amabel's step- 
 mother was dead of a fever, taken it was supposed 
 in court whither she had gone with several other 
 fine ladies, to hear sentence pronounced upon a 
 famous highwayman, who had been a terror to all 
 travelers on the North Road for years. It seemed 
 that several of the prisoners brought to the bar at 
 the same time, were suffering from jail fever, and 
 the infection spread to a number of the court offi- 
 cials and spectators, notwithstanding the sweet 
 herbs placed before them, to ward off such dan- 
 gers. * Poor Lady Leighton carried the dreadful 
 disease home to her little son, and the two died 
 on the same day. 
 
 It was Dot to be expected that Amabel should 
 feel much sorrow for the death of her step-mother 
 whom she had never seen, and who had held very 
 little communication with her, but she grieved 
 sadly over the Little brother, about whom she had 
 built many air-castles. 
 
 It seems that Mrs. Deborah had written to her 
 brother concerning us, for Mrs. Thorpe received a 
 letter at the same time, thanking her for her care 
 of us, approving the measures taken for our educa- 
 tion, and requesting her to continue her guardian- 
 ship, till such time as the Mrs. Leightons should be 
 
 ♦ See Hoard's Journal and other memoirs of the time. 
 
264 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 able to receive us, or he should make arrangements 
 for our coming to London. " You will please see 
 that Miss Corbet has her fair share of all my daugh- 
 ter's teachers and other advantages ; " the letter con- 
 cluded : " I consider her a sacred trust committed 
 to my care by her father, who was my dear friend, 
 and her mother, who rendered to my own daughter 
 services which I can never repay. I wish my 
 daughter to form no acquaintances at present." 
 The no was emphasized — "And I wholly approve 
 of your course in that matter, as related to me by 
 my sister Deborah." Sir Julius sent a sufficient 
 sum to put us both into handsome deep mourning, 
 and requested Mrs. Thorpe to supply us with a 
 certain moderate monthly allowance of pocket 
 money. 
 
 This letter put me entirely at my ease, with 
 regard to my future position in life ; more so than 
 it would have done, had I known my man better. 
 I have no doubt at all, that Sir Julius meant it at 
 the time ; but he was a man easily swayed by those 
 about him, whether for good or ill. His late wife, 
 from all I could learn, was a worthy lady on the 
 whole. I certainly had reason to think well of her, 
 for she left me a pretty remembrance of a necklace 
 and some other trinkets and a small sum of money. 
 
 " So you are now your father's heiress ! " was 
 Mrs. Cropsey's comment when she heard the news : 
 ** I dare say he will send for you to London, and pro- 
 vide a grand match for you." 
 
 " I hope not, I am sure ! " said AmabeL looking 
 a little alarmed. 
 
News, 26$ 
 
 " Oh ! but you would like to marry a tifcle, would 
 you not, and have a coach and four of your own, 
 and be presented at court, and all that ? " 
 
 " I do not want any of these things. They are 
 not at all to my taste." 
 
 " Oh ! but you do not know because you have not 
 tried them. Look at Lady Throckmorton, how she 
 goes about to the Bath, and Chettenham, and every- 
 where she pleases." 
 
 " I would rather be the poorest lay sister in a 
 convent — I would rather teach a village school all 
 my days, than to be Lady Throckmorton ! " 
 returned Amabel, with more vehemence than was 
 at all common with her. " I think such people as 
 she are the greatest fools in the world. They are 
 like the little silly sparrows Lucy and I saw yester- 
 day, building in the house that was at that moment 
 being torn down. She has her portion in this 
 world, and thinks no more of the other, than as 
 though there was no such thing. Suppose she is 
 killed by an accident, like that poor lady who was 
 thrown from her horse the other day — whose then 
 shall those things be, in which she delights, or what 
 of them all will she carry with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! " said Mrs. Cropsey, taken rather 
 aback, " of course it is right to think of death, and 
 judgment, and such solemn matters at proper times, 
 as in Lent and Advent and before the sacrament ; 
 but one cannot always be dwelling on them ; one 
 owes a duty to the world, as you will find out when 
 you coaae to go into society." 
 
266 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Where in the Scriptures is one's duty to the 
 world set forth, Mrs. Cropsey ? " asked Amabel, in 
 a tone of simplicity : " I do not remember seeing 
 the place in my reading." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, you have taken up such a set of 
 notions from Mr. Cheriton ! I am sure it was a bad 
 day for him, when he fell under Mr. Wesley's influ- 
 ence, poor man. Just look at the difference it has 
 made in his church, that used to be so fashionable. 
 Why, he has actually put John Winne out from the 
 organ gallery, because he says it is not fit that a 
 blasphemer and an infidel should lead the people in 
 praising God; the very best voice he had. But 
 talking of Lady Throckmorton, her gaiety is like to 
 come to an end for the present. Have you not 
 heard ? Poor Sir John who has been in a declining 
 way so long, has had two strokes, aud they say this 
 morning he can hardly live the day out. So sad 
 for his poor mother ; and he has no son either, so 
 all the entailed property will go to Lord Bulmer, 
 who has enough already, one would think. How- 
 ever, they say her ladyship will be left very rich as 
 it is." 
 
 We heard the next day that Sir John was dead. 
 He had a grand funeral, being carried all the way 
 to his own mausoleum, at his ancestral home up in 
 the hills. All the black crape and cloth in New- 
 castle were in requisition to do him honor, and the 
 hearse was one great pile of nodding plumes, while 
 the four grand black horses which drew it stepped 
 off haughtily as if proud, poor things, of their burden 
 
Hews, 267 
 
 ©f senseless dsty. We heard aft^'wards through 
 Mrs. Bunnell, that the poor gentleman liad earnestly 
 desired to see Mr. Cheriton, but his wife would not 
 permit it ; saying that the canting Methodist who 
 had slighted her invitations, should never darken 
 her doors. However, Mrs. Bunnell, who nursed 
 him during his last illness, was able to lead him in 
 the right way, and he died at last in hope and 
 peace. 
 
 We stayed on two months longer at Mrs. Thorpe's, 
 for after the Mrs. Leightons left Callercoats, they 
 went on a round of visits among their acquaint- 
 ances, and it was not till the first of December tiiat 
 we received letters from Mrs. Deborah, bidding us 
 be in readiness to join herself and sisters, when 
 they should be in Newcastle in a week's time. 
 
 This was important, and I must say, anything 
 
 but welcome news. We had fallen into a very 
 
 pleasant way of living with Mrs. Thorpe, to whom 
 
 we were much attached. We were getting on 
 
 finely in our lessons with good Mr. Lilburne, who 
 
 had wonderfully enlarged our knowledge of the 
 
 world we lived in, and we were much devoted to 
 
 the church and to our work in the schools. It was 
 
 no wonder we dreaded the idea of leaving it all and 
 
 going once more among strangers. Mrs. Cropsey, 
 
 who (as my readers — ^if I have any, may already 
 
 have discovered) was not the most discreet person 
 
 in the world, did not make matters any better, 
 
 by lamenting over our banishment to the wilds of 
 
 Highbeck Hall, 
 18 
 
268 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " A wilderness, an absolute wilderness, my dears. 
 No neighbors within a mile or two, and the ladies 
 seeing very little company, and so very peculiar. 
 Why, they say one of them has kept her bed for 
 twenty years, just because of a love disappointment 
 when she was young." 
 
 " I never heard of that ! " said Amabel. 
 
 " Oh ! but my dears, I assure you I had it from 
 excellent authority. I do wonder your respected 
 father should send you into such banishment, in- 
 stead of establishing you in London, with a suita- 
 ble lady to matronize you, and masters to carry on 
 your accomplishments." And Mrs. Cropsey, who 
 I fancy saw in this determination the downfall of 
 certain airy castles of her own, actually shed tears. 
 
 " I dare say Sir Julius knows best ! " said I, feel- 
 ing myself a good deal disturbed by the near pros- 
 pect of the change, but determined to make the best 
 of it. "I am sure Mrs. Deborah was very kind to 
 us when she was here." 
 
 "But she is very peculiar — everybody allows 
 "that ! " said Mrs. Cropsey : " I dare say Sir Julius 
 has not seen much of his sisters of late years, and 
 an heiress like yourself, Miss Leighton, it does seem 
 a pity." 
 
 " Mrs. Cropsey ! " said Amabel seriously : " My 
 father doubtless has his reasons for disposing of us 
 in this manner. For my own part, I would quite as 
 soon go to Highbeck Hall as to London. At all 
 events, you must see that it is our duty to consent 
 cheerfully to my father's will, whatever it is. More- 
 
Newi, 269 
 
 ever we have the word of One far higher and wiser 
 than Sir Julius himself, 'that all things work 
 together for good to them that love God. ' If he 
 sends us to this place, 'tis doubtless because he has 
 sometking for us to do or to learn there." 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Leighton, there is no talking to you 
 since you have taken up with such a set of Metho- 
 distical ideas," said Mrs. Cropsey, somewhat 
 angrily. " For my part I have not so high an idea 
 of myself and my own consequence, as to think 
 that the Almighty concerns himself with all my 
 notions." 
 
 "I suppose I am of as much consequence as a 
 sparrow, and we have His word that every one of 
 them is cared for," answered Amabel composedly. 
 " I see no presumption in taking the Lord at His 
 word and believing what He himself says." 
 
 " No presumption in applying the words of Scrip- 
 ture to ourselves ? They are meant for the whole 
 human race, and not for individuals." 
 
 " If they are meant for the whole human race, 
 then are they meant for every one of the human 
 race," argued Amabel : " and if for every one, 
 then for me." 
 
 " Well and logically argued, Mrs. Leighton ! " 
 said old Mr. Lilburne, who had come in just in 
 time to hear the last sentence. 
 
 " Of course you are against me Mr. Lilburne ! " 
 said Mrs. Cropsey, with wounded dignity: "but 
 you will never persuade me, that this way of using 
 Scr^ture is right. I know not what my honored 
 
2yo The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 father would have said or done, had any of his 
 family presumed to answer him with a text of 
 Scripture, as Miss Leighton does me. But you are 
 bewitched as well as all the rest. I hope you enjoy 
 playing to the trades-people and sailor's wives, 
 with whom Mr. Cheriton has filled his church, 
 as well as to Lady Throckmorton, and Lord Bul- 
 mer, and Mrs. Perry — that's all." 
 
 " Madam ! " said the old man with dimity, " I 
 never in all my life played one note to Lady Throck- 
 morton, or any other fine lady or gentleman. My 
 playing, such as it is, has been addressed to One far 
 more exalted than either — even as the Heaven is 
 higher than the earth — and if He has left the 
 church, I have not yet discovered His absence. 
 Come young ladies, let us make the most of our 
 time, while we have it. I have brought you the 
 score of Mr. Handel's grand oratorio, *The Mes^ 
 siah,' and I want to hear Mrs. Corbet's voice in 
 that most beautiful song — 'I know that my 
 Redeemer liveth,' — the most wonderful song ever 
 written, to my mind." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Crumb undertook our 
 packing for us, so that we might have as much as 
 possible of the time that yet remained for our lessons. 
 Sir Julius had desired Mrs. Thorpe to provide us 
 with a maid — a luxury to which we had never 
 aspired, and which, to say truth, we had not desired. 
 To our great joy, Mrs. Thorpe proposed that we 
 should take her own apprentice, Mary Lee. 
 
 " It will be better for the girl than sitting closely at 
 
News, 271 
 
 her sewing," said she ; " and she is rather too pretty 
 for me to like to take her into the shop at present — 
 I have too many fine gentlemen customers. Mary 
 is a good girl, and well brought up ; she understands 
 all sorts of work. I will have her take a few lessons 
 in hair-dressing from Neighbor Frizzle, who will do 
 me so much of a good turn, I am sure." 
 
 Mary herself was very well pleased with the 
 change from an apprentice to a lady's maid, and we 
 had become very fond of her, so we were well suited 
 all round. The time sped on as fast as time does 
 speed under such circumstances. We made little 
 presents to our scholars at the school, to the old 
 women in the alms-house that we visited," and to the 
 clerk's wife, who lamented greatly over our departure. 
 Master Tubbs had not become any more reconciled 
 to the new state of things at St. Anne's, but he was 
 obliged to allow that his wife was much easier to live 
 with since she had come round to Mr. Cheriton's 
 way of thinking. 
 
 "And I cavHt find it in my heart to blame Mr. 
 Cheriton when I hear the poor thing as used to fret 
 and groan from morning till night and back again, 
 a singing of Mr. Wesley's hymns softly to herself 
 now and again. And when them dreadful pains 
 come on, and she can't help crying out, she says 
 between whiles, 'never mind, David, I'll soon be 
 where there's no more crying.' And Mr. Cheriton 
 comes to see her every week — and such prayers as 
 he makes. No, I can't find no fault young ladies, 
 so long as I sees the poor old woman so happy. But 
 
2;^2 The Foster-Sister^, 
 
 what she will do when you are gone I don't know, 
 for she says you bring the sunshine whenever you 
 come." 
 
 Two more important events were destined to be 
 crowded into this eventful week. One day when 
 Amabel and I came home from walking we were 
 met by Mrs. Thorpe with the news that a gentleman 
 had called to see me, and would call again. 
 
 "To see meP^ said I, surprised. "Are you sure, 
 Mrs. Thorpe?" 
 
 "Quite sure, Miss Lucy. He is an elderly man, 
 and gave the name of Corbet, so I fancy he may be 
 some connection to your family. He said he would 
 not wait, but would come again in an hour." 
 
 I did not know that I had a relation in the world, 
 though Mrs. Crumb had told us that there were still 
 persons of the name living in Cornwall. It may be 
 guessed that I waited with no little impatience and 
 curiosity to see the stranger. He came punctually 
 to his time — an old gentleman, but hale and well 
 preserved, with black eyes and eye-brows like my 
 own. His manner was just that mixture of fatherli- 
 ness and gallantry which is apt to take young girls, 
 and I was very well pleased when he gave me what 
 he called his credentials, namely, a letter from Sir 
 Julius Leighton, introducing him as Mr. Andrew 
 Corbet, my father's uncle, and a gentleman of some 
 property in Cornwall. 
 
 "Yes, I am your uncle," said he, as I curtesyed 
 and gave him my hand, while he kissed my forehead. 
 "Your father was a great favorite of mine before he 
 
News, 2^3 
 
 vexed me by moving up here into Northumberland. 
 But never mind that now. He was a good man, and 
 I hope his daughter is as worthy of him as she is 
 like him. And this lady, I suppose, is my kins- 
 woman also ? On my word, niece, I don't think I 
 was such an old fool after all in coming all the way 
 up here to find such a pair of relations." 
 
 "I am sure it was very good of you, sir," said I, 
 and, indeed, I felt it so, for the journey was a very 
 serious one in those days. "It is a long way to 
 come." 
 
 " Oh, I am an old sailor, child, and the distance 
 from Cornwall to Northumberland does not look so 
 great to one who has been two or three times round 
 the world." 
 
 " Have you really been round the world ?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, niece, more than once, and would like to do 
 it again to-morrow. What say you, girls, shall we 
 charter a fast-sailing vessel and set off on a voyage 
 of discovery?" 
 
 "I should like it, but I don't believe Amabel 
 would," said I, feeling myself greatly drawn toward 
 this lively old gentleman. "She was dreadfully 
 sea-sick coming from France this summer." 
 
 "Ah, then I fear we must give up our cruise round 
 the world, and be content with one around Newcastle 
 instead. It is too late this afternoon, but to-morrow 
 we will go about and see the town a little." 
 
 Captain Corbet — such was his title, he having 
 been for many years commander of a great ship 
 trading to India — spent the evening with us, and 
 
274 ^^^ Foster-Sisters. 
 
 made himself very agreeable. He told us pitorie^i of 
 his travels in all sorts of outlandish places, and gave 
 us a very interesting account of the English colonies 
 in the North America. We were surprised to learn 
 that the people there were quite as civilized as our- 
 selves — that they had churches, schools, and colleges 
 — and were much given to reading. 
 
 " They will be an important addition to the British 
 Empire in time," remarked Mr. Cheriton, who had 
 come to pay his respects to my uncle — ^very kind in 
 him, I am sure. 
 
 " It is my opinion that they will not always belong 
 to the British Empire," replied Captain Corbet. 
 "They are growing a great people, and are like 
 enough to set up a nation for themselves some day, 
 though none of us may live to see it." 
 
 Nevertheless almost all of us have lived to see it. 
 The British colonies have really set up for them- 
 selves after fighting seven years for the privilege, 
 and seem likely enough to do well. 
 
 "There is a great difference, sir, between the 
 English and Spanish colonies in the New World," 
 remarked young Mr. Thorpe, who was also present. 
 He was staying with his aunt over at Gateshead, and 
 we saw him now and then, but not often. He had 
 known Captain Corbet in foreign parts, and hearing 
 of him from Mrs. Thorpe, had asked permission to 
 pay his respects to him. 
 
 "You are right, Mr. Thorpe, and you will see the 
 same difference every where," answered the captain. 
 " Look at the Swiss cantons, for instance. Ywi can 
 
News, 275 
 
 tell the moment you pass from a Protestant to a 
 Roman Catholic canton, bj the look of the farms 
 and the people." 
 
 I had seen young Mr. Thorpe several times, 
 though his aunt did not greatly encourage his visits. 
 But he had taken us all to see his ship, and we had 
 gone in company once to visit good Mrs. Davis in 
 the country. He was moreover a constant attend- 
 ant at St. Anne's, and dutifully gave Mrs. Thorpe 
 his arm home to her own door every Sunday. He 
 was second Lieutenant on board His Majesty's ship 
 the Spitfire, and in a fair way of rising in his pro- 
 fession. 
 
 " You are likely to see service, from what I hear 
 in the town ! " observed Captain Corbet. 
 
 " I believe you are right. Sir. We have heard, 
 though it is not yet fully made known, that we 
 are to join the fleet very soon ; and I am glad of 
 it with all my heart, for this recruiting business is 
 not all to my mind. I would far rather be fight- 
 ing the French, than helping to drag poor fellows 
 from their wives and families, perhaps never to see 
 them again." 
 
 "War is a sad necessity," observed Mr. Cheri- 
 ton : " and this business of pressing men into the 
 navy is not the least cruel part of it. I heard the 
 other day in Berwick, that a company of poor per- 
 sons were assembled in a cottage for the purpose of 
 prayer and reading the Scriptures, when a press- 
 gang fell upon them, and carried off the men to the 
 nnmbei' of ten, including the local preacher." 
 
2y6 The Poster-Sisters, 
 
 " Like enough, Sir. Few gangs would miss such 
 a chance, and some of our officers would think it 
 an excellent joke to break up a Methodist meeting 
 in that way." 
 
 " But what sort of sailors will your Methodists 
 make ? " asked Captain Corbet. 
 
 " Capital, Sir ! to judge from the two or three 
 specimens we had last year. One of them was a 
 preacher, and I never saw a man more devoid of 
 fear. He had hard measure from his mates at 
 first, but he bore all so patiently and cheerfully, 
 returning good for evil whenever he had a chance, 
 that the most of them were won to his side ; and 
 when he finally died of wounds received in an 
 action, I believe he was lamented by all." 
 
 "I dare say you are right ! " remarked Captain 
 Corbet : " These Methodists are doing a wondearful 
 work in our parts. I never saw a grander sight, 
 than the great open air amphitheatre of Gwennap, 
 filled from end to end, a sea of upturned faces, in- 
 tent upon Mr. Wesley's preaching. It was truly 
 wonderful to see how he held all these wild folks, 
 half of whom had never heard a sermon in their 
 lives, or entered a church, except to be christened 
 or married ; how they hung upon his words and 
 would hardly let him go." 
 
 " They say, or at least some people do, that the 
 effect produced is mere animal excitement, and 
 that half of the converts go back to be as bad as 
 they were before." 
 
 " That some of them should do so, is to be 
 
News. 27; 
 
 expected ! " replied Mr. Cheriton : " but 1 do not 
 believe from what I have myself seen, that nearly 
 so many as half fall away." 
 
 " And suppose they did, would that be any argu- 
 ment against Mr. Wesley's preaching ? " asked the 
 elder sailor with some warmth : " Would you refuse 
 to go to the rescue of a shipwrecked vessel, because 
 yoa could probably save only haK the passen- 
 gers ? " 
 
 "Oh! I have nothing against Mr. Wesley, I 
 assure you ! " Mr. Thorpe hastened to say : " I 
 would go to hear him to-morrow, if he came this 
 way ; and I like him all the better for talking as though 
 he himself believed what he said. I can under- 
 stand a man's refusing to consider or believe in the 
 Christian religion at all, but how a man can profess 
 to believe in it, and even make a business of preach- 
 ing it, and yet be perfectly indifferent and careless 
 about the matter — ^that passes my comprehension. 
 It seems to me that religion must be all or 
 nothing." 
 
 This was the last time but one that I saw Mr. 
 Thorpe before his ship sailed. We met indeed, 
 next day, and exchanged a few words while my 
 uncle was examining a new kind of weather-glass 
 or something of that sort, in an instrument-maker's 
 shop. He bade me good-bye, and gave me a little 
 keepsake — an ivory whistle made of the tooth of a 
 great monster like a crocodile, curiously wrought 
 on the outside, and set in gold, with a little gold 
 chain attached. He told me he had made it him- 
 
278 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 self on shipboard. I don't know ; I suppose it was 
 not quite right, but I gave him in return a little 
 prayer-book which I had bought to carry in my 
 pocket. We parted then and there, and I have 
 never seen him since. Ah well ! 
 
 Amabel had excused herself from going out with 
 us. My uncle took me into a great many fine shops 
 and would have bought innumerable fairings for 
 me, if I had let him. I compounded for a watch, 
 which I really did want, and some books of poetry 
 and history ; but he would not be withheld from 
 giving me a fine cloth cloak, or mantle lined with 
 fur, saying that winter was coming on, and I would 
 find Northumberland far colder than I .was used to. 
 We had some very serious talk together, and the 
 more I saw of him, the better I liked him. 
 
 " I should love dearly to have you with me, my 
 maid, if I were settled any where ! " said he, as we 
 walked slowly homeward. "I have neither chick 
 nor child of my own. You are my nearest relation, 
 and almost my only one; save the Stantons in 
 Devonshire, who are too great folks to care for an 
 old fellow like me, though the Corbets were set- 
 tled there long before the Stantons were ever 
 heard of. 
 
 ' Corby of Corby sat at home, 
 
 When Stanton of Stanton hither did come.* 
 
 So the rhyme runs. However, that does not mat- 
 ter. You are my nearest of kin as I s<iid, and it 
 is but right and natural that I should make you 
 mine heir, though I desired to see you, before the 
 
News, 279 
 
 matter was finally settled. But I am more than 
 satisfied with you." 
 
 He then told me that his will was already made 
 in my favor, and deposited in the hands of a legal 
 gentleman in Exeter, whose address he gave mci 
 bidding me to keep it carefully. 
 
 " He is an honest and worthy gentleman, and will 
 stand your friend if you need one. Meantime do 
 you keep this matter to yourself for the present. I 
 should like, as I said, to have you with me, but I 
 must make one more voyage before I give up the old 
 ship I have sailed in so long, and besides it would 
 not be fair to Sir Julius Leighton to deprive his 
 daughter of her companion." 
 
 "Do you know Sir Julius, sir?" I ventured to 
 ask. 
 
 " Oh yes, I know him," answered Captain Corbet, 
 with a peculiar accent, which did not escape me. 
 " He is a kind-hearted man in the main, but easily 
 swayed — easily swayed. He was wholly in the 
 hands of his late wife, and it was well for him that 
 she was in the main a good woman. You owe him 
 all duty. But should you need a friend you can 
 safely apply to Mr. Carey, in whose hands are placed 
 all my small means. 
 
 This conversation brought us home to Mrs. 
 Thorpe's door, where we parted for the time. Ama- 
 bel was not in our room, and I was not sorry to have 
 a few minutes to myself wherein to compose my 
 spirits, which had been considerably shaken by all 
 the events of the morning. Xt was a wonderful 
 
2So The Faster-Sisters, 
 
 thing to me that I should be an heiress in ever so 
 small a way, and, of course the prospect was a pleas- 
 ant one. It set me to thinking what had become of 
 my father's little property in Northumberland, a 
 question which had never occurred to me before, and 
 I determined to find out on the first opportunity. 
 Mr. Thorpe had said he should call in the evening to 
 say good-bye to his aunt, so I did not look upon our 
 parting as final, though it proved to be so in the end. 
 I was not quite sure I had been right in exchanging 
 keepsakes with him, but I instinctively put off the 
 consideration of that subject for the present. After 
 a time, looking out of the window, I saw Amabel 
 and Mr. Cheriton in deep conversation over the 
 church-yard wall, just where a neat plain stone had 
 been put up to Mrs. Edwards and her babe. Mr. 
 Cheriton was bare-headed, and seemed very earnest 
 about something. Amabel was looking straight be- 
 fore her, and, though her color was deeper than 
 usual, she did not seem displeased. They parted at 
 last and Amabel came into the house. She started 
 at seeing me as though I had been a ghost. 
 
 " I did not know you had come in," said she. 
 
 "I have been here some time," I answered. " See 
 what I have for you !" And I displayed the pretty 
 watch like my own which my uncle had purchased 
 for me. 
 
 "What were you and Mr. Cheriton talking about 
 so earnestly ?" I asked, after Amabel had admired 
 her present sufficiently. "You seemed very deeply 
 absorbed, I thought," 
 
News, 281 
 
 Amabel blushed and looked down a moment. 
 Then she raised her clear shining eyes to me. 
 
 " I suppose I had better tell you, though it may 
 never come to any thing," said she. Then after 
 another little pause in which I guessed well enough 
 what was coming — " Mr. Cheriton asked me whether 
 it would be agreeable to me if he asked my father's 
 permission to pay his addresses to me." 
 
 "Oh!" said I, considerably amused. "I suppose 
 of course he would not pay them on any account 
 without your father's consent?" 
 
 "Certainly not," answered Amabel, with such 
 grave simplicity that I could not for very shame 
 laugh at her. "That would not be right nor 
 honorable." 
 
 "And you told him" — 
 
 "I told him that I was very young to think about 
 such matters, but if his parents and mine saw no 
 objection" — ^and here slie made a pause and stead- 
 fastly studied the face of her new watch. 
 
 "And suppose your father does not consent, and 
 even wished you to marry some one else," said I, 
 rather cruelly, "what will you do then ?" 
 
 " I will obey him so far as I can in conscience — at 
 least till I am of age," she answered. "But there 
 is no use in thinking about that." 
 
 " True," I answered. " * Sufficient unto the day is 
 the evil thereof.' Besides, I do not see why it is 
 not a good match. Mr. Cheriton will have a good 
 estate of his own, as I understand, besides being 
 lieir to Lord Carow, in Devonshire, if his poor sou 
 dies." 
 
282 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 "You are not used to be so mercenary, Lucy ,*• 
 said Amabel, with a little indignation in her voice. 
 " I should love — I mean I should like — Mr. Cheriton 
 just as well if he had not a penny to call his own — 
 if he were a poor curate, or a sailor, like young Mr. 
 Thorpe." 
 
 This was carrying the war into Africa, as Mr. 
 Lilburne's phrase was, and I hastened to parry the 
 unintended attack. 
 
 "And so should I," I answered. "The question 
 with me is what Sir Julius may like. He is a man 
 of the world, you know, and you are his heiress. 
 He may look for a grander match — some one like 
 Lord Bulmer, for instance." 
 
 "Lucy!" said Amabel, with flashing eyes, "I 
 would rather lie down in my coffin than marry Lord 
 Bulmer." 
 
 "And I would almost rather see you there," I 
 rejoined. " The man is detestable to me." 
 
 Amabel was silent again for several minutes, 
 leaning her head on her hand so that I could, not 
 see her face. Then she raised it toward me filled 
 with a kind of solemn brightness. 
 
 " Lucy, I think I can leave it all in my Father's 
 hands," said she, smiling, though the tears stood on 
 her long lashes. "I am sure He will do what is 
 best for me and for — for Mr. Cheriton. I am 
 quite sure that I shall never marry any one else. 
 Tlxat can not be my duty. But let us not borrow 
 trouble about it. Tell me of your walk. You said 
 you met Mr. Thorpe. Is he really going to-morrow V 
 
News, 283 
 
 "He really is, and he has given me this little 
 whistle made of a crocodile's tooth, though that is 
 not the word — alligator I think he calls it, though 
 'tis a creature of the same kind. Is it not pretty ?" 
 But I did not tell her what he had told me — ^that 
 whoso receives one of these little amulets will surely 
 never forget the giver. 
 
 "He is a fine young man," remarked Amabel, 
 after she had admired the little whistle, which had 
 a peculiarly sweet, ringing note. "I shall never 
 forget how he looked when we first saw him, holding 
 up that poor fainting woman. Did you give him 
 nothing in return ?" 
 
 " Yes, I gave him my little pocket prayer-book ! " 
 I answered : " I thought it might be useful and a 
 comfort to him.'* 
 
 " I dare say ! " answered Amabel gravely, and 
 then we were both silent for a long time, till 
 we were called to our dinner. 
 
 At tea-time, Mrs. Thorpe told us how disap- 
 pointed she was, that she should not see her 
 nephew again. His ship was to sail with the tide 
 at nine o'clock, and he had sent her a hasty note to 
 say that it was impossible for him to come to bid 
 good-bye. My heart went down as into deep cold 
 water, but I gave no sign as Mrs. Thorpe went on 
 praising the young sailor, saying what a dutiful son 
 he had been to his mother, and how fast he had 
 risen in his profession. One only beside Amabel 
 gave a guess at my feelings. When my good uncle 
 
 bade us good-night and good-bye — for he too, was 
 19 
 
204 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 to go early in the morning — he whispered in my 
 ear — 
 
 " Keep a good heart, my pretty ! There are many 
 more sailors come home than ever are drowned, 
 and the winds are in the hollow of IIi% hand." 
 
 True enough. But those who are drowned are 
 drowned just as much, for all that. But there has 
 been no rebellion in my heart, at least I trust not — 
 for many a long year. I have found plenty to do, 
 and have been made to keep house and be a joyful 
 mother of children, though I never had one of mine 
 own. 
 
 We had one more Sunday at St. Anne's — one 
 more afternoon at the school, and then came a mes- 
 senger from Mrs. Deborah to say, that his mistress 
 would be in Newcastle the next day, and hoped to 
 let out for home on Wednesdaj. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE SISTERS. 
 
 |N Tuesday afternoon word came to hb, 
 that the Ladies Leighton had arrived at 
 the Queen's Head Inn, and we at once set 
 off to pay our duty to them, accompanied by Mrs. 
 Thorpe herself, dressed all in her best. The 
 Queen's Head Inn was the oldest in the town, and 
 had alwavs been considered the best till of late, 
 a new hostelry called the Crown had been built and 
 furnished at a great expense by a company of specu- 
 lators. This new inn or hotel (as it began to be 
 the fashion to call them), was expected to carry off 
 all the custom of the gentry, by its superior accom- 
 modations. But the county families of Northum- 
 berland, are like other county families — not at all 
 fond of novelties. The Queen's Head continued to 
 be patronized, and the new house was like to be 
 a losing speculation. 
 
 The Queen's Head was a great rambling old pile, 
 with tier upon tier of galleries surrounding a spar 
 cious court-yard, in which we recognized the family 
 coach of the Leighton ladies, at least Mrs. Thorpe 
 did, for we knew very little of such matters at that 
 
 (285) 
 
286 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 time. We were conducted up stairs and along )k 
 gallery, and through a passage, and finally found 
 ourselves in a private sitting-room, furnished in a 
 comfortably dingy fashion, where we found the 
 three ladies. Mrs. Deborah welcomed us with great 
 kindness, and presented us to her sisters in this 
 fashion. 
 
 " Sister Philippa, and Sister Chloe, this is our 
 niece Amabel Leighton, and this is Lucy Corbet, 
 daughter of Mr. Walter Corbet, and Mrs. Rosamond 
 Treverthy, and my brother's adopted child." 
 
 Mrs. Chloe, who was evidently much the young- 
 est of the three ladies, welcomed us with great 
 cordiality, kissing us on the cheek, and immediately 
 presented us in exactly the same form to Mrs. 
 Philippa, the other sister. 
 
 Mrs. Philippa, who had heretofore appeared 
 unconscious of our existence, now rose in her turn 
 and welcomed us, with a little more stiffness in her 
 manner. All three of the ladies then saluted Mrs. 
 Thorpe, with gracious condescension. 
 
 " I hope I see you well, nieces ! '* said Mrs. 
 Deborah. 
 
 " Yes, we hope we see you well, nieces ! " echoed 
 Mrs. Chloe — " Sister Philippa, no doubt you hope to 
 see our nieces well." 
 
 " I hope I see my niece well ! " said Mrs. Philippa, 
 biting off tke word niece as if she had a spite at it : 
 " I hope also, that I see the other young lady well, 
 but as she is not our niece, I do not understand 
 why my Sister Deborah should call her so. But I 
 never do pretend to understand my Sister Deborah. " 
 
The Sisters. 287 
 
 "Oh Sister Philippa, I am sure" — said Mrs. 
 Chloe — and then she looked at Mrs. Deborah in an 
 appealing way. 
 
 " Miss Corbet is our kinswoman, Sister Chloe, and 
 our brother's adopted daughter, so I see no reason 
 why we should not call her our niece, if she likes to 
 have us for aunts ! " she added, relaxing her black 
 brows as she turned to me with a smile. I was 
 considerably embarrassed, but I could only courtesy 
 and say that she was very kind, and I should be 
 very grateful for her notice. 
 
 " Yes, Sister Deborah is very kind ! " said Mrs. 
 Chloe. Then in a loud whisper, "You must not 
 mind poor Sister Philippa ! She is rather peculiar, 
 but I am sure she means well." 
 
 " Sister Chloe, I desire that you will not trouble 
 yourself to apologize for me ! " said Mrs. Philippa 
 tartly, hearing or guessing the import of the whis- 
 per : " No doubt the young ladies will find me out 
 for themselves. I dare say Miss Corbet is a nice 
 young woman enough, and I have nothing to say 
 against her, though I may not have my Sister 
 Deborah's reasons for adopting her at once." 
 
 Mrs. Deborah frowned again, and the color rose 
 in her cheeks, but she did not speak. Mrs. Philippa, 
 having relieved herself as I suppose by saying the 
 most spiteful thing she could think of, became quite 
 gracious, asked us our ages, and seemed surprised 
 when she heard that we had lately passed our 
 eighteenth birthda^vA. 
 
2S8 The Fosfer-Sisters, 
 
 •^Is it possible that it is nearly eighteen years 
 since my brother went abroad ? " said she. " Well 
 well — and you are fine well-grown girls, no doubt, 
 and carry yourselves well. They do you great 
 credit, my good Mrs. Thorpe." 
 
 " I have had but little to do with their education 
 beyond supplying them with masters since they have 
 been with me, madam," replied Mrs. Thorpe, courte- 
 sying. "All the credit belongs to the good ladies at 
 the French convent, where they were brought up." 
 
 "I understand you are Papists," said Mrs. Phil- 
 ippa, turning again to us. " But you must drop all 
 that now. We cannot have Papists in our family, 
 though some people, I believe, have no objection to 
 them." 
 
 Again I saw Mrs. Deborah frown, but she did not 
 speak. Amabel answered quietly that we had 
 attended the Church of England for several months, 
 while I wondered if Mrs. Philippa thought one's 
 religion a thing to be dropped like a hoop-petticoat 
 when it was not convenient. 
 
 "You must follow your own consciences about 
 that, nieces," observed Mrs. Deborah. " We shall be 
 glad to have you go to church with us, of course, 
 but no constraint shall be put upon you. Sister 
 Chloe, will you be kind enough to ring for supper ? 
 Mrs. Thorpe, you will remain and sup with us." 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Thorpe, you will certainly remain and 
 sup with us," chimed in Mrs. Chloe. " Sister Phil- 
 ippa, no doubt you wish for the pleasure of Mrs. 
 Thorpe's company to supper." 
 
The Sisters. 289 
 
 "I hope Mrs. Thorpe will please herself in the 
 matter," answered Mrs. Philippa. " I have no doubt 
 she will have a much better supper at home than we 
 shall, but if she likes to remain she is quite 
 welcome." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe, who I thought seemed to understand 
 pretty well with whom she had to deal, thanked the 
 ladies, but declined the invitation, " Having," as she 
 said, " business to attend to at home." 
 
 "Yery well," said Mrs. Deborah. "Do you wish 
 to keep these girls of ours for a night or two more, 
 or shall they stay here with us till we go ?" 
 
 " I shall be only too glad to keep them as long as 
 I can, Mrs. Deborah," answered Mrs. Thorpe. " I 
 fear I shall miss them sadly when they are gone, for 
 I am sure no one ever had two more agreeable and 
 amiable young ladies in their family." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so, and it speaks well 
 for both parties," said Mrs. Deborah. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, it speaks well for both parties," said 
 Mrs. Chloe ! " Sister Philippa, are you not glad to 
 hear Mrs. Thorpe say that the young ladies have 
 been agreeable and amiable ?" 
 
 " Sister Chloe, I wish you would let me have an 
 opinion of my own now and then," was the reply. 
 " Of course Mrs. Thorpe would say nothing less now 
 that her lodgers are going away. She may expect 
 to have them back at some time." 
 
 "I shall only be too glad to have them back at 
 any time, Mrs. Philippa," answered Mrs. Thorpe, 
 with some spirit. "And I only speak what I think 
 
290 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 in saying that I have never known two better young 
 ladies." 
 
 " I dare say you are right, Mrs. Thorpe, and I am 
 sure we are greatly obliged to you for your care of 
 them," said Mrs. Deborah. " I shall see you to-mor- 
 row, and talk over a few matters with you. We are 
 going to stay over a day, as we wish to make a few 
 purchases." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe took her leave, and the servant com- 
 ing to the door at the same moment, Mrs. Deborah 
 ordered supper, Mrs. Chloe agreeing in all she said, 
 and Mrs. Philippa as regularly disagreeing with her. 
 
 "If Sister Deborah has no objection, Sister Chloe, 
 I will take supper in my own room," said Mrs. Phil- 
 ippa, rising from the sofa, where she had been lying 
 ever since we had come in. "I am very much 
 fatigued, and not at all in spirits to make me fit to 
 entertain company. Perhaps you will have the 
 goodness to call Tupper." 
 
 The person in question being called, accordingly 
 entered from the next room, and giving her arm to 
 Mrs. Philippa led her away, though I must say Mrs. 
 Philippa did not look as though she stood in need of 
 such help. We were all the more comfortable for 
 her absence. Mrs. Deborah relaxed her brows, and 
 Mrs. Chloe lost something of her uneasy and appre- 
 hensive manner, and seemed as if she were preparing 
 to enjoy herself. She was a woman of about thirty- 
 five, I should say, and must have been very pretty 
 before her face was disfigured by the small-pox. 
 She had still a neat, trim figure, and dressed and 
 
Tke Sisters. 291 
 
 carried herself remarkably well, and when she smiled 
 she showed a set of wonderfully even white teeth. 
 Mrs. Philippa was decidedly stout, with red hair, and 
 handsome features which were disfigured with the 
 strongest expression of fretful ill-temper that I ever 
 saw on any face. She looked well enough in health, 
 and certainly the dishes which went in to her full 
 and came out empty did not look as if she suffered 
 from want of appetite, yet I soon learned that it 
 was her pleasure to consider herself an invalid, and 
 that she kept lier bed or sofa most of the time. I 
 learned more about her afterward, which I shall tell 
 in its place. 
 
 We became very chatty and familiar over our sup- 
 per. Mrs. Deborah herself took only some bits of 
 dry toast and a glass of wine and water, but she had 
 ordered a roast fowl, and various dainties in the 
 shape of cakes and creams, which she seemed 
 pleased to see us enjoy. She asked us about our 
 lessons, expressed her satisfaction in our progress, 
 and avowed her determination to purchase a harpsi- 
 chord for us. 
 
 "We have an old-fashioned spinet and an organ, 
 but the spinet is past use, I fear. No one has 
 touched either of them since Sister Philippa gave up 
 playing." 
 
 " Do you not remember, Sister Deborah, that Mr. 
 Cheriton played the organ the last time he came 
 with his mother to dine with us T Mrs. Chloe ven- 
 tured to remark. " He said the instrument was in 
 good order." 
 
292 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 "Very true, so he did. Your memory is better 
 than mine, Sister Chloe, as is to be expected at your 
 age. Do either of you play the organ, nieces ?" 
 
 "Amabel plays," said I. " She used sometimes to 
 play in the church when Sister Filomena was not 
 able." 
 
 "And do you sing?" asked Mrs. Deborah : "I 
 hope you do for we are all fond of singing." 
 
 " Lucy sings ! " said Amabel, answering for me, 
 as I had done for her : " Mr. Lilburne thinks she 
 has a fine voice, and he has been teaching her some 
 of Mr. Handel's songs." 
 
 There was a harpsichord in the room, and as Mrs. 
 Deborali asked to hear me, I sung the last lesson I 
 had learned, " I know that my Redeemer liveth," 
 while Amabel played the accompaniment for me. I 
 saw Mrs. Philippa's door softly opened a little bit 
 while I was singing. 
 
 " That is beautiful ! " said Mrs. Deborah, with a 
 good deal of feeling • when I had concluded. " I 
 never heard it before. You have given us a treat 
 we did not expect, niece." 
 
 " Yes indeed, a treat we did not expect ! " added 
 Mrs. Cliloe. " 1 hope poor Sister Philippa will 
 enjoy your music, niece. She used to be very fond 
 of it. Do you think she will enjoy it, Sister 
 Deborah?" 
 
 " I cannot say, I am sure ! " was the answer. " It 
 is not easy to tell what Philippa will like, you 
 know. She is sometimes verj much disturbed by 
 
The Sisters, 293 
 
 The remark was made in a slightly raised tone, 
 and I fancy was meant to be heard in the next 
 room. Tapper opened the door directly afterward. 
 
 " My mistress would like to hear the young lady 
 sing something else, if she knows any thing but 
 psalm tunes ! " said she, with a queer half smile on 
 her shrewd face. 
 
 " Do you know anything but psalm tunes, Niece 
 Corbet ? " asked Mrs. Chloe anxiously ; " not that I 
 should call that a psalm tune." 
 
 Luckily we had learned some of Dr. PurcelPs 
 pretty music to the words of the Tempest, and I 
 sung Ariel's song — "When the bee sucks," and one 
 or two others. 
 
 "There, you must not tire yourselves!" said 
 Mrs. Deborah kindly, after Amabel had played 
 *'The Harmonious Blacksmith," and one or two 
 other lessons. " It is time you were going home. 
 I will send Richard with you. You must come and 
 breakfast with us, and then we will go out together. 
 Do you need any new clothes ? " 
 
 " No madam ! " answered Amabel : " we have 
 abundance of everything." 
 
 "Very good. My Sister Chloe wishes to buy 
 some new morning gowns, and ' there are a few 
 matters needed for the house, which I may as well 
 see to now I am here. There, good-night. Be here 
 by eight o'clock, or is that too early for my town- 
 bred misses ? " 
 
 She spoke these words smilingly, and Amabel 
 answered in the same way. 
 
294 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Oh no, aunt, we are early risers." 
 
 " Why, that is well ; we shall suit all the better.** 
 
 "Yes, we shall suit all the better! " added Mrs. 
 Chloe : " My sister Deborah is a very early riser, 
 and so am I ; but poor Philippa is a sad invalid, 
 and she keeps her hours to suit herself. Indeed, 
 she lives quite by herself when she is at home, as 
 you will see." 
 
 " Let them see then, and don't keep them to dis- 
 cuss family matters to-night. Sister Chloe ! " said 
 Mrs. Deborah, with a little impatience in her tone. 
 " There, good-night." 
 
 We were not sorry to find ourselves once more 
 in our own pretty room, which we were so soon to 
 leave. We lighted our candles and sat down to our 
 Bible reading as usual. 
 
 " Heigh ho ! what pleasant times we have had 
 since we came into this little parlor, and how 
 much we have learned ! " said I, as we rose to get 
 ready for bed: "I wonder what sort of room we 
 shall have at Highbeck Hall. I don't believe we 
 shall have one as pretty as this, do you ? " 
 
 " 1 am sure I don't know, but I doubt it will not 
 be as pleasant in all ways!" answered Amabel; 
 " However, Mrs. Ghloe says Mrs. Philippa keeps her 
 own room a good deal, so I hope she will not be in 
 our way, or we in hers. Did you notice, Lucy, that 
 she never spoke to Aunt Deborah once ? " 
 
 "I saw she did not. Everything had to go 
 through poor Aunt Chloe. But is it not very kind 
 in the ladies to call me niece ? It is much more than 
 
The Sisters. 295 
 
 I expected, I am sure," said I. " I think we may 
 get on with Mrs. Deborah and Mrs. Chloe well 
 enough, and as to Mrs. Philippa, why if we cannot 
 coax her round, we must just let her alone as far as 
 possible. I am glad she likes music." 
 
 "Yes, it gives one something to take hold of. 
 Well, we can settle nothing beforehand — ^we can 
 only wait and see. But, Lucy, if I had not learned 
 something more than we knew in the convent — ^if 
 I had not learned to trust to my Father in Heaven, 
 and to feel sure that He will order everything that 
 is best for us — I should feel as though we were 
 indeed going into banishment. Good-night, dear ! " 
 
 The next morning, eight o'clock found us in the 
 sitting-room at the Queen's Head: neither of the 
 ladies was to be seen, but we heard Mrs. Chloe's 
 voice in the next room. 
 
 " We talked about buying a new harpsichord, as 
 the old spinet is out of order, but I don't know — 
 Deborah thinks it will be a good deal of expense 
 and trouble." 
 
 "Of course she does, since she knows it would 
 please me ! " Mrs. Philippa broke in : " that would 
 be enough to set her against it. Mind, Chloe, I will 
 have a harpsichord for these girls, if I have to go 
 out and buy it myself. You can tell Deborah so if 
 you like. I have always been the sacrifice — always 
 had to give up in everything, but I will have my 
 own way in this matter." 
 
 " Well, there, don't excite yourself ! " said Mrs. 
 Chloe soothingly ; and then Tupper's voice chimed 
 
296 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 in — " I suppose of course you will get up to break- 
 fast, Mrs. Philippa, since the young ladies are 
 coming ? " 
 
 '-*No, that I won't!" was the tart reply: "you 
 ought to know better than to think of sucli a thing, 
 Tupper. I don't think I shall get up to-day ; you 
 can bring me some chocolate and an egg, if a fresh 
 one can be had in this odious place, and some 
 bacon, and jam, and a fresh roll — no, I won't have 
 a fresh roll, I will have some buttered toast, and 
 you may get me out the first volume of Tom Jones. 
 Do go away, Chloe, and let me have my breakfast 
 in peace." 
 
 As Mrs. Chloe came out into the sitting-room and 
 closed the door after her, she did not look as 
 though she were greatly troubled by Mrs. Philippa's 
 determination to stay in bed all day. Indeed, from 
 what I learned afterward, I had no doubt at all, 
 that it was the result of a conspiracy between her- 
 self and Tupper, to keep Mrs. Philippa quiet. She 
 was so bent upon having her own way, and upon 
 not being governed, that she habitually chose the 
 exact contrary of everything proposed to her. 
 Mrs. Deborah seldom condescended to manage her 
 sister in this way, but neither Mrs. Chloe nor 
 Tupper scrupled to do so. 
 
 We rose, of course, as Mrs. Chloe came in, and 
 she greeted us each with great kindness. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, nieces. Sister Deborah is 
 below looking after the horses — she likes to see her- 
 self how they are attended to — and Sister Philippa, 
 
The Sisters. 297 
 
 poor thing, is not well this morning, and will not 
 f»-et up." Then lowering her voice to a whisper — 
 "You must have great patience with your Aunt Phil- 
 ippa, my dears. She is peculiar, without doubt. 
 Even I can see that." Well she might, poor lady, 
 since she had to bear the brunt of most of these 
 peculiarities. "But she has always been delicate, 
 and she had a disappointment in early life," sinking 
 her voice still lower. " She has been an invalid ever 
 since, and often keeps her bed for weeks at a time." 
 Here Mrs. Chloe's words were interrupted by a fit of 
 coughing, which seemed enough to shake her to 
 pieces. " There, never mind, girls, I have had this 
 cough ever since I got over the small-pox. It is not 
 much, only it takes my breath away. If you could 
 fan me a little !" 
 
 Amabel hastened to do so, and I took from my 
 pocket a box of comfits Mrs. Thorpe had given me, 
 and offered them to her. 
 
 "Yes, that is just the thing — thank you, niece 
 Corbet, I am better now. It is rather trying at 
 times, but when I think how much more poor Phil- 
 ippa suffers I ought not to complain. Oh yes, I am 
 much better. It is of no consequence. It will soon 
 wear off. And here comes Sister Deborah." 
 
 Mrs. Deborah made us welcome, and we sat down 
 to breakfast. The meal was a very pleasant one. 
 Mrs. Deborah inquired somewhat anxiously how Mrs. 
 Chloe had rested, remarking that she thought she 
 heard her coughing just now. 
 
 "Yes, I did cough a little, but my niece Corbet 
 
29^ The P'oster-lSisters, 
 
 had some comfits for me, and they helped me very 
 much. Oh yes, I assure you, Sister Deborah, I am 
 very much better. I shall be quite well when the 
 frosty weather comes to brace me up a little. Do 
 you know where Mrs. Thorpe found those comfits, 
 niece ?" 
 
 "I believe she has them for sale," I answered; 
 " but. Aunt Chloe — I beg your pardon, madam," I 
 faltered, confused by the liberty I had inadvertently 
 taken. 
 
 "Oh call me Aunt Chloe, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Chloe, evidently pleased. " It sounds as if you loved 
 me already. Sister Deborah, do you not think it has 
 a pretty sound to hear Lucy Corbet say Aunt Chloe ?" 
 
 "Yery pretty," replied Mrs. Deborah. " I am glad 
 Lucy Corbet feels so much at home with us. But 
 what were you going to say, niece ?" 
 
 " I was going to say, madam, that if I had some 
 hips, and currant jelly, and honey, and poppy-heads, 
 I could make a confection that might help my Aunt 
 Chloe's cough. I learned the recipe at the convent, 
 where we used to make many such things, and I 
 know this medicine did Sister Baptista a great deal 
 of good." 
 
 "I should think it very likely," said Mrs. Chloe, 
 with some eagerness. " It sou. .a like a good recipe. 
 Sister Deborah, don't you think the remedy Lucy 
 Corbet proposes to make for me might be worth 
 trying?" 
 
 "I cannot see any hurt it would do," answered 
 Mrs. Deborah; "and as we have abundance of hips 
 
The ^isteri, 599 
 
 about Highbeck there would be no harm in trying. 
 Do you know how to use the still, Lucy Corbet ?"' 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Deborah ; I learned to use the limbec 
 and the hot still at St. Jean, but not the worm. 
 There was always talk of buying one, but Sister 
 Bursar never had the money to spare when the time 
 came," 
 
 "Was she so stingy as that ?" asked Mrs. Deborah. 
 
 " No, indeed, madam," I answered with some heat. 
 "Sister Bursar never was stingy. We gave away 
 all the medicines and cordials we made. But there 
 never was more than money enough to buy what was 
 absolutely needful, and not always that." 
 
 "Well, well, you shall tell me all about it some- 
 time. I am glad you understand the still, for it is a 
 kind of hobby of mine. Now if you have finished 
 your breakfast we will have prayers, and then go 
 into the town. Do you like shopping?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Deborah, I like it very well when I do 
 not wish to buy anything myself," answered Amabel, 
 to whom the question was addressed. 
 
 " I meant to buy you some watches, but I see you 
 have them already,'' continued Mrs. Deborah. " Did 
 my brother send them ?" 
 
 Amabel told the story of our watches, and I added 
 
 that Captain Corbet left his respectful compliments 
 
 for the ladies, and felt himself greatly obliged to 
 
 them for giving a home to his niece. Mrs. Deborah 
 
 expressed herself very well pleased, and said she 
 
 was glad I had found such a friend. She read 
 
 prayers herself, requesting Amabel to read a psalms 
 9© 
 
300 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 and then asked us if we could not sing a hymft. 
 Then we went out into the town and dutifully fol- 
 lowed the two elder ladies all the morning, watching 
 to see Mrs. Deborah buy tea, and coffee, and loaf 
 sugar, spices and other foreign commodities. All 
 these things were very high at that time, in conse- 
 quence of the war with France. Tea, I remember, 
 was thirteen shillings a pound* for the best Bohea. 
 Mrs. Deborah bought a chest of this and one of a 
 cheaper sort, which Mrs. Chloe told me was to give 
 away to the sick poor. I saw that she paid ready 
 money for every thing, and was very particular as to 
 the quality of all her purchases for the house, while 
 she was very indifferent as to' those she made for her 
 own dress. Mrs. Chloe bought two or three gowns 
 for herself and Mrs. Philippa, showing a great deal 
 of solicitude about the latter. She certainly tried 
 her sister's patience to a considerable extent by her 
 balancings between black lutestring and black padua- 
 soy, chamois gloves and silk gloves, and I thought 
 we should never get through. At last, in despera- 
 tion, I ventured to suggest that, as Mrs. Thorpe had 
 the best stock in town, we should go to her, knowing 
 that she had the knack of making her customers 
 know their own minds.f So we got Mrs. Chloe 
 comfortably set down at her counter with Amabel to 
 attend on her, and Mrs. Deborah and I went to finish 
 
 * About three dollars and a half — or a little more as money 
 was then. See Mrs. Delaney's Memoirs — a most charming book. 
 
 f Or rather, I think, lier own mind. She always made her 
 customers buy what she pleased. — A. Cabbt. 
 
The Sisters, 301 
 
 her marketing, meaning to take her up again. I 
 was pretty well supplied with money — thanks to the 
 liberal way in which Uncle Andrew filled my purse 
 — and I asked my aunt's permission to buy some tea 
 and sugar for Hannah Tubbs, and some sugar-candy 
 for tlie children at the schools. This led to an in- 
 quiry as to the school, and a proposal to visit it. 
 Aunt Deborah was much edified by the intelligent 
 way in which the elder girls read in the Bible, and 
 she pleased herself and me by giving a guinea toward 
 the expenses of the school. When we got back to 
 Mrs. Thorpe's we found Mrs. Chloe comfortably 
 established in an arm-chair, discussing Mr. Thom- 
 son's poetry with Mr. Cheriton. Mrs. Thorpe had 
 prepared a collation for us, which Mrs. Deborah was 
 too kind-hearted to mortify her by refusing. Ama- 
 bel and I were silent as in duty bound, but Mr. 
 Cheriton was very sociable and pleasant with the 
 elder ladies, sent a package of working materials to 
 his mother and sister by Mrs. Deborah with his duty, 
 and a pound of choice tobacco and snuff to the old 
 rector. 
 
 "Do you not take snuff yourself, Mr. Cheriton ? " 
 asked Mrs. Deborah. 
 
 " No, madam. I was formerly a snuff -taker, but 
 I have left it off of late, finding, as I think, better 
 use for the money. But Mr. Bowring is an old 
 man and an old friend, and I am glad to do him a 
 little pleasure." 
 
 " And I am pleased that 1 can help you to do so I '* 
 said Mrs. Deborah : " But how is this Mr- Cheriton ? 
 
302 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 I heard you had turned Methodist and preached 
 against all the pleasures of life." 
 
 Mr. Cheriton smiled : " Perhaps if you looked 
 into the matter, madam, you would find that the 
 Methodists are not altogether so black as they are 
 painted." 
 
 " But I hope you do not mean to leave the church 
 of England, or lead others away from it ! " said Mrs. 
 Chloe, in a tone of some alarm : " I do not think 
 your father and mother would ever forgive you." 
 
 <* So far from that, Mrs. Chloe, that I have been 
 more complained of for bringing folks to church 
 than for keeping them away. But I hope to have 
 the pleasure of calling upon you before long, and 
 then we will talk the matter over." 
 
 We returned to the inn in the afternoon, and 
 found Mrs. Philippa dressed and lying on the sofa, 
 hugely indignant at having been left alone so long, 
 although she had absolutely driven Mrs. Chloe away 
 in the morning. She found fault with all the pur- 
 chases which had been made for her, presumed that 
 the tea which had been bought chiefly for her bene- 
 fit, was unfit for the pigs, and that the new harpsi- 
 chord (which I forgot to mention in its place), 
 was a cheat. 
 
 "But Mr. Lilburne selected it. Sister Philippa, 
 and he is considered an excellent judge," said Mrs. 
 Chloe, as Mrs. Deborah paid no attention to these 
 amiable remarks. " He plays the organ in Mr. 
 Cheriton's church, who recommended him to us, and 
 has been our niece's instructor,** 
 
The Sisters, 303 
 
 " Oh, if Mr. Cheriton recommended him, it is all 
 right, no doubt ! " said Mrs. Philippa, with an ill- 
 natured laugh : " but you are throwing away all 
 your arts in that quarter, Sister Chloe. It won't do 
 at all. I thought the small-pox might drive that 
 folly out of you." 
 
 " Philippa ! " said Mrs. Deborah sternly — the 
 first time I had heard her address her sister 
 directly : " If you have no regard for Chloe, you 
 might have some respect for these young girls." 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Philippa called aloud for Tupper, 
 and being assisted to her room, proceeded to go into 
 a screaming and kicking fit of hysterics. 
 
 " You should not speak so. Sister Deborah ! you 
 know it is poor Philippa's way, and I don't mind ; " 
 said Mrs. Chloe, looking, however, as though she did 
 mind very much, and beginning to cough. 
 
 " You are right, Chloe, and I am wrong ! " said 
 Mrs. Deborah. "There, now I have made you 
 cough 1 " I noticed, however, that neither of the 
 ladies were at all disturbed at Mrs. Philippa's fits, 
 which gradually subsided as they were not noticed. 
 
 That night we stayed at the inn to be ready for 
 the early start we were to make the next morning. 
 Mrs. Tupper came to rouse us at daylight, with 
 cakes and cups of chocolate ; but we were already 
 up and dressed, and had put up all our affairs. 
 The coach, a great roomy lumbering affair drawn 
 by four horses, came to the door, and we aH packed 
 ourselves into it. A tight pack it was, but we were 
 aH disposed to be good natured. Mrs. I^ibppa 
 
304 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 traveled by herself in her own chaise with Tupper and 
 Richard — a very fortunate arrangement for us. 
 Our heavy luggage and Mrs. Deborah's purchases 
 were to follow in the wagon. All young folks like a 
 journey, and Amabel was in good spirits, well-pleased 
 at the prospect of seeing a little more of the world, 
 and by no means ill-pleased that Mr. Cheriton 
 should accompany us, for our first stage. I cannot 
 say that I felt quite as happy — but I did my best to 
 be agreeable, and gradually succeeded in cheering 
 mysell. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HIGHBECK HALL. 
 
 IGIIBECK Hall was a very long day's 
 journey from Newcastle, in the best of 
 roads. A frost, the first of the season, 
 had set in two or three days before, and the roads 
 were as hard as iron, and rougher than anything I 
 can think of, wherewith to compare them. We had 
 four noble great horses, beside a saddle horse for 
 Mrs. Deborah to mount when she pleased, for she 
 was a great horse-woman. We had four inside our 
 coach, and two outside, and a man on horseback 
 beside. The first day's travel was very dreary, and 
 the inn where we stopped at night was not par- 
 ticularly comfortable; though the good people of 
 the house did their very best to accommodate us, 
 and were so civil and obliging, that we could not in 
 conscience find fault. They gave us the best they 
 had for supper — brown bread, and freshly toasted 
 oat cakes, bacon and eggs, and a noble dish of trout 
 from the stream near by, and we had our own 
 tea ; so we fared well enough as to eatables. But 
 the beds were terribly hard, and Mrs. Philippa 
 complained dolefully in the morning that she had 
 
 (305) 
 
3o6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 not slept a wink, and felt as if all her bones were 
 broken. Amabel and I had a great chamber to 
 ourselves, with a high carved mantel, and a fire- 
 place as big as a chapel, with a great roaring wood- 
 fire in it, which did not do much to warm us, and 
 doors opening on all sides into dark closets and 
 passage-ways. The building having once been a 
 fine manor-house, room was the last thing wanting. 
 
 " It is a ghostly-looking place, is it not ? " said I, 
 with a little shiver, after we had fastened the doors 
 as well as we could. 
 
 " It makes me think of some of the great disused 
 rooms at St. Jean ! " answered Amabel. " I sup- 
 pose the poor old house is left quite alone by this 
 time. How I wish we could hear from the dear 
 mothers and sisters." 
 
 " What do you think they would say to what you 
 are doing now ? " I asked, for Amabel was at that 
 moment taking our Bibles out of our hand-bags. 
 
 " They would be grieved, no doubt ! '* answered 
 Amabel : " I think of it often, and wonder whether 
 I can really be the same person I was a year ago." 
 
 " People would say we had changed our religion 
 very suddenly ! " said I : " Only think ! It is not 
 yet six months since we first saw a Bible. I don't 
 know how it was with you, but with me, it has been 
 more a finding of religion, than changing one for 
 another. I believed what I was taught, because I 
 knew nothing else ; but I cannot say it ever satisfied 
 me." 
 
 *' If I had had any one to dispute or argue with, I 
 
Highheck Hall, 307 
 
 dare say I should have held out longer ! *' remarked 
 Amabel : " but Mr. Wesley was too wise for that. 
 He just gave us the truth, and left it to make its 
 own way. But Lucy, we must not sit up talking. 
 Let us read our chapters and go to bed, that we 
 may be bright in the morning." 
 
 I thought I should certainly lie awake to listen to 
 suspicious noises, but as it happened, the first noise 
 I heard was Tupper's voice at the door, calling us 
 to get up. The breakfast was a counterpart of the 
 supper, except that as our meal was seasoned with 
 Mrs. Philippa's doleful forebodings, so the other 
 was with her still more doleful complaints. The 
 bed was hard — she had heard strange noises — an 
 owl had screeched close by the window, and a death- 
 watch had ticked at her head five times over, and 
 then stopped ; and she knew it was an omen of her 
 death, which would happen in either five years, five 
 months, five weeks, or five days." 
 
 " Or five hours, or five minutes, or perhaps five 
 seconds — who knows ? " said Mrs. Deborah, more to 
 herself than her sister. 
 
 " Who knows, indeed ? I may be dead before I 
 leave these walls. I only hope Sister Chloe will 
 take the pains to see that I have a decent funeral, 
 that's all." 
 
 "Oh, don't be alarmed. You shall have the 
 finest funeral money can buy ! " said Mrs. Deborah 
 impatiently; whereupon Mrs. Pbilippa began to 
 (ay. 
 
 " Sister Deborah ! " said Mrs, Chloe with gentle 
 reproach. 
 
3o8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Well there, child, I won't do so again. Come, 
 do eat your breakfast, we shall never get away at 
 this rate." 
 
 " What is a death-watch ? " I ventured to ask. 
 
 " It is a little maggot or beetle, rather, which 
 lives in the timbers of old houses and the like, and 
 makes a clicking noise when it gnaws or scratches 
 the wood. It is thought by some to be a sign of 
 death ; but I have had one in my room these twenty 
 years, and he has not killed me yet." 
 
 " A dozen death-watches would never kill some 
 people ! " said Mrs. Philippa spitefully, through her 
 tears. 
 
 " But how does the beetle know when one is going 
 to die ? " asked Amabel. " It cannot make any 
 difference to him, and it does not seem very likely 
 that God would tell such news to a little worm in 
 the wall, and hide it from the person it most con- 
 cerns." 
 
 " If you are an infidel. Niece Leighton, you had 
 better keep your infidelities to yourself ! " said Mrs. 
 Philippa with great asperity : " I have not come to 
 my time of life, to be reproved by a chit out of a 
 French convent." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, aunt ! " Amabel answered 
 gravely and gently, though the color rose in her 
 cheeks. Mrs. Deborah made her a sign to be silent, 
 and helped her to a great piece of marmalade, and 
 the breakfast was finished without another word 
 from any one. But we were not to get away just 
 yet. It turned out that one of the horses had lost a 
 
Highbeck Hall. 309 
 
 shoe, and the coach had a screw loose somewhere, 
 so we were fain to wait two hours till the village 
 blacksmith could supply what was wanted. The 
 elder ladies occupied themselves in knitting. Mrs. 
 Deborah being engaged on a substantial pair of hose 
 for some poor person, and Mrs. Chloe on a counter- 
 pane, which had been in hand for some years. 
 Mrs. Philippa lay on the hard sofa and fretted at 
 the delay, and Amabel and I explored the great old 
 house, found our way into the kitchen, and made 
 friends with the hostess and her mother, a pretty 
 neat old woman, who sat all day in a warm corner, 
 and read in her great BiMe. 
 
 " Yes, mother is a grand scholar ! " said the good 
 woman proudly: "She reads in the Bible from 
 morning till night, Mid now she has gotten another 
 book, which a trav^mg gentleman gave her, who 
 staid here one night. He was one of these new 
 light people — what is this they call them ? " 
 
 " Methodists ! " suggested Amabel. 
 
 " Yes, Methodists ! Gaffer Thistlethwaite says, 
 they are only Papists in disguise, and mean to bring 
 in the Pretender, and the Pope. Do you think that 
 can be true, mistress?" asked the woman with 
 some anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Amabel : " They are not in the 
 least like Papists. We know Mr. Wesley very well, 
 and he is a clergyman of the church of England." 
 
 "Fm heartily glad to hear it!" answered the 
 good woman, evidently much relieved. " The gen- 
 tleman was that kind and civil spoken, and said 
 
3i6 The Poster-Listers, 
 
 such good words, I did not like to think ill of him. 
 He gave mother a book with fine verses in it. 
 Show it to the young ladies, mother." 
 
 The old woman pulled out a book from her 
 pocket, which turned out to be a volume of Mr. 
 Charles Wesley's hymns, then lately put out. She 
 was wonderfully pleased, when we read some of 
 them to her. I never saw a nicer old woman, and 
 it was a pleasure to see her age made so happy, by 
 the consolations of reli^n, and the respectful care 
 of her daughter and granddiiMren. She was able 
 to spin, she told us, and showed us some very nice 
 thread of her spinning. 
 
 At last the carriages were ready, and we set out 
 on our travels once more. The secoad day's jour- 
 ney was much more fdeasaat ttian the first, though 
 the roads were no better ; fer the s^n shone brightly, 
 making the poor birds twitter a little in the bushes, 
 and the hips and rowan berries glitter like jewels. 
 For the first two or three hours, Mrs. Philippa 
 chose to ride in the coach, so Mrs. Deborah took to 
 her saddle-horse, while Amabel, Mary Lee, and I, 
 had the smaller carriage to ourselves. We had 
 been gradually rising for some time, and the purple 
 mountains which we had seen ever since the fogs 
 cleared off, seemed to be drawing nearer, so l^at 
 we could discern the deep valleys and ravines 
 which divided them. Amabel asked Richard what 
 mountains those were. 
 
 " Those be the Cheviot Hills, miss ; you will have 
 heard of them, sure," answered Richard. " On the 
 
Highbeck Hail 3!! 
 
 other side of them hills lies Scotland. We shall 
 soon see the hall now, aye, a long time before we 
 come to it." 
 
 Accordingly it was not long before Mrs. Deborah, 
 riding to the side of the chaise, pointed out a man- 
 sion of considerable size, and built of grey stone, 
 standing on the hill-side which rose in thickly- 
 wooded slopes behind it, dark with fir trees, while 
 higher still it passed into what seemed rocky pas- 
 tures and moorland. A village church with roofs 
 clustered about it was seen some distance below. 
 
 " There is your home, children," said she. " See 
 how brightly the sun shines on the old house. I 
 take it as a good omen." 
 
 "A.nd I wish we were there, Mistress Deborah," 
 said Richard. "It will be a stiff pull from the 
 Tillage with this slippery ground." 
 
 "We shall do very well, Richard," answered Mrs. 
 Deborah. " I dare say the young ladies and Mary 
 Lee will not mind walking a little to lighten the 
 load." 
 
 We at once professed ourselves willing and glad 
 to walk a while. Mrs. Deborah smiled, and bade us 
 keep our strength till it was wanted, as we had seven 
 miles yet to go. We stopped for our nooning at a 
 farm-house where Mrs. Deborah was well known, 
 and where we were received with immense hospital- 
 ity, and regaled with all sorts of good things — milk 
 and cream, fresh bread and butter, cheese, honey, 
 and cold beef. The good woman would have dressed 
 a fowl for us, but that Mrs. Deborah would not allow. 
 
312 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 This was the first time I ever tasted ewe-milk cheese. 
 I should dearly love to see a bit once more, but y«u 
 might as well talk to the folk hereabout of milking 
 the cat as milking an ewe. 
 
 We had come down into quite a deep valley, 
 through which ran a considerable stream, with nar- 
 row fertile fields on each side. Mrs. Deborah tdd 
 us this was our own burn, swollen by the accession 
 of several other streams. We now began to ascend 
 once more, a part of our road lying between fine 
 woods. Then we came to the village, which looked 
 forlorn enough to me. The church was large and 
 handsome, tliough partly in ruins, and there was a 
 row of very ancient cottages near it built of stone 
 and covered with tiles, which Mrs. Chloe told us were 
 alms-houses, maintained by a charge on the estate 
 It was near sunset when we came to a great gateway 
 with ramping stone monsters surmounting the posts 
 on either side, and a stone lodge, from which came 
 out a pretty young woman with a little babe in hei 
 arms to open the gates. 
 
 " Now, young ones, if you like to save the horses 
 a little and try your own legs you may get out and 
 walk a way," said Mrs. Deborah. " Stop where you 
 see a stone bench and we will take you up again. 
 Keep under the trees and you cannot miss your 
 way." 
 
 We descended accordingly, glad of the chance to 
 walk a little. The sun was setting in a great pomp 
 of red and gold, and the moon, near the full and an 
 hour high, hung in the midst of that soleum bkie 
 
Highbeck Hall. 313 
 
 shade which creeps up the eastern sky of a frosty 
 evening. The trees were leafless, of course, but the 
 turf under foot was fresh and green. A low wall 
 bounded the avenue on one side, and on the other 
 spread a waste of bracken and gorse — ^fuzz they call 
 it there — on which some honey-buds still lingered. 
 Presently we came upon a troop of deer, which 
 rushed away in great alarm at the sound of our 
 voices. We could see before us the upper part of 
 the greal; hall gleaming in the solemn sunset rays. 
 The air was clear and sweet with the peculiar fra- 
 grance of peat smoke, and a robin was singing an 
 autumn song in the trees. We walked slowly, for 
 the ascent was a steep one, and the carriages were 
 far behind us. 
 
 " Does it not seem as if we were approaching an 
 enchanted castle ?" said Amabel, as we reached the 
 bench of which Mrs. Deborah had spoken, and sat 
 down to await the carriages which were slowly toil- 
 ing up the hill. 
 
 "I wonder whether we shall find a sleeping 
 beauty?" said I. "As for the dragon, we have 
 brought that along, I think. 
 
 "She is certainly a trial," said Amabel. "I do 
 not so much mind her myself, but it does stir me to 
 hear her speak so to poor Aunt Chloe. Do you 
 know, Lucy, I don't believe Aunt Chloe is long for 
 this world V 
 
 "I think the same thing," I answered; "but she 
 herself believes she is going to get better." 
 
 " So does Martha Styles," said Amabel, alluding 
 
314 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 to a poor consumptive girl we sometimes yisited in 
 Newcastle. " Did you observe that she was not at 
 all scared at the death-watch, which so alarmed poor 
 AuntPhilippa?" 
 
 " I think Mrs. Deborah feels troubled about her. 
 Here comes the carriage at last," as the great lum- 
 bering machine reached the level ground where we 
 were standing. We took our seats once more, the 
 coachman cracked his whip, a pair of inner gates 
 flew open, and we drove round a corner and under 
 an archway into a paved court, which made me think 
 at once of St. Jean de Crequi. A flight of broad 
 stone steps led up into a g»eat hall surrounded by a 
 gallery, to which a broad staircase with landings led 
 up at the farther end. Half a dozen servants, 
 headed by a gray-headed man carrying a silver 
 braRched candlestick, were drawn up to receive us, 
 and, to judge by their faces, were well pleased to 
 have their mistresses among them again. 
 
 "Welcome to Highbeck Hall, nieces !" said Mrs. 
 Deborah, turning around on the threshold and giving 
 us each a hand. "Roberts, this is my brother's 
 daughter, Mrs. Leighton, and my brother's adopted 
 daughter, Mrs. Corbet, daughter of Mr. Corbet, of 
 tlie Black Lee, whom you must remember." 
 
 The old man bowed profoundly and the maids 
 courtesyed. 
 
 " Yes, these are our nieces, Mrs. Leighton and 
 Mrs. Corbet! " echoed Mrs. Chloe, as usual : " Nieces, 
 you are welcome to Highbeck Hall. Sister Philippa, 
 no doubt you welcome our nieces to the Hall ? " 
 
Highbeck Hall 315 
 
 "I should welcome myself to my room and my 
 bed, if I could be allowed to get there ! " snapped 
 Mrs. Philippa : " What signifies the welcome of a 
 poor invalid like me ? I dare say my room has not 
 even a fire in it, and that there is no chocolate 
 ready. " 
 
 " There has been a good fire in your room all day, 
 and I have your supper ready and waiting, Mrs. 
 Philippa," said a pretty elderly woman, whom I 
 afterwards found out to be the housekeeper. 
 
 " Then if it has been waiting, of course it is not 
 fit to touch ! I desire that you will make fresh 
 chocolate directly. Tupper, are you ever going to 
 help me to my room, or do you want me to lie down 
 and die on the stone floor, as I seem like to ? " 
 
 Tupper looked, I thought, as if she would have no 
 particular objection to Mrs. Philippa's following out 
 her fancy in this direction. However, she gave the 
 lady her arm, and they disappeared in one of the 
 galleries above. 
 
 "I have prepared the leather room and the 
 turret for the young ladies, Mrs. Deborah, think- 
 ing they might like to be together ! " said the 
 housekeeper, turning to her elder mistress : " but 
 the blue room is also ready for company." 
 
 On Mrs. Deborah referring the matter to us, we 
 at once asked to be put together. 
 
 " Very well, you shall do as you please, and your 
 
 maid can sleep in the turret-room above ! " said 
 
 Mrs. Deborah. "Jenny, do you show the young 
 
 ladies the way." 
 21 
 
3i6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 An elderly maid-servant led us up stairs, and 
 opened the door of a spacious room, where were 
 candles and a bright fire. The walls were hung 
 with leather, stamped in curious patterns of gilding 
 and silver. There was a great high mantel, and a 
 bedstead hung with curtains of brown damask; 
 another little bed with white curtains, occupied the 
 opposite corner. The toilette-table was of Japan, 
 with many odd boxes and drawers, and hung also 
 with brown damask as were the windows. The 
 floor was bare, save for some foreign-looking rugs, 
 and a square of cross-stitch wool work in the centre 
 of the room, and so slippery with scrubbing and 
 waxing, that it was like ice. 
 
 " This is your room, ladies ! " said Jenny. " Here 
 is a place for your gowns and mantles, and here is 
 a closet" — opening the door of a small octagon- 
 shaped room. "This stair-case — opening another 
 door which gave on a winding stair — leads to a 
 room above, where your maid will sleep. I will 
 return and show you the way to the supper-room." 
 
 Amabel and I looked at each other in some little 
 dismay at the aspect of the room, which was cer- 
 tainly rather gloomy. The high wainscott was of 
 dark brown oak ; the ground of the hanging was 
 also brown, and in the flashes of the fire-light, the 
 gold and silver dragons and wyverns seemed to 
 come and go, in a wierd and uncomfortable man- 
 ner. The bed looked like a catafalque, and the 
 corners of the room entertained companies of suspi- 
 cious-looking shadows, in spite of the candles which 
 stood on the dressing-table. 
 
Highbeck Hall, 317 
 
 " This is certainly the enchanted 'room ! " said I, 
 trying to laugh off the eerie feeling which came 
 over me. " I wonder if the sleeping monster who 
 is to be set free by a kiss is lying in that bed. 
 Dare you look and see, Amabel ? " 
 
 " Oh, I am not scared ! " said Amabel : " but as 
 to the monster, I will leave him, or her, to you. 
 But after all, Lucy, it is not so bad ; that bow win- 
 dow will be beautiful in summer, and see what a 
 grand East County cabinet here is, all full of little 
 drawers and places. I wonder what the closet is 
 like ? " She took up the candle to explore it, and I 
 followed her. It proved to be an octagon room, 
 with windows on three sides, and doors on twc 
 more, one opening to a spacious wardrobe, the 
 other to the stair Jenny had spoken of, which 
 seemed to wind around the turret from below. 
 There was a great Bible and prayer-book on a little 
 table, a hassock, and a square of carpet, two or 
 three chairs, and a shelf on the wall holding a few 
 books. There was also a fire-place, but no fire at 
 present. 
 
 " This is a snug little place ! " remarked Amabel, 
 holding up the light. " If aunt will let us have a 
 fire here, we can make a nice little study of it." 
 
 The entrance of Mary Lee with our bags recalled 
 us to the needful duties of the toilette. Mary looked 
 rather pale and scared, and being questioned as to 
 how she liked her new home, confessed that it was 
 all so big and grand, that it made her feel home- 
 sick; she supposed she should grow used to it in 
 time, but it was not what she was used to. 
 
3i8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Of course you will ! " said Amabel cheerfully : 
 " Why, what would be the use of traveling, if one 
 never saw any thing but just what one was used to ? 
 Come, brush our gowns, and find some fresh ker- 
 chiefs, and when we are ready we will look at your 
 room. 
 
 Our mails had not yet come, but we made our 
 traveling dresses look as smart as we could, by the 
 help of clean kerchiefs and fresh lawn aprons, and 
 then as Jenny did not come to call us, we mounted 
 the winding-stair to inspect Mary's room. It corres- 
 ponded in size with the one below, and had besides 
 two windows rather high in the wall, a sashed door 
 which seemed to open to the leads on the top of the 
 house. It was all comfortable enough, and might 
 be even cheerful and pretty in the day-time, but it 
 did look rather gloomy by the light of our one 
 candle. 
 
 " Why, this is a nice room, Mary ! " said Amabel. 
 
 " No doubt it is, mistress, and better than I 
 deserve," answered Mary, dissolving into tears: 
 " but it does seem dreadful lonesome to sleep here 
 alone, away from every body." 
 
 " Now Mary, I shall be sorry we brought you, if 
 you are going to be a cry-baby," said Amabel 
 decidedly. "Nay, I am not sure but I shall ask 
 Mrs. Deborah to send you straight home again. 
 And how can you say you are away from everybody, 
 when here are Miss Corbet and myself close by you. 
 What do think will happen to you ? " 
 
 Mary did not know, only — 
 
Highbeck Hall, 319 
 
 "Come, come, this will not do at all," said Ama- 
 bel. "Mary, you profess to be a Christian girl. 
 Don't you think the Lord can take just as good care 
 of you here as if you were in Mrs. Thorpe's back 
 attic? You must have more faith, child." 
 
 Mary wiped her eyes and said she would try. At 
 that moment we heard my Aunt Deborah calling us 
 from the room below, and we hastened down the 
 winding stair to find her standing in our room. 
 
 " I could not guess what had become of you," said 
 she. 
 
 Amabel explained that we had been looking at 
 Mary Lee's room, and trying to reconcile her to her 
 new quarters. It was rather an unlucky speech. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter with her quarters?" 
 asked Mrs. Deborah, in a displeased tone. "Are 
 they not grand enough for Mrs. Thorpe's apprentice ? 
 Perhaps she would like the state bed-room, where 
 King Charles, the Martyr, slept on his way to Sect- 
 land!" 
 
 " On the contrary, it is the very grandeur of her 
 lodgings that alarms her, I fancy," said Amabel, 
 with ready tact. "She has been used to consider 
 Mrs. Thorpe's attic as a luxurious bed-chamber. I 
 assure you, aunt, I am a little scared myself at these 
 splendid hangings." 
 
 Mrs. Deborah's brows relaxed, and she admitted 
 that it was not unnatural the girl should be overawed. 
 
 " The hangings are reckoned very uncommon, and 
 very handsome," said she. " My great-grandfather 
 brought them from Spain, whither he went about the 
 
320 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 business of the marriage of Prince Charles with the 
 Infanta. This was your mother's room, Amabel, 
 and here you were born. See, here is your mother's 
 picture hanging on the wall. But you must not stay 
 to look at it now, or we shall have Mrs. Tabitha in 
 fits over her spoiled supper." 
 
 Mrs. Deborah led the way, and we followed her 
 down the grand stairs and through a long corridor 
 to the dining-room, a vast apartment with a fine 
 carved ceiling and a buffet of silver plate and old 
 china. Our supper-table was set in a recess where 
 there was a fire-place, and which was partly inclosed 
 by a great Indian screen. Mrs. Chloe was already 
 standing by the fire. The old butler and another 
 elderly man in a blue livery were in waiting, and 
 instantly proceeded to cover the table with steaming 
 hot dishes — a cheerful sight to us travelers. Mrs. 
 Deborah said grace, and we sat down with excellent 
 appetites. Mrs. Philippa supped in her room, which 
 was no draw-back to the cheerfulness of the pariy. 
 We young ones were silent, of course, but Mrs. Chloe 
 had already picked up various items of domestic 
 news which she imparted to her sister, as that the 
 brindled cat had three kittens, one of which was 
 snow-white — a bit of news at which Mrs. Deborah 
 looked rather grave — and I learned that the birth of 
 a snow-white kitten was not considered a good omen. 
 Old Roberts now and then put in his word informing 
 his mistress with regard to the dogs, the horses, the 
 sheep and cows. 
 
 "And what has happened in the village V asked 
 
Highbeck HalL 321 
 
 Mrs. Deborah. "I see Letty at the Lodge is about 
 again." 
 
 " Oh yes, she was about and doing well, and old 
 Ralph Tracy was also out of his bed, and had been 
 to chureh; and it was said his son was going to 
 marry the miller's daughter, which would be a grand 
 match for him, to be sure, but rather a come-down — 
 so Mrs. Deborah opined — ^for her;" at which Mrs. 
 Chloe made some remark about true lovers, at which 
 Mrs. Deborah smiled indulgently, and Roberts gave 
 a little sniff. 
 
 I listened to the conversation with great interest, 
 for — whether it be a fault of mine or not I don't 
 know — I do dearly love personal histories of all 
 sorts. I discovered that Mrs. Deborah took a great 
 interest in the villagers and their affairs, in which, 
 as I surmised, she might sometimes interfere rather 
 despotically. 
 
 "And what about the church V asked Mrs. Debo- 
 rah. " Has it been opened T 
 
 "Oh yes, three or four times. The doctor had 
 read service, and Mr. Longstreet had preached once. 
 But Mr. Longstreet was going away, having been 
 presented to a living not far from Allendale in the 
 hills." 
 
 "From Allendale!" said Mrs. Deborah. "Why, 
 what will he do there among the miners? And 
 what will Doctor Brown do for a curate ?" 
 
 " The living is a good one, as I am told, having a 
 good income and very light duty," returned Roberts. 
 "As to the miners, they will not trouble the church 
 
322 The Foster- Sisters. 
 
 very much, and Dr. Brown has hired a new curate 
 from Berwick way — quite a young man — but comes 
 well recommended, and has a fine horse, but some 
 complain that they don't understand him well." 
 
 "Why, does he not speak English V asked Mrs. 
 Chloe. 
 
 " Oh yes, madam, after a sort, but you know Ber- 
 wick is near the border, and the people do have a 
 kind of twang of Scotland, as it were." 
 
 I could not help wondering if the Scotch twang 
 were worse than the Northumbrian burr. We had 
 become used to this odd dialect in Newcastle, but 
 the Newcastle folk speak classical English compared 
 to those about Highbeck Hall and in the lead-mining 
 districts. The conversation was now cut short by 
 the ladies rising from table, and Mrs. Deborah, sup- 
 posing we must be very weary, sent us to bed, prom- 
 ising to have us called betimes in the morning. Sfche 
 also told us that her own room was very near ours, 
 and added, somewhat abruptly: 
 
 " I have had a cot-bed carried into your room, so 
 you can have your maid sleep near you if you like. 
 Not, of course, that there is any thing to be afraid 
 of, but young folks are sometimes timid, and the 
 wind makes doleful noises at night among the old 
 turrets and gables." 
 
 We thanked Mrs. Deborah for her consideration, 
 which, I fancy, was meant as much for Mary Lee as 
 for us, and betook ourselves to our room. We had 
 decided that we would have Mary read a chapter to 
 us every night, that she might improve in her read- 
 
Highbeck Hall. 323 
 
 iiig. We had bought Mr. Wesley's notes on the New 
 Testament, and we proposed to go through the book 
 with our little maid in regular course. When our 
 lesson was finished we asked Mary whether she would 
 sleep in our room or hers. 
 
 " I think in mine if it is all the same to you, 
 ladies," answered Mary, with a little quiver in her 
 her voice, but quite decidedly. " I have been think- 
 ing on what Miss Leighton said about trust, and I 
 don't think it becomes a Christian to give way to 
 fear." 
 
 "Why, that is a brave girl!" said I, well pleased: 
 " You may leave the doors open between if you like ! " 
 Amabel added ; but I observed after all that she 
 shut them. 
 
 "That is a grand victory!" said Amabel when 
 she had withdrawn; "and not the less that there 
 is really nothing to be afraid of." She took the 
 candle as she spoke and went to look at her mother's 
 picture. 
 
 " 'Tis a lovely face," she observed after a little 
 silence : " I never saw one that pleased me better ; 
 but who is it so like ? " 
 
 " Look in the glass and see ? " said I ; "It is as 
 like you as one pea to another. I wonder whether 
 that is your father's picture next." 
 
 " It is not my notion of him ! " said Amabel, 
 studying the weak handsome face which in all its 
 softness had a certain look of obstinacy often to be 
 seen in such faces : " I wish you had a picture of 
 your own mother, Lucy ! '* 
 
524 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Thank you, but I do not know that I do ! " I re- 
 plied. " I would rather wait and see how she looks. 
 But Amabel, you will take cold standing about so 
 in your nightgown. We ought to be in bed." 
 
 Amabel and I had been used all our lives to oc- 
 cupy separate beds, but somehow to-night we thought 
 that the great curtained bedstead looked very large 
 for one, and we agreed to sleep together. Amabel 
 fell asleep directly, but I lay awake a long time 
 listening to the moan of the wind, the rustling and 
 cracking which one always hears among old furni- 
 ture at night, and the roar of a waterfall which I 
 had noticed before and which I now heard more 
 distinctly in the stillness. 1 thought over all that 
 had happened in the last few months. I thought of 
 St. Jean lying lonely and forsaken with the bright 
 moonlight shining on the graves and making 
 colored shadows on the floor of the church. I 
 thought too with a shudder of the awful caverns 
 under ground and the dark and dreadful waters 
 which had swallowed up the young heir of Crequi 
 and where I had been so near to losing my own life. 
 I grew restless and nervous and began to fancy that 
 I heard stealthy steps and whispering voices out- 
 side the door. At last I made a desperate effort to 
 withdraw mj; attention from these sounds. I re- 
 peated all the Psalms with which I was familiar in 
 French, English, and Latin, and then tried to imagine 
 myself helping Sister Baptista to measure olives — a 
 fancy which soon put me to sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XVn, 
 
 LIFE AT THE HALL. 
 
 ENNY came to call us betimes in the 
 morning, but we could hardly dress in 
 time for breakfast, so occupied were we in 
 gazing from our projecting window at the great 
 picture spread out before us. The morning was 
 clear and frosty. The house, as I have said, stood 
 very high on the hillside, and the ground was so 
 steep that there was nothing to break the view over 
 the broad plains, clothed here and there with little 
 villages, farm-houses, and clumps of wood. A great 
 deal of the land was pasture and still more was 
 unclaimed waste, inhabited only by gipsies and 
 other wild and lawless people. We seemed to 
 look directly down into Highbeck village on one 
 side, and on the other up the course of the noisy 
 mountain stream to the place where it tumbled over 
 a dam or ledge of rocks forming a considerable cat- 
 aract. The woods were all brown and sere save 
 where the red stems and dusky green heads of the 
 Scotch furs mixed with the oaks and ashes, and the 
 rowan trees still displayed their scarlet berries. 
 " Is it not beautiful ! " said Amabel. " There is 
 
 (325) 
 
326 The Foster-Sisters^ 
 
 something exhilarating in such a wide prospect. 
 It makes me think of our favorite window at St. 
 Jean, only one cannot see the sea as we could there/' 
 
 " What a large house it is ! " said I. " I thought 
 we were quite at the end of the passage, but see, 
 there is a long range of wall beyond us. What 
 beautiful ivy ! " 
 
 " Half the house cannot be inhabited ! " remarked 
 Amabel; "but come we must make haste or we 
 shall not be ready. " 
 
 We found breakfast prepared in a much smaller 
 and snugger room than the great dining-room, hung 
 with cheerful tapestry representing various pastoral 
 scenes, where Corydon in cross stitch made love to 
 a satin stitch Phillis herding her French knotted 
 sheep on the worsted green. We were given to un- 
 derstand that Mrs. Deborah's grandmother had 
 worked this tapestry from her own designs to illus- 
 trate her favorite book, " The Countess of Pem- 
 broke's Arcadia," and we looked on it with respect 
 accordingly. Mrs. Chloe had a tea equipage at her 
 end of the table — there were jugs of milk and bowls 
 of cream, and more kinds of hot cakes and cold 
 cakes than ever I saw before. Each of the old 
 ladies gave us a kiss, wished us good morning and 
 hoped we had rested well. Then Mrs. Deborah 
 rang a bell and the servants came in, bringing their 
 stools with them and took their places near the door 
 while Mrs. Deborah read prayers. Our little Mary 
 was among the number and I was glad to see that 
 she looked quite cheerful. We ought to have called 
 
Life at the Hall, 327 
 
 her to dress us, but a maid was a luxury we were 
 not used to and we forgot all about her till we were 
 quite ready. 
 
 " Your little maid looks bright and cheery this 
 morning, nieces ! I am glad to see it. Did she 
 sleep in your room ? " asked Mrs. Deborah. 
 
 Amabel told Mrs. Deborah how Mary had been 
 determined to conquer her fears. The old lady 
 looked well pleased. 
 
 " That speaks well for her. I was afraid she was 
 going to mope, and I hate moping people. If a 
 thing is to be done, why do it, I say, or else let it 
 alone, but don't go about it with a long face, as 
 though you were a martyr. Well, nieces, and what 
 will you eat ? Here are oat cakes and barley scones 
 and milk scones — and wheaten bread, you see ! Or 
 will you share my sister's pot of tea ? I am no tea 
 drinker, but I am willing that other people should 
 take it if they like it ! " 
 
 " Yes, Sister Deborah is no tea drinker, but she 
 makes no objection to my having it ! " observed Mrs. 
 Ohloe. Won't you take a cup, niece Corbet ? This 
 is very good." 
 
 I was no more a tea drinker than Mrs. Deborah, 
 but I had been taught never, if I could help it, to 
 refuse any thing offered in kindness, so I accepted 
 one of the little cups, and liked it very well. The 
 new milk was delicious, and Mrs. Thorpe had taught 
 me to like fresh toasted oat cakes, so I made an ex- 
 cellent breakfast. Mrs. Deborah breakfasted heart- 
 ily on porridge and milk, observing that she had 
 been up long enough to get a good appetite. 
 
328 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Yes, Sister Deborah has been up a long time ! " 
 said Mrs. Chloe, who ate scarcely anything — " Sister 
 Deborah is very fond of the dairy and always over- 
 sees it herself. That is the reason we have such 
 nice butter. Lady Thurston's butter does not com- 
 pare with ours. Do you think it does Sister De- 
 borah?" 
 
 "Lady Thurston is become too fine a lady to 
 know a cow's head from its tail!" returned Mrs. 
 Deborah. 
 
 " Oh, but sister, I hardly think that can be the 
 case, for she was dreadfully afraid when a cow 
 looked at her the day we were out walking ! " re- 
 turned Mrs. Chloe, who always took everything 
 literally. " Don't you remember ? " 
 
 " I remember she made a great goose of herself 
 with her fine London airs ! I wonder how my old 
 lady ever endured her follies. 'Tis enough to bring 
 her out of her grave to see the way things go on. 
 Nieces, |ire you afraid of cows ? " 
 
 This was asked as who should say — " If you are, 
 prepare at once for banishment." Fortunately we 
 were able to give an answer which turned away the 
 impending wrath. 
 
 " Oh no ! Aunt Deborah ! " answered Amabel, 
 smiling. " When we were at St. Jean, each of us 
 had her own cow to milk — Lucy's was Fanfan and 
 mine was Cocotte. Ah, my poor Cocotte, I wonder 
 who milks thee now ! " 
 
 " We used both to help in the dairy, but Amabel 
 more than I ! " I added. " Mother St. Anne used to 
 like to have me help ' ' the still room." 
 
Life at the Hall. 329 
 
 Mrs. Deborah's frown relaxed, but Mrs. Chloe 
 looked shocked. 
 
 " But did jou really milk with your own hands, 
 nieces?" she asked. "I do not think the nuns 
 ought to have required that. Many ladies take an 
 interest in their dairies. They overlook them and 
 even skim the cream, and mould the butter, and 
 make cheese cakes and so on, but I never heard of 
 a lady that milked ! Did you, Sister Deborah ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know a lady who milked an Ayrshire 
 heifer this very morning ! " returned Mrs. Deborah, 
 smiling. "But in general we employ maids for 
 such services. Did you have no menials, lasses, 
 that the nuns put you to such work ? I thought con- 
 vents always had lay sisters ! " 
 
 " I believe they do in general, but our house was 
 very poor, and the ladies did all the work with their 
 own hands. Sister Lazarus who attended to the 
 cookiag was the daughter of a Marquis." 
 
 " The daughter of a Marquis a cook I " said Mrs. 
 Chloe, in a tone of absolute consternation. "But 
 perhaps she did that kind of work for a penance. I 
 have heard of such things." 
 
 " Oh no, aunt. She had a special vocation for 
 cookiag ! " answered Amabel, gravely. 
 
 "Well!" said Mrs. Chloe. "I have always 
 fancied that it would be a good thing if we had 
 convents in the Church of England, but if that is 
 the way — ^I hope they did not make a cook maid of 
 you!" 
 
 " No, aunt, Sister Lazarus always said I had not 
 
330 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 enough of recollection to be a good cook, but Lucy 
 used to help her, and she learned to make a great 
 many nice things." 
 
 " Well, well, you shall tell Sister Chloe about it 
 all at some other time ! " said Mrs. Deborah, rising. 
 " If you wish to go through the house, children, I 
 have leisure just now to show it you. Sister Chloe, 
 you had better remain by the fire." 
 
 We were not a little anxious to see the house, 
 and followed Mrs. Deborah with great interest as 
 she led us through the long gallery hung with family 
 portraits and a few good Spanish and Flemish 
 pictures, brought from abroad by the same ancestor 
 who imported the leather hangings. 
 
 " Some day I will tell you the history of all these 
 people ! " said she, as she opened the door of the 
 saloon. " I suppose you know nothing of your own 
 family, niece Leighton ? " 
 
 " Scarcely anything, aunt. But oh, who is this 
 beautiful lady ? " exclaimed Amabel, stopping before 
 a fidl length picture which was revealed by the 
 light frcMn the open door of the saloon. A black 
 silk curtain hung from the frame of the picture, but 
 it was drawn aside. The figure was that of a 
 woman of superb beauty, with large eyes and a 
 queenly poise of the head. The expression of the 
 face was haughty and resolute, yet had in it some- 
 thing — I know not what, which was not pleasing, 
 I should call it a look of apprehension or rather of 
 suspense, as though she were momently expecting 
 the appearance of an enemy and were nerving her- 
 
Life at the Hall 331 
 
 self to meet him. Mrs. Deborah frowned, and 
 hastily drew the veil over the picture. 
 
 "Who has dared!" she exclaimed, and then 
 checking herself as by a strong effort — " there, never 
 mind, child. I'll tell you the story some day, or 
 you may ask old Elsie about it." Then as if to 
 change the subject — "you must make old Elsie's 
 acquaintance. She is one of the family curiosities, 
 and very fond of young people." 
 
 " Who is she, aunt ? " I ventured to ask. 
 
 " An old Scotch woman that came here with Ama- 
 bel's grandmother, who was one of the Grahames of 
 the Border. She knew all the ghost stories about the 
 place, I believe. See, here are more pictures which 
 my unlucky great-grandfather bought in Spain, and 
 here is some curious pottery." 
 
 " Why do you call him unluckly, aunt ?" 
 
 " Because he spent more money than he could 
 afford, child, and that was very unlucky to those 
 who came after him. We do not use these rooms 
 very much in winter. But this will interest you ! " 
 she added opening a door into a little room with a 
 southern aspect. It was prettily hung with an 
 Indian paper, and contained a couch and chairs of 
 laquer work, a noble East India cabinet, an old 
 fashioned spinet and a work table. A good fire was 
 burning on the hearth, and the sun streaming in at 
 the window made the little room look quite charm- 
 ing. Amabel and I both uttered an exclamation of 
 deliglat. 
 
 " I am glad you are pleased ! " said Mrs. D^bo- 
 
 %2 
 
332 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 rah : " This, children, was my Sister Leighton's 
 own room, which she fitted up herself, and here your 
 mothers used to sit together with their work and 
 their books, before your mother, Niece Corbet, was 
 married. I do not often come hither — it has sad 
 recollections for me, but you can sit here when you 
 please. I have given orders to have a fire for you, 
 and you shall have your harpsichord in here, and 
 practice as much as you like. Your bed-room is 
 directly above, and here is the stair that leads up to 
 it," opening a door which showed a dark entry and 
 a winding-stair. 
 
 " How very good you are, aunt ! " said Amabel : 
 "I am sure we never thought of having such a 
 lovely room to ourselves. I thought we should sit 
 with you and my Aunt Chloe." 
 
 "And so you may, as much as you please, and I 
 shall be glad if you can do anything to cheer and 
 amuse poor Chloe, who has been sadly lowrspirited 
 ever since her illness. But I know young things 
 Kke to be by themselves at times, and you have 
 a kind of right to this room." 
 
 " But will not the fire be very expensive ? " I ven- 
 tured to ask : " In France, we never had a bit of 
 fire except in the kitchen, and sometimes in the 
 work-room, when it was very cold. Sister Bursar 
 said that fire was the most costly of luxuries." 
 
 " I dare say it may be in France, where, as I have 
 heard, there is great want of fuel, " replied Mrs. 
 Deborah, not at all displeased, as I had half feared 
 eh^ would be by my question; "Thanks to tiie 
 
Life at the Hall 333 
 
 near coal mine, and our own woods, great fires are 
 among our cheapest enjoyments. I am glad to see, 
 niece, that you can think of the cost of things. I 
 wish some other people were as considerate. But 
 come, we will go up stairs, and then you must pay 
 your respects to your Aunt Philippa." 
 
 " How I shall like to sit by this work-table, and 
 think that my dear mother sat here before me ! " 
 said Amabel, lingering a moment by the table, and 
 taking up a little prayer-book that lay upon it. " It 
 seems to bring her so near." 
 
 Mrs. Deborah stopped short and turned about. 
 
 " Your mother, child, was an angel ! " said she 
 abruptly : " I did not know it — my eyes were blinded, 
 first by wounded pride, and then by — no matter 
 what. I had been mistress here for many a year, 
 and I resented it bitterly when my brother brought 
 a stranger from a far country to reign in my stead, 
 though I knew it was what I had to expect. She 
 gave me no cause of offence, but I was not kind to 
 her, and when a wound came from another quarter, 
 I avenged the smart on her. God help me to atone 
 for my sin by kindness to her child. There, we 
 won't speak of it again. Come up this way, and I 
 will show you the King's bed-chamber." We passed 
 up the turret stair and through our room, where 
 Mary Lee sat sewing in the window. Mrs. Deborah 
 looked at her work and commended its neatness. 
 
 " I hear you are a good girl ! " said she : " Con- 
 tinue so, and you will always have a friend." 
 Somehow, a word of commendation from Mrs, 
 
534 ^^^ Foster- Sisters. 
 
 Deborah always seemed to go farther than a whole 
 chapter from any one else. Mary Lee blushed 
 and courtesyed, and said she would do her best. 
 Mrs. Deborah led the way to a door at the end of 
 our passage, opened it, and disclosed another gal- 
 lery lighted down one side, and with doors on the 
 other. We passed two or three of these, and found 
 ourselves opposite one, which Mrs. Deborah un- 
 locked with peculiar solemnity. 
 
 "This is the room in which King Charles the 
 martyr slept, on his way to Scotland in 1646 ! " 
 said she solemnly : " No one has ever slept in the 
 bed since." * 
 
 We looked at the bed with a sensation of awe. 
 A king had really slept in it, and the Martyr King 
 at that. 
 
 " No one has ever slept in it since ! " repeated 
 Mrs. Deborah: "No one ever shall in my day, 
 unless another rightful king comes to occupy it, 
 which may Heaven grant ! " said she solemnly. 
 
 " Do you think King George is like to come this 
 way. Aunt Deborah ? " asked Amabel, innocently : 
 " They say he is not very fond of traveling in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 The thunder-cloud was on Mrs. Deborah's brow 
 in an instant. 
 
 " I spoke of the rightful King, Niece Leighton, 
 not of the usurper who at present occupies a throne 
 
 * I have heard since, that King Charles did not go to Soot- 
 land by that road at all. But it does not matter greatly. The 
 Btory was fully believed in my time. 
 
Life at the Hall. 335 
 
 to which he has no more right than I have. King 
 George indeed ! That I should live to hear the 
 Elector of Hanover called King by a niece of mine, 
 and in this sacred chamber ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, aunt ! " said Amabel, meekly 
 and greatly astonished by the storm she had unwit- 
 tingly raised : " I assure you I meant no offence." 
 
 " No, I dare say not ! I forgot you had been living 
 among the whigs of Newcastle, who would sell their 
 elector as soon as their king, if they could make 
 any thing by it. But you must learn better now. 
 I shall make it my business to teach you. See, 
 here is the Bible his Majesty used, and the chair 
 where he sat. But we must not stay too long here ; 
 these shut up rooms are damp. Niece Leighton, if 
 you ever come to be mistress of this house, as I 
 hope you may, you must dust this room with your 
 own hands, four times a year, and mind you lay 
 everything down in just the place you took it up. 
 Will you promise me this ? " 
 
 " Indeed I will, aunt ! " answered Amabel, sin- 
 cerely desirous to atone for the offence she had 
 given. "Where do these doors lead to?" she 
 added, as we passed the locked doors on our way 
 back to the other part of the house. 
 
 " Those are the shut up rooms. They are never 
 used or opened ! " answered Mrs. Deborah abruptly : 
 " Come, we will see the other wing." 
 
 Of course we asked no more questions, but we 
 were all the more curious especially, as these shut 
 up rooms adjoined our own. Mrs. Deborah showed 
 
33^ 'J^he Foster-Sister^. 
 
 us the state bed-room, very grand in red satin, with 
 needle-work hangings, all a little the worse for 
 wear — ^the blue room, the white room; her own 
 apartment which was very plain, in green moreen, 
 and Mrs. Chloe's, gay and pretty with Indian 
 chintz, and a white muslin and pink silk toilette- 
 table, covered with bottles of all sorts of washes 
 and lotions for the complexion. Finally, she led us 
 to the door of Mrs. Philippa's apartment, and left us 
 to announce ourselves, telling us to come to her in 
 the still-room, when Mrs. Philippa had done with 
 us. We knocked, and were admitted by Tupper. 
 
 Mrs. Philippa, dressed in a very becoming wrap- 
 ping-gown and cap, was sitting up in bed, working 
 on a very handsome piece of embroidery, with her 
 silks and working implements on a sort of tray be- 
 side her, near which lay a fine tortoise-shell cat with 
 a kitten. There was a great fire, and the air was 
 heavy and close with the odors of musk, and sandal- 
 wood, and pot pourri. I never entered that room 
 without a kind of insane longing to break out a 
 window-pane. 
 
 "Well, nieces, and so you have come at last," was 
 Mrs. Philippa's greeting. "I expected you before, 
 but no doubt more interesting matters claimed your 
 attention than waiting on a poor lonely invalid." 
 
 "Aunt Deborah said she thought you would not 
 wish to see us very early, and she has been showing 
 us the king's chamber and the rest of the house," 
 answered Amabel. 
 
 "Oh, of course. She makes an idol out of her 
 
Life at the Hail 337 
 
 king's chamber — not that I believe King Charles 
 was ever in this house in the world. Well, and 
 what do you think of the old pile ?" 
 
 "I think it is beautiful," answered Amabel, sin- 
 cerely. "I wonder my father does not live here all 
 the time." 
 
 "Your father thinks too much of himself to shut 
 himself up in such a lodge in the wilderness as this 
 is," was the reply. " But he thinks it is good enough 
 for his sisters, though he might take a house in 
 Newcastle for us as well as not." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Philippa, I thought you did not like 
 Newcastle," I said, rather unwisely. "I am sure 
 you called it an odious place." 
 
 "You are very pert, miss, to remember my words 
 against me," returned Mrs. Philippa ; " but no doubt 
 you have had your lesson. No doubt my Sister 
 Deborah has given you your lesson already. I dare 
 say she has been talking about me all the morning. 
 Pray, what has she told you about me ?" 
 
 "Nothing, Mrs. Philippa," I answered, truly. 
 " She has not mentioned your name except to say 
 that we should wait upon you, and come to her in 
 the still-room when you dismissed us." In my heart 
 I hoped this dismission would come soon, for the air 
 of the room was stifling, and Mrs. Philippa had 
 never asked us to sit down. 
 
 " Oh !" said she, in a tone of sarcastic incredulity. 
 "You are very discreet — very wise, indeed, Misa 
 Corbet ; but you will not blind me quite so easily. 
 I know my Sister Deborah." 
 
33^ The Poster-Sisters. 
 
 " Indeed, Mrs. Philippa, she did not once speak of 
 you except just as I tell you !" I said, feeling my 
 cheeks flame. 
 
 "Well, well, what do I care whether she did or 
 not?" said Mrs. Philippa, peevishly. "There, sit 
 down. Tupper, why do you not set chairs for the 
 young ladies ? And so you have lived in a convent 
 all your days. Of course you know nothing of 
 society. Well, so much the better. I might as well 
 be in a convent myself, for all the company I have. 
 Chloe is so silly she puts me out of all patience, but 
 every thing she does is right in Deborah's eyes. I 
 have not spoken to my Sister Deborah in more than 
 twenty years !" 
 
 Mrs. Philippa made this announcement as if she 
 thought it something to be proud of. We looked 
 steadfastly at the floor and said not a word. 
 
 " Not in twenty years !" repeated Mrs. Philippa. 
 "And I never will if I live twenty years more. She 
 did me such an injury with my father as I shall 
 never forgive if I live to be a hundred." 
 
 I cannot describe the expression of rancor with 
 which Mrs. Philippa said these words. They made 
 me shudder. 
 
 " But suppose you do not live to be a hundred, 
 Aunt Philippa," said Amabel, raising her clear eyes 
 to her aunt. " Suppose you should die to-night !" 
 
 "What do you mean by that, miss V asked Mrs. 
 Philippa. "Of course I must forgive her when I 
 am dying or I cannot take the sacrament, but I am 
 resolved I never will do so before." 
 
Life at the Hall 3S9 
 
 *'But you may die without having time for the 
 sacraments," persisted Amabel ; " or perhaps you 
 may have lost the power of forgiving by that time. 
 What would happen then T 
 
 " Niece Leigh ton, I desire you will not preach to 
 me !" said Mrs. Philippa, though she looked startled. 
 " It is very unbecoming in you to lecture your elders 
 and betters. There, I am not angry with you, but 
 mind you don't do it again. Tupper, where are the 
 presents I bade you look out for the young ladies V 
 
 Tupper produced two parcels, 9.nd Mrs. Philippa 
 gave Amabel a glass smelling-bottle in a gilt filagree 
 case, and me a pretty tortoise-shell box full of cara- 
 way comfits. She then called upon us to admire her 
 work and her cat, which we could do with a good 
 conscience. Then, saying that she would send for 
 us again some day, she bade Tupper show us the 
 way to the still-room. 
 
 "Well, I declare, Mrs. Leighton — plague on this 
 new-fashioned way of saying Miss, I never shall learn 
 it — ^you have bewitched my mistress out and out," 
 said Tupper, in a tone of admiration, as we went 
 down stairs. "I never knew her bear such plain 
 speaking from any one. If Mrs. Chloe had said one 
 quarter as much Mrs. Philippa would have flown at 
 her." 
 
 " I ought not to have spoken so, perhaps, but it 
 seemed to me so dreadful," said Amabel, " to think 
 of her not speaking to her own sister for twenty 
 years 1" 
 
 "Yes, it is dreadful, and when you think it was 
 
540 The Poster-Sisters, 
 
 all because Mrs. Deborah saved her from life-long 
 distress and misery. Well there, it is not for me to 
 gossip of the family affairs. I dare say you will 
 hear it all, only, I will just hint to you that you 
 will gain nothing by being afraid of her. Well, 
 here is the still-room. If you can give Mrs. Deborah 
 any new receipts you will make her happy." 
 
 "Eh! what do you say?" asked Mrs. Deborah, 
 whose sharp ears had caught the words — " what is 
 that, Tupper?" 
 
 Tupper repeated her words without any symptoms 
 of alarm, as I noticed. 
 
 " Yes, that is true enough, I am very fond of my 
 still. Tupper, you may as well carry a bottle of this 
 lavender water to your mistress. Tupper is a very 
 valuable and faithful servant and knows how to deal 
 with Sister Philippa, poor thing ! " she added as 
 Tupper shut the door. She always spoke of Mrs. 
 Philippa in this tone of compassion behind her back, 
 though she was occasionally sharp with her when 
 they were together. 
 
 I was happy in being able to give Mrs. Deborah a 
 recipe for distilling Milk water * which was new to 
 her, and to promise her some others when our lug- 
 gage came, for I had carefully compiled a receipt 
 book under the instruction of Mother Perpetua t^nd 
 Sister Lazarus, which contained some very occult 
 and precious secrets. From the still room we went 
 to dinner. Afterward we visited the dairy and 
 
 * See Mrs. Raff old's "Complete Cooke", or any old edition 
 of Mrs. Glaesse— Mrs. Raffold is worth republishing. L. E. G. 
 
Life at the Hall 34I 
 
 poultry yard, admired the beautiful cows and the 
 fine broods of ducks and fowls and made friends 
 with two or three great bloodhounds ^nd an immense 
 mastiff, which were Mrs. Deborah's special pets. I 
 was at once adopted and taken possession of by a 
 queer little long-bodied short-legged rough terrier, 
 of a color between grey and blue. 
 
 ^^ Those are Scottish dogs and come from one of 
 the Western Isles," said Mrs. Deborah : " There, take 
 him for your own if you like dogs, Lucy Corbet, only 
 you must teach him to let Sister Philippa's cats 
 alone." 
 
 " If you please, Mum, the young lady can teach 
 him with one word I " said the old Scotch woman 
 who had the principal charge of the poultry — " Thae 
 dogs are gey gleg at the uptak." 
 
 " I fear my neice does- not understand Scotch ! " 
 remarked Mrs. Deborah. 
 
 " Oh yes ! she means that such dogs are quick to 
 learn ! " said I, guessing the old woman's meaning. 
 I always could understand dialects of all sorts and 
 confess to being fond of them. 
 
 " I'm thinking the leddy is gleg at the uptak her- 
 sell ! " said Elsie with a smile. " Siie's no like the 
 folk ai>out her. I'm thinking I'll just gang hame and 
 tak up my ain hoose in t*ie spring, Mrs. Deborah. 
 I cc«aa thoh to bide wi folk that canna speak plain. " 
 
 This was past me, gleg as I might fee, and as we 
 walked away, I asked Mrs. Deborah what she meaat. 
 
 " She means that she will go home and set up 
 house-keeping in the springy because she cannot 
 
34* The FosUr-Sisters, 
 
 endure to stay with people who cannot understand,** 
 answered Mrs. Deborah. " But I am not alarmed. 
 She has said the same thing for fifty years at least. 
 She is a good creature and very faithful, but I have 
 to stand between her and the other servants who 
 hate her for being Scotch, and dread her because 
 they say she knows more than she ought, and never 
 goes to church." 
 
 " Why does she not go to church ? " I asked. 
 " Because she is a Presbyterian, child." 
 I was not much the wiser because I did not 
 know what a Presbyterian was at that time. After- 
 ward I found out that Elsie was a member of the 
 National Church or Kirk as they call it of Scotland, 
 who have a great dislike to Episcopacy — no great 
 wonder either. I am not fond of plum pudding, 
 but if any one were to try to drive it down my 
 throat with a bayonet I think I should like it still 
 
 In the afternoon the wagon arrived with our 
 luggage and all Mrs. Deborah's purchases, including 
 the harpsichord, which was set up in the little red 
 parlor, and proved to have borne the journey very 
 well. A part of the next day was spent in unpack- 
 ing our various possessions and setting them in 
 order. We found that Mrs. Thorpe had prepared 
 a pleasant surprise for us by adding to our small 
 library a number of volumes, among which were 
 Sir Charles Grandisan, and Clarissa Harlowe and 
 Mr. Law's " Serious Call. " There was a glass 
 cupboard in the room, which already contamed a 
 
Life at the Hall, 343 
 
 number of volumes, mostly books of devotion of 
 the age and style of " The Whole Duty of Man " 
 and " The Practice of Piety. " * There were also a 
 Shakespeare, a copy of Spenser, and one of the 
 " Arcadia " of Sir Philip Sidney. I should have 
 mentioned the library in my survey of the house. 
 It was rather a gloomy room containing some 
 hundred or two of volumes in presses, mostly old 
 chronicles, books of Roman Catholic and High- 
 Church divinity, and treatises on heraldry and 
 hawking. 
 
 By Sunday we had begun to feel quite at home in 
 our new quarters. We went to Church in the 
 morning with Mrs. Deborah in the carriage all in 
 state, with footmen beliind. The church had been 
 a handsome one but it was partly in ruins, and only 
 the lady chapel, or what had been such, was habita- 
 ble. Small as it was, it was large enough for the 
 congregation, which seemed quite lost among the 
 high backed benches. There were ho pews but our 
 own and the rector's which was quite empty, he 
 being a widower without children. Dr. Brown read 
 prayers. I never like much to criticise a minister 
 but I must say, that so far as our service can be 
 spoiled, he spoiled it, mumbling and hurrying so 
 that it was difficult to tell where he was. The 
 lesson was the noble one for the first Sunday in 
 Advent, but I do not believe one person in ten knew 
 
 * Books lyhick should be read more tkan th^ are — ^worth a 
 great deal more than iBan^ modern seutimeatal e£[usioQS, |^ 
 
344 ^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 what he was reading about. There was no sermon, 
 and nothing to take the place of it. A more lifeless, 
 spiritless performance in the shape of dirine service 
 could not possibly be. Certainly it was a great 
 change from St. Anne's, where even before Mr. 
 Cheriton came over to Mr. Wesley's ways he always 
 gave full effect to the service and the lessons. 
 I heard Amabel sigh more than once, and no wonder. 
 
 When we came out of church, Mrs. Deborah 
 invited Doctor Brown to dine with us. He excused 
 himself on the ground of having to hold afternoon 
 service at his other church, five miles off, but said 
 he would do himself the honor to call in the course 
 of the week, as he had a great piece of news to 
 communicate. 
 
 There was a great bobbing of curtseies and pulling 
 of forelocks as we came out of church, and Mrs. 
 Deborah spoke to several of the older people partic- 
 ularly, inquiring about their health and that of their 
 families, and promising to come and see several 
 sick people. 
 
 " Parson be g^ng away, I hears ! " said Richard, as 
 he helped his mistress into the coach. " John Foot- 
 man told me he has got great preferment about 
 Durham, some gate. They say as the gentleman 
 which was to be curate is to have the living when 
 Doctor Brown goes." 
 
 "Indeed! I suppose that was his great news!" 
 said Mrs. Deborah. " W^l, I ^all be sorry to have 
 him go. He has been here a lon^ time— twenty 
 years I should say," ^ 
 
Life at the Hall, 345 
 
 " Well, I hope, mistress, we shan't get a woi^e in 
 his place ! " answered Richard. " Folk do say the 
 new gentleman has many new-fangled ways." 
 
 We had an early dinner, after which Mrs. Chloe 
 betook herself to her own room, and Mrs. Deborah 
 called upon us to read to her in a great folio volume 
 of sermons by Bishop Kerr and some others of his 
 school. Some of these discourses were on practical 
 religion, and these were admirable for the most part, 
 but a great many were political, — all about the 
 divine right of kings, the duty of passive obedience 
 to the sovereign, let him be ever so bad, and other 
 kindred topics. Oh, what a weariness they were to 
 the flesh and spirit — enough to make an out and out 
 whig of any lively young person from sheer contra- 
 diction. 1 am afraid I was not one bit sorry for the 
 Theban Legion, and only regretted their massacre, 
 because* I had to hear so much about it. After 
 two hours of this exercise, we were dismissed, and 
 refreshed ourselves by a long walk in the high park 
 as it was called, that which stretched up the hill 
 behind the house. We had supper earlier than 
 usual, and then the card table was set out, and we 
 were invited to take a hand at whist with Mrs. Chloe 
 and Mrs. Deborah. We excused ourselves on the 
 ground that we knew nothing of whist. 
 
 " But you can learn ! " said Mrs. Deborah. " It 
 will be a pleasure to have some one to go partners 
 with." 
 
 We looked at each other and hesitated what to 
 say. We had talked over this matter of Sunday 
 
34^ The Fosier-Sisters, 
 
 card playing with Mr. Cheriton and with each other, 
 and had decided that it was not a right way of 
 spending Sunday evening, though it was a very 
 common one at that day. Even clergymen thought 
 it no harm to take a hand at piquet. 
 
 " Well, what is the matter ? " said Mrs. Deborah, 
 impatiently : " Why do you not sit down ? " 
 
 " Will you please excuse me, aunt! " said Amabel, 
 " I will learn on some other evening if you will be 
 so good as to teach me, but not on Sunday." 
 
 "Heyday! What does this mean!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Deborah, the thunder cloud on her brow loom- 
 ing blacker than usual. " What sort of a Puritan 
 have I brought home with me ? Pray miss, do you 
 set yourself up for a saint ? " 
 
 " Sister Deborah ! " said Mrs. Chloe, warningly. 
 
 " I don't know what a Puritan is, and I am sure I 
 am not a saint ? " said Amabel, gently : " I wish I 
 were. But you know, aunt, if I think a thing wrong 
 I cannot do it, even to please you." 
 
 " And what right have you to think a thing wrong 
 when it is done by your elders and betters, miss ? " 
 
 " Sister Deborah ! " 
 
 "I have seen my elders and betters on their 
 knees for hours at a time before a piece of bread 
 which they worshiped as God ! " said Amabel with 
 some spirit ; " but you would not like to see me do 
 that, aunt. Indeed you must please excuse us." 
 
 But Mrs. Deborah was not to be pacified. She 
 scolded us in no measured terms, and finally bad9 
 us begone to our room since she was not good com- 
 
Life at the Hall, 347 
 
 pany enough for two such young saints. We betook 
 ourselves to our little study, and girl like, had a good 
 cry over our disgrace. Then having relieved our 
 spirits, I opened the harpsichord, and we began to 
 sing out of Ravenscroft's Psalms, of which we 
 found a book in our book case. "We had not been 
 singing long, before Mrs. Chloe came in and seated 
 herself, followed presently by Mrs. Deborah. We 
 sung several psalms and two or three sacred pieces 
 of Mr. Handel's for the ladies, and Mrs. Chloe pro- 
 fessed herself much delighted with the music. Mrs. 
 Deborah did not say a great deal, but she bade us 
 a kind good night, and her regular — " I hope I see 
 you well, nieces," was spoken in the morning with 
 the same cordiality as ever. We were not again 
 asked to play cards on Sunday evening, and after a 
 while it became a regular thing for us to entertain 
 our aunts with sacred music at that time. Mrs. 
 Deborah had a hasty temper naturally, which was 
 not improved by a long course of absolute rule, but 
 she had not one atom of malice or rancor in her 
 disposition. She liked the music at first, because it 
 gave pleasure to poor Mrs. Chloe, and afterward for 
 its own sake, and she was nevei' the stuff whereof 
 persecutors are made. 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 E soon began to feel quite at home at 
 Highbeck Hall, and knew all the nooks 
 and corners about the old place, which 
 were accessible to us. We were not a little curi- 
 ous about the shut up rooms, but of course we 
 asked no questions, though I for one associated 
 them with the beautiful lady in the saloon, and 
 determined to get the story out of old Elsie some 
 day. 
 
 We prescribed to ourselves a regular routine of 
 study, practise, and work, beginning of course with 
 about twice as much as we could do, and coming by 
 degrees down to a more reasonable plan, to which 
 we adhered as well as people generally do in such 
 circumstances. We read in our history which we 
 had begun with Mrs. Cropsey, but at last abandoned 
 it, for my Lord Clarendon's history of the Rebellion, 
 at the request of Mrs. Deborah ; who was deter- 
 mined to make us into as thorough Jacobites as she 
 was herself. Even as Lord Clarendon tells the 
 story, I must say, I did not acquire s^ great an 
 admiration for poor King Charles as I coakl have 
 
 (348) 
 
Winter. 349 
 
 wislicd. He seemed to me to be tyrannical and 
 timid both at once, and I could not forgive his 
 abandonment of Lord Strafford, and the way in 
 which he deceived his friends. But it may easily 
 be guessed, that I no more hinted anything of this 
 kind to Aunt Deborah, than I should have dared 
 to suggest to Mother Prudentia a doubt of St. 
 Agnes' prudence, in running away to St. Francis in 
 the middle of the night. * 
 
 We practised our music for two hours daily, 
 during which time Aunt Chloe usually sat with us. 
 We learned to ride on horse-back, and to take long 
 walks when the weather permitted, attended usually 
 by one or other of the bloodhounds to keep off stray 
 cattle or intrusive gypsies. We visited the poor 
 people, and carried broth and medicines to the sick, 
 and spent a good deal of time in gossipping with 
 the old men and women in the aim-houses, and in 
 reading to them. Only ojie or two of them could 
 read, but all liked to be read to, and took pleasure 
 also in telling their stories like other old people. 
 We also made great friends with old Elsie, and 
 heard many stories from her of the past glories of 
 the Grahames, and their exploits on the border. In 
 short, we were as much at home in Highbeck Hall 
 in two weeks, as though we had lived there all our 
 lives. 
 
 We had visitors from time to time, from among 
 the gentry in the neighborhood. These visits 
 
 * Which 8he did at the age of fourteen, and afterward per- 
 suaded her Sister C'lare, aged twelve, to do the same.— L. E. 0. 
 
350 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 usually lasted from two to four days, n^-d were des- 
 perately dull, to my thinking. However, Aunt Chloe 
 enjoyed them, and they brightened her up amazingly. 
 We used to be called upon to play and sing for the 
 edification of the visitors, and always received great 
 commendation. When there were young people of 
 our own age, they were of course turned over to us 
 for entertainment, and very much puzzled we were 
 at first to know what to do with them, not being 
 used to the company of girls of our own age. But we 
 usually found we could amuse them by tales of our 
 convent life, especially with the story of the rob- 
 bery, which was always received with breathless 
 interest. Then it was a time when fancy-work of 
 all sorts was greatly in vogue. Ladies used to do 
 cut-work, and lace-work, chenille-embroidery, and 
 satin-stitch, and cross-stitch, and dozens of other 
 stitches, and various kinds of knotting. * 
 
 Thanks to Mother Pri^dentia, we were proficient 
 in all these pursuits, and what we did not know our 
 visitors did. Miss Jenny Thicknesse, I remember, 
 was very enthusiastic over the shell-work, and card- 
 board work in imitation of stucco, with which she 
 and her sister were adorning the gothic arches of 
 an old chapel in her father's house. They were 
 nice homely lady-like girlu, and we were great 
 friends with them. 
 
 Doctor Brown was to go to his deanery in Dur- 
 ham after the holidays, and Mr. Lethbridge from 
 Berwick, was to come in his place. What any one 
 
 * What is now called tatting. See Mrs. Delaney's memoira. 
 
Winter. 35 1 
 
 should have seen in Doctor Brown to merit such 
 promotion I cannot guess; but he had grand con- 
 nections, and was a cousin of the Bishop's lady, 
 which might account for it. We young ones were 
 not displeased at the prospect of a change, though we 
 liked the doctor personally, well enough. He was 
 a fat good-natured sort of man, ready enough to do 
 a kindness when it came in his way, but not likely 
 to seek such occasions, if they cost him any trouble. 
 He used to read prayers every other Sunday, and 
 administer the sacrament once a quarter; but he 
 hardly ever preached, and as to any personal in- 
 struction, his people might as well have lived in 
 Grand Tartary. He gave liberally in charity, and 
 I suppose satisfied his conscience in that way. He 
 was very fond of cards, and considered a wonderful 
 whist-player. Whenever ho came to the Hall, on a 
 Sunday night, the card-table was always set out. 
 Doctor Brown almost always won, and as regularly 
 gave his winnings to Mrs. Deborah for the poor 
 people at the aim-houses. Sometimes Mrs. Philippa 
 would send for him to play piquet with her, and at 
 last it became a regular thing for him to do so. I 
 don't think the other ladies were very sorry to be 
 released. 
 
 By degrees, I learned from Mrs. Chloe, who was 
 not disinclined to a little gossip, a good deal of the 
 family history. I learned that each of the ladies 
 had small independent fortunes of their own, derived 
 from their mother's settlements — that she and Mrs. 
 Deborah, used a good deal of their incomes in keep- 
 
352 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 ing up the house, while Mrs. Philippa saved hers, 
 or laid it out for her own convenience — that Sir 
 Julius had never been near the estate since his sec- 
 ond marriage, though he derived a considerable 
 revenue from it, and was very particular to have 
 the rents paid up to the day, and sometimes drew 
 for more money than it was convenient to spare — 
 that his second wife had been very rich, and " a good 
 sort of woman so far as I know, my dear — ^but of no 
 family at all — not an ancestor to bless herself with. 
 Of course I was sorry for the poor lady's death — 
 very sorry ! " said Mrs. Chloe : " and for the poor 
 little lad, though I had never seen him ; but still it 
 would be much better for the estate to come to 
 Amabel. Her mother was not a Northumberan 
 woman to be sure, but she was of a very old Devon- 
 shire or Cornish family." 
 
 "Perhaps Sir Julius may marry again," said I. 
 ** He is quite a young man yet." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, I hope not," answered Mrs. Ohloe, 
 looking startled. " It would be sad for poor Amabel 
 to have a step-mother, though to be sure her last one 
 never did her any harm. But if he does take a 
 third wife I hope she may be a lady of quality." 
 
 Mrs. Chloe also had endless stories to tell of the 
 families in the neighborhood. She had been a belle 
 and a beauty in her day, and received many offers, 
 none of which her brother had seen fit to let her 
 accept. Either there was not money enough, or 
 family enough, or something. So poor Chloe had 
 gone on to thirty-five without being married, and 
 
Winter, 353 
 
 now the binall-pox had spoiled her beauty, and she 
 was not like to marry at all. She was a good, gen- 
 tle, little creature, not at all strong in any way, and 
 had been kept in such a state of tutelage and de- 
 pendence that she had no mind of her own about 
 any subject save one which she could not keep to 
 herself. Poor Aunt Chloe was desperately anxious 
 to be married. She used to tell us, as she sat over 
 her embroidery frame, about the offers she had had, 
 something in this wise : 
 
 "There was Mr. Favor, my dears — such a fine 
 young man — six feet high, at least, and a perfect 
 gentleman in manners, I am sure, and a splendid 
 horseman, but his grandfather had been in trade, it 
 seems, and Julius thought it would not do. Then 
 there was the Reverend James P. Thirlwall. He 
 had no great fortune, to be sure, but a good living, 
 and would have settled all my fortune on myself 
 and my children; but then the Thirlwalls are all 
 Whigs, and they say one of the family was connected 
 with the regicides," and so on and so on. I know 
 these stories left me with the strong impression that 
 Sir Julius Leigh ton's aim had all along been to keep 
 Mrs. Chloe from marrying at all, that her fortune 
 might remain in the family. They did not make me 
 augur well for the success of Mr. Cheriton's suit. I 
 think Amabel felt the same, though she did not say 
 a word. 
 
 It was from Mrs. Chloe that we heard Mrs. Phil- 
 ippa's story. It seems she had been betrothed to a 
 young man of good family, and the wedding was 
 
354 ^^^^ Foster-Sisters. 
 
 near at hand, when Mrs. Deborah discovered that 
 the bridegroom was playing a double game — ^that he 
 was also betrothed to a citizen's daughter in New- 
 castle, and was only waiting till he could find out 
 which lady was like to have the better fortune of the 
 two. She acquainted her father with her discovery. 
 Sir Thomas being a man of spirit, looked into the 
 matter, discovered the gentleman's double game, and 
 invited him to one of two courses — to marry Mrs. 
 Philippa out of hand, or to meet him with the sword, 
 as the custom was in those days. Mr. Philip Falco- 
 ner did neither, but preferred to elope with his city 
 lady-love who, though neither young, handsome, nor 
 well born like Mrs. Philippa, had a much larger for- 
 tune all in her own power. One would think Mrs. 
 Philippa might have been glad to be free from such 
 a poltroon. Instead of that she went into fits, took 
 to her bed, and had never spoken to Aunt Deborah 
 since. There appeared no reason why she should 
 not be as active as any one, only that she did not 
 choose, for when she did take a fancy to come down 
 stairs she walked as nimbly as Aunt Deborah herself. 
 It seemed for a time, however, that my auguries 
 were likely to prove false, and that Amabel's course 
 of true love was like to run smooth. Just about 
 Christmas time Mr. Cheriton paid us a visit, bringing 
 letters from Sir Julius to Mrs. Deborah and to Ama- 
 bel herself. Sir Julius wrote very kindly to his 
 daughter. He said she was rather young to marry, 
 and must wait at least a year, but as Mr. Cheriton 
 was a man of good family, and had a competent for- 
 
Winter. 355 
 
 tune beside his living, and a likelihood of church 
 preferment, he should make no objection to his pay- 
 ing his addresses to his daughter. What he wrote 
 to Mrs. Deborah I don't know, but she received Mr. 
 Cheriton very politely, even though he and his family 
 were known for steadfast adherents to the reigning 
 dynasty, and hoped she should have the pleasure of 
 seeing his father and mother at Highbeck Hall dur- 
 ing the Christmas season. They came accordingly 
 — ^he a venerable, kind old man, very sincerely reli- 
 f;;ious in his fashion, and though a little perplexed as 
 to his son's new-fangled ways, as he called them, yet 
 quite willing to accept them, and believe they must 
 be good because Walter said so — she the very model 
 of a Lady Bountiful, a perfect house-keeper, a famous 
 concoctor of syrups, draughts, and emulsions, of 
 broth and brewis, the kind if somewhat arbitrary 
 friend of the poor. She had not been in the house 
 two hours before she had propounded at least a dozen 
 different remedies for Aunt Chloe's cough, from 
 bread jelly with lemon-peel and raisins, to a couple 
 of snails boiled in her tea-water. This last was 
 confided in a whisper to Aunt Deborah, as it was 
 essential to the cure that the patient should know 
 nothing about it. Both these good people took very 
 kindly to Amabel, and invited us both to visit them. 
 Mrs. Cheriton presented Amabel with a pair of pearl 
 ear-rings which had been given herself on her wed- 
 ding day, and promised her some silver which had 
 been in the family three hundred years at least. 
 (Did any one ever hear of an heir loom which had 
 
356 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 been in a family for Zess than three hundred years?) 
 The subject of politics was kept out of sight by 
 mutual consent, so we all parted excellent friends. 
 Mr. Cheriton returned to his parish in Newcastle, 
 where, he told us, matters were going very much to 
 his satisfaction. He had succeeded in establishing 
 the weekly lecture on which he had set his heart, 
 and it was well attended. He had also set up classes 
 for the young women and elder girls, where they 
 read good books and perfected themselves in various 
 useful works, and in these Mrs. Thorpe was giving 
 him very efficient help. He was on the best of 
 terms with the rector of St. Nicholas, an old gentle- 
 man who was nearly or quite blind, but an excellent 
 man and a good clergyman. This gentleman had 
 been away during the whole of our stay in Newcastle, 
 and we had more than once heard it said that on his 
 return he would put a spoke in Mr. Cheriton's wheel ; 
 so that it was a great pleasure to hear that though 
 he did not exactly approve of all Mr. Cheriton's do- 
 ings, and thought him rather over-zealous, he made 
 no active opposition to him. 
 
 Mr. Cheriton also told us another thing which we 
 found it hard to believe — namely, that he was quite 
 sure he had seen Father Brousseau at one of Mr. 
 Wesleys out-of-door preachings he had attended not 
 long before. He said he had not known how to be- 
 lieve his own eyes at first, but he had watched him 
 and was quite sure it was the same person he had 
 seen at Mrs. Thorpe's shop. 
 
 *' How very strange ! " said Amabel. " How did 
 he look?" 
 
Winter. 357 
 
 "He seemed very much affected, I thought!" 
 replied Mr. Cheriton. "At first he pulled his hat 
 down and kept his cloak up as if he were afraid of 
 being seen, but toward the last he seemed too much 
 interested in the discourse to think about conceal- 
 ment. But I can tell you news of another friend, 
 which will surprise you yet more ! " he added smil- 
 ing ; " Mrs. Cropsey is married ! " 
 
 " Married ! " we both exclaimed not very civilly ! 
 " Not married already ! Why, her husband has not 
 been dead a year, and she could never speak of him 
 without crying." 
 
 " Exactly ! " replied Mr. Cheriton drily. " She did 
 up all her grief at once. She was married very 
 }jrivately by license more than two months ago to 
 old Mr. Arnott the great ship owner, but it is owned 
 now, and she presides over his fine house with great 
 dignity." 
 
 " I hope she will not talk as much of poor dear 
 Mr. Cropsey as she used to do to us ! " I remarked. 
 " I have wished sometimes the good man had either 
 not died at all, or else had died before she ever saw 
 him ! " 
 
 " I have only heard her mention him once ! " said 
 Mr. Cheriton. " I had some business with Mr. Ar- 
 nott, and was asked to dine, and Mrs. Arnott re- 
 marked as she dispensed the hare soup, how much 
 poor dear Mr. Cropsey would have enjoyed it. He 
 was 80 fond of hare soup ! " 
 
 We had no very grand doings at Christmas, as 
 Mrs. Chloe continued very unwell and there was no 
 
3S8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 master at home. However, every cottager received 
 a good piece of beef and a pudding or materials for 
 one; all the old women in the alms houses had 
 doles of tea and snuff, and those who needed them 
 had new gowns or red cloaks. Amabel and I had a 
 guinea apiece for a Christmas box from each of our 
 aunts, and Mrs. Philippa formally made over to 
 Amabel her cat, which had attached itself to her 
 very much of late. I did not understand this 
 proceeding at the time, but I did afterward. We had 
 another present which made us feel sadly. Mrs. 
 Chloe had for a year and more, been embroidering a 
 set of chairs, and a couch in clie lilles and silks. They 
 were designed with a great deal of taste and beauti- 
 fully worked so far, but on Christmas morning 
 Aunt Chloe gave them to Amabel and myself to 
 finish, saying that it hurt her chest to bend over the 
 frame, and besides she was rather tired of them. 
 We could finish these against Amabel should have 
 a room to furnish, and she would begin a set for me 
 in the spring, when her cough should be better. 
 Meantime, she would work at her knitted counter- 
 pane, which really ought to be finished. Mrs. Debo- 
 rah approved of this motion of her sister's saying 
 that she was sure such close application was bad for 
 Chloe, but she went out of the room directly after- 
 ward, and we did not see her till church time. 
 
 Christmas was a very serious day to us in another 
 way. It was the first day that Amabel and I par- 
 took of the sacrament after the forms of the Church 
 of England. Mrs. Deborah had been anxious to 
 
Winter. 359 
 
 have us do so : we had talked the matter over with 
 Mr. Cheriton, and had read the books he had sug- 
 gested to us. This is not the place to enlarge upon 
 such matters. I may just say, however, that we 
 both found great comfort in the ordinance and never 
 afterward missed it willingly. Mr. Lethbridge offi- 
 ciated for the first time, and his manner was very 
 serious and proper. Dr. Brown was present, and 
 preached a short sermon, which was as old Elsie 
 used to say like chips in porridge, neither good nor 
 bad. Aunt Chloe went to church with us. It was 
 the last time she ever went, and she seemed to feel 
 very deeply the solemnity of the occasion. There 
 was a fair congregation, a good many of whom I 
 fear got very drunk at the ale house afterward, — 
 but nobody in those parts thought that a matter of 
 any consequence, or indeed expected anything else. 
 It was one of the serious charges brought against 
 the Methodist preachers as showing that they were 
 not what they ought to be, that they drank neither 
 ale nor spirits, and discouraged the use of them 
 among their converts. 
 
 On twelfth day the whole family were invited to 
 a dinner and ball at Brayton, the house of the 
 Thicknesse family. We had never been at a ball, 
 and Molly and Jenny Thicknesse were great friends 
 of ours. We promised ourselves much pleasure in 
 the visit, and were specially desirous of seeing the 
 shell work with which the girls had been adorning 
 their chapel and their own room. But fate was 
 against us. The very day we were to go, Amabel 
 
360 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 was taken with a violent rheum and defluxion,* and 
 it was clearly impossible for her to venture out. 
 Mrs. Deborah would have sent an excuse for the 
 whole party, but Mrs. Chloe looked so greatly dis- 
 appointed, that we begged Mrs. Deborah to go and 
 leave me to nurse Amabel, with the help of old Elsie 
 and Tupper to depend upon in case of an emergency, 
 Amabel felt very uncomfortable all the morning, 
 but she was better at night, and able to sit up to tea 
 in our own room. The housekeeper sent us up all 
 sorts of nice things, including a plate of short 
 bread, and we would have Elsie sit down and take 
 tea with us. After we had finished we drew up to 
 the fire, and coaxed Elsie to tell us tales of the two 
 families — and when we had drawn her into the full 
 tide of narration, I put into execution a scheme I 
 had long had in mind. 
 
 "Elsie, do you know the story of the beautiful 
 lady whose picture hangs next the saloon door — the 
 one who has a veil hanging over her picture ? " 
 
 "Aye, do I, my lammie!" answered Elsie, "and 
 a gruesome story it is ; they dinna like to speak o't 
 in the family, but it's true for all that." 
 
 " Oh, tell it to us ! " we both exclaimed ; and 
 Amabel added, — " I love to hear ghost stories." 
 
 "It's no just a ghost story as you call't," said 
 Elsie — " however, I do not ken any harn\ the telling 
 it will do, unless it makes you afraid to go to bed. 
 
 ♦What we should call a cold in the head, then considered a 
 matter of more consequence than now. 
 
Winter, 36 1 
 
 But you must not tell Mrs. Deborah, for I'm jealous 
 she would not wish it talked about." 
 
 "She told us we might ask you!" said I, as 
 indeed she had. 
 
 " A weel, then it is all right ! " and as Elsie took 
 up her distaff which was as much a part of herself 
 as Aunt Chloe's knitting, we settled ourselves for 
 the enjoyment of a story. 
 
 Aweel, young ladies ! " Elsie began, dismissing 
 her spindle to twirl upon the hearth-stone, and look- 
 ing into the fire with her bright deep blue eyes: 
 " You maun ken that there was once a Lord of 
 Leighton, who was the last heir in the direct line. 
 It behooved him to marry, for the estate had gone on 
 from fattier to son, ever since before the Danes came 
 into the country. He would had no fash at all in 
 finding a mate for, forby the great estate which was 
 far greater then as they say, and the fine house and 
 a' ; he was a weel favored lad, and knew how to 
 make the leddies pleased wi' him. His mother was 
 at him night and day to take a wife, but he would 
 not listen to her, and they say there used to be 
 awful scenes betwixt them, for she was a Percy and 
 proud as Lucifer, and he was as dour and obsti- 
 nate as all the rest of the Leighton men — craving 
 yoiH* pardon, mem." This to Amabel. 
 
 " I don't think I am very dour — am I, Lucy ? *' 
 said Amabel smiling. 
 
 " You are never obstinate about little matters ! ** 
 I answered : " but I think if you once made up your 
 mind that a thing was right or wrong, you would be 
 tora wkh wild horses before you would ^ve up." 
 
3^2 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " And so much the better for her ! ** said Elsie, 
 " And so mj dawties — I beg your pardon — ^young led- 
 dies I should say— things got worse and worse between 
 the young lord and his mother. At last the auld 
 leddy began to have her suspicions, and she watched ; 
 and by and by she found sure enough, that her son 
 was secretly married to a young lass, the only child 
 of a poor old man who lived on the estate. Aweel 
 it's a sad story, and hardly fit for young ears, only 
 to show what pride may lead weak and sinful mor- 
 tals to do. The leddy went to see the poor thing, 
 who was no' weel at the time, and persuaded her to 
 take a medicine she brought her, which should 
 make her well and strong. She took it, fell into 
 fits and in an hour was dead. Her father was like 
 one wild, and when the lord came that very even- 
 ing to visit his wife, the auld man up and 
 tauld him the whole story, and shewed him the 
 draught that was left — ^for she had na taken it all. 
 The young lord gave it to a dog that followed him, 
 and the poor creature died directly. 
 
 " You may guess that the young lord and his 
 mother did not meet on friendly terms. He charged 
 her with murder to her face, and she owned it and 
 gloried in it, and dared him to revenge it on her — 
 the wicked creature — and he swore an awful oath, 
 that now he would never marry at all, unless he 
 married a she wolf — ^for that alone would be fit to 
 mate with his mother. And then he flung away, and 
 rode like one possessed through the mirk winter's 
 night, and it was weeks before be returned. They 
 
Winter, 363 
 
 saj, that as he spoke his rash words, the long mourn- 
 ful howl of a wolf was heard in the woods so near 
 the house that they both started — for though there 
 were wolves in plenty in the Cheviot hills in those 
 days, they did not often come near any dwelling." 
 
 "I hope there are none about here now ?" said I, 
 for I had heard stories enough about these creatures 
 in France, to make me dreadfully afraid of them. 
 
 " Na, na ! there's no wolf been seen in these parts 
 for more than fifty years — not since I was a young 
 maid like you. I heard tell that auld Lochiel killed 
 one in Scotland not so long ago, but the Cameron's 
 country is far away from here in the Highlands. 
 Aweel, to go on with the tale. It was toward 
 spring when my lord came home, and he was not 
 alone ; he had brought a wife with him, whom he 
 had married in Scotland. He gave out that she be- 
 longed to one of the clans of the AVest Highlands, and 
 that he had saved her from great danger, but what he 
 did not say. She was a beautiful creature as you 
 may see by her picture, and kind enough to her 
 servants; but that was about her, which made 
 her more feared than loved. She had bright eyes 
 of the kind called hazel in these parts, but when she 
 was angered or excited, they glowed like balls of 
 green fire, and the servants declared they even shone 
 in the dark. She was very civil to her* mother-in- 
 law, but soon let her know that she meant to be 
 mistress in her own house, and after one trial the 
 old lady never attempted to take the high hand 
 again. ^^ 
 
364 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Aweel, the time went on, and all through tiie 
 summer there were merry-makings of all sorts ; but 
 when cold weather came, the lady was na weel, and 
 kept her room, and nothing could make her stir out 
 of doors, though doctor and nurse thought it would 
 be much better for her. The wolves were very bold 
 that winter, and came nearer the Hall than they 
 had ever done before. The lady was dreadfully 
 afraid of them, and when their long howls used to 
 be heard, she would cling to her husband and hide 
 her face in his neck. Neither would she thole his 
 joining any of the hunting parties set out against 
 the wolves, and it was a great vex to him no doubt, 
 for he was a keen hunter, but it behooved him to 
 pleasure his wife whatever it cost. 
 
 " Aweel, in the spring the leddy gave her hus- 
 band a fine lad bairn, and there were great re- 
 joicings on the estate. The leddy seemed to get 
 over her fears, and went about with her husband 
 and entertained company; but there were those 
 who said she was na quite herself. She had a 
 watchful look always about her, and any sudden 
 noise in the night would make her start and clasp 
 her bairn to her breast. She seemed to worship the 
 child, and would not bear it out of her sight ; but 
 yet she would not nurse it, and had a young woman 
 from the village to suckle it. After the babe was 
 christened she seemed easier about it, but yet her 
 face never lost the apprehensive look. 
 
 " The summer went by and the cold weather came 
 on, and again the wolves began to come dowa from 
 
Mntef. 365 
 
 the bills. The lady showed the same terror of them, 
 and begg^ her husband not to hunt them. But one 
 day when he was away some of his friends persuaded 
 him, laughing at him, and telling he should be too 
 much of a man to be afraid of his wife, and be tied 
 to her apron-string, handsome as she was. So away 
 he *rent on the hunt, and had the fortune to slay a 
 great dog wolf, and ye sail not hinder him from 
 bringing the creature home to show to his wife. The 
 poor leddy had been shut in her room all day, very 
 low in her spirits, as though she mistrusted where 
 her lord had gone. The rooms had all been new 
 fitted for her with many beautiful ornaments and 
 pictures, but she found no comfort in any thing. 
 She sat by the fire with her babe hugged to her 
 bosom till she heard her lord's horses in the court. 
 Then she gave the babe to its nurse and ran down to 
 meet him. He kissed her as she threw her arms 
 round his neck, and bade his man show the leddy 
 what he had brought her. The man threw down on 
 the floor the carcass of a great gray wolf. The lady 
 gave one scream — they said it echoed through the 
 house — and fled to her bed-room, bolting herself in. 
 She would na open to any one — not to her husband 
 or her child — but they heard her wailing and crying 
 fit to break her heart. 
 
 "It was just midnight when those within the hall 
 heard, as though close at hand, the long-drawn, 
 piercing howl of a wolf. It was answered so near 
 that the cry seemed within the very hall itself, and 
 80 dreadful was the sound that it made every one's 
 
3^6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 blood run cold. My lord, who had come down stairs, 
 ran up to his lady's room, thinking sh# would be 
 terrified to death. He found the nurse, who watched 
 by the sleeping babe, in the outer room stretched on 
 the floor in a faint, but there was no sound from 
 within. Reckless in his dread he ordered the door 
 to be broken in. The room was empty. The leddy's 
 clothes that she had worn all day lay in a heap on 
 the floor. The door to a little turnpike stair that 
 led down to the garden was open, but, alive or deadj 
 the poor leddy was never seen mair. The babe 
 seemed to pine for his mither, though she had nevei 
 nursed him, and in a week he too died, and was 
 buried. The lord had the rooms which had been his 
 wife's closed and locked just as she left them, and 
 he went to the Holy Wars, as they called them, 
 against the Turks, and never came home. The 
 estate went to a cousin after all ; but they say that 
 when some great misfortune is about to happen to 
 the family the long howl of a wolf is heard at night 
 in Highbeck Woods." 
 
 Elsie ended her story and we sat a few moments 
 in silence. Then Amabel remarked quietly — 
 
 " I suppose those are the shut up rooms between 
 this chamber and the king's room." 
 
 "Aye, they have never been opened since, or sae 
 they say, and a veil hangs always over the poor led- 
 dy's picture, though Mrs. Deborah's mother used to 
 think it was only a fancy piece, since nobody knew 
 how to paint such pictures in those days. She was 
 a very well educate young leddy, was my young mis- 
 tress, and had been at school at a convent in France." 
 
Winter, 367 
 
 And here Elsie diverged into an account of her 
 young mistress, who had been Amabel's grand- 
 mother. I was not sorry, for the tale had " garred 
 me grew," as Elsie said, and I was glad that the 
 poor wolf lady, if such she was, could claim no kin 
 with me. I have since learned that there are plenty 
 of ghost stories in my own family. Indeed, the 
 Corbet ghosts have made themselves so cheap that 
 they are very little regarded. I cannot say that 
 either Amabel or myself slept any the worse for 
 Elsie's story, though I must confess to starting some- 
 times when the blood-hounds would give vent to their 
 long melancholy bay, worshipping the moon after 
 the fashion of their race. 
 
 Mrs. Deborah and Mrs. Chloe came home the next 
 day but one, Mrs. Chloe seeming much revived by 
 her visit. The ball had been a great success, and 
 Mrs. Chloe had danced one dance with a very fine 
 gentleman indeed — some officer or other — ^who had 
 given her a fine copy of verses next morning, as the 
 fashion was then.* Molly and Jenny had greatly 
 regretted our absence, and had sent us a box of 
 shells, and a needle-book and work-bag of their own 
 manufacture. Mine was made of flowers cut out in 
 satin and paper, and placed between two thicknesses 
 of transparent catgut,! and was really very pretty 
 
 ♦ Those who are curious may find plenty of such copies of 
 verses in old collections. They might mostly be made on a 
 machine. 
 
 t A thin, transparent, but rather stiff material, much used for 
 ornioAental works. I have seen an old woiic-bag made of il. 
 
368 The Foster-sisters. 
 
 and ingenious. Aunt Ohloe had learned several new 
 stitches, and the teaching of these and describing 
 the dresses at the ball afforded her amusement, till 
 something happened which drove General B., his 
 sword-knot, and copies of verses, effectually out of 
 her head. This event, however, must be reserved 
 for another chapter. 
 
 Note. — It is a curious fact that stories like old Elsie's are to 
 be found every where. Bruce heard them in Abysinnia, and 
 they are common enough among our own Indians. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SURPRISES. 
 
 IE went on in our usual course for some 
 weeks. Mr. Lethbridge, the new rector, 
 proved quite a contrast to Doctor Brown. 
 He was a thin, serious faced young man, very much 
 in earnest, and not always (or so I thought) very 
 discreet in his zeal. He was one of those men who 
 seem, if I may so express myself, to have no per- 
 spective in their minds. To eat meat on a Friday 
 in Lent, or to go to a dance on the green were in 
 his eyes as great crimes as to get drunk at the ale- 
 house or to beat one's wife. He sorely puzzled and 
 distressed old Gaffer Bell at the almshouse, by tell- 
 ing him that for a man so near the grave as he was, 
 to spend hours in playing the fiddle was a frivolous if 
 not a sinful waste of time : and when Gaffer Bell, 
 one of the two or three old people who could read 
 and a pretty good Bible scholar too, told him that 
 he " did'nt find nowt agen the fiddle in Bible " he 
 reproved him for speaking lightly of sacred things. 
 Mr. Lethbridge approved highly of some of Mr. 
 Wesley's doings, such as his prayer and conference 
 meetings, and set one of the latter up in his own 
 parish. (369) 
 
370 The Poster-Sisters, 
 
 "And pray what sort of conferences do you have?'* 
 asked Mrs. Deborah: "do not the people get into 
 undesirable disputes." 
 
 " Oh no ! " answered Mr. Lethbridge complacently : 
 " I take care to prevent that by allowing no one to 
 speak but myself." 
 
 " Rather an odd sort of conference meeting that, 
 Brother Lethbridge, where the conference is all on 
 one side, like the Irish gentleman's reciprocity," 
 said Doctor Brown, with one of his jolly laughs. 
 " Your pattern Mr. Wesley manages quite differently, 
 as I understand. He allows the old folk to have 
 their say, and I dare say it might be quite interest- 
 ing to hear what they could find to talk about 1 " 
 added the Doctor, as if struck by a sudden idea. 
 " I am not sure but I should like to try it sometime. 
 At any rate, it would give them pleasure, for old folk 
 like to be listened to." 
 
 Mr. Lethbridge drew into his shell as his custom 
 was when he thought himself assailed, and Doctor 
 Brown began to talk about something else. It was 
 one of Mr. Lethbridge' s troubles that whenever 
 any one criticised any of his methods, he always 
 thought the cause of Christ was attacked. Neverthe- 
 less he was a good young man and a good preacher, 
 visited the sick and the feeble faithfully, catechised 
 the children and revived the school, which had 
 fallen quite into disuse of late years. Mrs. Deborah 
 took a great interest in the matter, recommended a 
 very capable and efficient school-mistress, and made 
 liberal presents of working materials. Amabel and 
 
Surprises. 37 1 
 
 1 visited this institution of learning twice or three 
 times a week, helped to teach the children in sewing, 
 reading, knitting, and the Catechism, and when the 
 three girls who made the first class, got through 
 their duty toward their neighbour without a stumble, 
 we felt as proud as though we had made them our- 
 selves. People began to come to church on other 
 occasions than to get themselves married or buried, 
 and to join a little in the responses, and almost all 
 agreed that Parson was a kind gentleman, and a 
 good preacher and good to the poor, though he 
 would look into matters for himseK and refused the 
 Shrove Tuesday dole to Betty Hackett, because he 
 found out that she changed off her Christmas 
 blankets at the alehouse. 
 
 Lent fell rather late that year, and about a fort- 
 night before Shrove Tuesday Mrs. Philippa sur- 
 prised us all by coming down stairs to dinner, and 
 still more astonished us by not finding fault with 
 any thing on the table. She really made herself 
 very agreeable, as she well knew how when she 
 chose. But when, she again appeared at supper our 
 surprise knew no bounds. 
 
 " These are very nice cheese-cakes ! " said she in 
 the course of the meal : " Pray, Sister Deborah, is 
 this your usual receipt or have you a new one?" 
 
 The remark was not a startling one certainly, but 
 when one considers that it was the first direct word 
 Mrs. Philippa had addressed to Mrs. Deborah for 
 more than twenty years, it is perhaps no wonder that 
 Mrs. Cliloe dr<^)ped her tea-cup, and that Amabel 
 
372 The Foster-sisters. 
 
 and I both tried so hard to look unconcerned that 
 it was well no strangers were present. Mrs. 
 Deborah however answered as quietly as though 
 she had been chatting with her sister all day. 
 
 " The cheese-cakes are much as usual, Sister Phil 
 ippa. It is perhaps that exercise has given you a 
 better appetite." 
 
 " Possibly ! " replied Mrs. Philippa with a smile : 
 "you were always famous for your cheese-cakes, 
 Sister Deborah." 
 
 From the cheese-cakes Mrs. Philippa diverged 
 to other subjects. She told several anecdotes of 
 her youth, asked Mrs. Deborah if she did not 
 remember this and that circumstance, told Mrs. 
 Chloe that she was nervous and needed the doctor, 
 and in short made herself so agreeable that I did 
 not know her. After supper she delayed a moment 
 and said, as it seemed with a little hesitation : 
 
 " Sister Deborah, I am thinking of going to 
 Berwick for a little change, and to visit my friend 
 Lady Betty Alworthy. Will it be convenient to you 
 to let me have the small travelling coach, and 
 Richard to attend me ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Sister Philippa, but will not the 
 journey fatigue you?" said Mrs. Deborah; "you 
 know the roads are not of the best ! " 
 
 " I do not think so ! " was the reply, without any 
 of Mrs. Philippa' s usual irritability at being opposed : 
 " Doctor Brown has lately come from Berwick, and 
 he tells me the roads are good ; and Lady Betty 
 specially desires my visit just now." 
 
Surprises, 373 
 
 "Yery well, Sister Philippa, suit your own con- 
 venience " was the reply : " I will see that all things 
 are in readiness and trust you may have a pleasant 
 visit." 
 
 " What is going to happen ? " said I rather pertly, 
 when Mrs. Philippa had withdrawn. 
 
 Mrs. Chloe's soft eyes were full of tears, and old 
 Roberts shook his head solemnly. 
 
 " It is a warning, ladies ! That's what it is ! " said 
 the old man. " Something is a going for to happen 
 to Mrs. Philippa. Folks don't change that way for 
 nothing. Didn't you notice, Mrs. Deborah and Mrs. 
 Chloe, that she never so much as called me an old 
 fool, once ? Poor lady." 
 
 "What do you think is going to happen. Sister 
 Deborah?" asked Mrs. Chloe in a quivering voice. 
 
 " I think Philippa is going to Berwick if she does 
 not change her mind before the day after to-mor- 
 row ! " replied Mrs. Deborah, with a tone and look 
 which showed she was annoyed ; " and I am afraid 
 I shall call Roberts an old fool myself, if he does 
 not clear the table, instead of standing there talking 
 nonsense to frighten you. Sister Chloe. Do draw 
 up your shawl and go to the fire." 
 
 " What did Roberts and Mrs. Chloe mean by say- 
 ing that something was going to happen to Mrs. 
 Philippa?" I asked of Amabel, when we were in 
 our own room together. Mary Lee thought the 
 question was addressed to her and answered with 
 some solemnity. 
 
 " They think she is fey I Miss Corbet." 
 "Fey!" I repeated: "what is that?" 
 
374 ^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Why, just fey ! When any strange alteration 
 comes over a person as from close to liberal or from 
 fretful to pleasant or the other way, people say they 
 are fey — and then they are not long for this world." 
 
 " Oh, that is it. Well, we will not be alarmed for 
 Mrs. Philippa just yet," said 1 : "we shall see how 
 she is to-morrow." 
 
 But to-morrow brought no alteration in Mrs. 
 Philippa's mood. Amabel and I waited on her 
 every morning. Sometimes she would admit us, 
 and oftener we were sent away, and bid not to be 
 troublesome little hypocrites, pretending what we 
 did not feel. On these occasions, Tupper always 
 came outside the door and dismissed us with the 
 same remark. 
 
 " My mistress is not quite herself this morning, 
 ladies. Another time I am sure she will be happy." 
 
 I suppose she was quite herself, but it seemed 
 more as if she were somebody else the next morn- 
 ing, she was so very gracious. We found her in the 
 midst of a wonderful litter, overseeing Tupper's 
 occupation of packing a great mail, while another 
 stood by filled to the brim. I could not but wonder 
 that she should take so many things when she was 
 only going to stay a fortnight. Mrs. Philippa in- 
 vited us to sit down, and seeing that my eyes re- 
 verted to the great trunk, she condescended to 
 explain that she was not going to take all these 
 things with her. 
 
 " Not at least at present! " she added with a queer 
 little blush and smile. An idea darted through my 
 
Surprises. 375 
 
 head, but it was so preposterous that 1 rejected it 
 directly. 
 
 " I hope you will be very kind to my sisters when 
 I am gone ! '* said Mrs. Philippa. " My Sister Chloe 
 is a good creature, though she is not very strong 
 minded. Poor thing, I wish I could see her better. 
 And Sister Deborah is a good creature too. We 
 have not been on the best of terms always. Debo- 
 rah is sometimes rather too officious, but she is a 
 good creature. I am glad she will have your society 
 while I am away." 
 
 The idea came back and did not go away quite so 
 easily. Mrs. Philippa went on clearing out her 
 drawers, and bestowed upon us many bits for our 
 patchwork, silks and crewels for our work, pincush- 
 ions, and other little presents, and at last unlocked 
 her jewel case and took from it two boxes. 
 
 " This necklace, my dear, was your mother's before 
 it was mine, and you will like it none the less on 
 that account. Your's, niece Corbet, was brought me 
 many years ago from over sea. Keep them to re- 
 member me by ! " She then dismissed us with great 
 kindness. 
 
 "What does she mean?" asked Amabel, quite 
 bewildered, as we went to our bed-room to put away 
 our gifts. " One would think she never expected to 
 come home again ! " 
 
 " Perhaps she does n't ! " said I. 
 
 " What do you mean, Lucy. I see nothing like 
 dying about her." 
 
 *' I was not thinking of dying, but of something 
 else ! " I answered. " However, time will show." 
 
37^ The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 "Lucy! How perfectly absurd!" said Amabel. 
 " When she has been mourning all these years for 
 Mr. Falconer, and has never seen any company." 
 
 " Except Doctor Brown ! " I added. 
 
 " Worse and worse ! " returned Amabel, laughing 
 heartily. "Lucy, I believe you are fey yourself. 
 You used not to think so much about matrimony." 
 
 " Ah, well, time will show ! Let us look at our 
 necklaces ! " 
 
 Amabel's turned out to be a very rich thick gold 
 chain supporting a fine pendant of amethyst set 
 round with pearls. Mine was a chain of Turkey 
 stones,* supporting a locket enameled also with 
 Turkey stones. It opened and had evidently once 
 held a minatura 
 
 " She never gave you that ! " almost screamed 
 Mrs. Chloe, when I showed it to her. " Why, it was 
 the gift of Mr. Philip Falconer, and used to have 
 his picture in it. My poor sister ! She is not long 
 for this world. My dears ! " sinking her voice to a 
 whisper. " Did either of you hear a strange noise 
 last night?" 
 
 " I heard the blood-hounds baying as they do 
 every moonlight night — that was all!" answered, 
 Amabel. 
 
 "Oh! You think it was the blood-hounds ? Well, 
 I don't know. To my thinking, it sounded like 
 something else — ^longer and more dreary." 
 
 " Dear Aunt Chloe, don't give way to these dis- 
 mal fancies ! " said Amabel, kissing her pale cheek. 
 
 ♦What are now called Tengrevise. 
 
Surprises, 377 
 
 " I do not believe in the wolf, one bit, if that is 
 what you are thinking of. It is like Aunt Philippa's 
 death watch, at which she was so scared, and yet 
 you see, she is not dead." 
 
 " But she may be. The five months are not up 
 nor the five years." 
 
 " We may all be dead and gone before five years, 
 but I don't believe the watch knew anything about 
 it, more than the wolf, if there is such a creature, 
 which is more than doubtful. Aunt Philippa is 
 going to Berwick to make a visit, and she is pleased 
 with the prospect, and thought she would give us 
 some keepsakes, — ^that was all." 
 
 Mrs. Chloe sighed and shook her head and would 
 not be comforted. She was very superstitious, and 
 her life was really embittered wiih these fancies. 
 If she had been going to church to be married, 
 and had seen a weasel, she would have turned 
 back. An owl's cry, or the flutter of a bird against 
 the window, would make her turn pale, and she was 
 quite certain that she had brought some great mis- 
 fortune on Amabel, because she had given her a 
 hair-pin point foremost. Amabel, who had a way 
 of speaking her mind freely without giving offence, 
 remonstrated with her Aunt Chloe about giving way 
 to needless fears. 
 
 " You know, dear Aunt Chloe, that we are all in 
 God's hands, and He can and will care for us as ten- 
 derly as a mother cares for her babe. Why should 
 we not trust Him to do just what is best for us ? and 
 if we do, why should we let oursehes be terrified by 
 signs and omens ? " 
 
3/8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " I don't suppose it is right, but every one does 
 it ! " sighed Mrs. Chloe : " and we know, niece, that 
 there are evil spirits, and such creatures allowed to 
 go about, and why may they not be near us at any 
 time ? " 
 
 "They may and they may not!" replied Ama- 
 bel : " We cannot see them, and nothing has been 
 told us about them, so we do not know ; but we do 
 know that we are all the time in God's presence. 
 He is always near at hand, to protect and care for 
 us." 
 
 "That is very true, Niece Leighton- — very true 
 indeed, " said Mrs. Chloe, as if struck with a new 
 idea. "He is every where, and so He must be 
 here. But I don't know — ^we seem to know so very 
 little about Him. I can't help being afraid of 
 Him, though I don't suppose it is right." 
 
 "I used to feel just so, before I read the New 
 Testament ! " said Amabel : " But when I read such 
 places as, 'He that hath seen Me, hath seen the 
 Father,' — * I and my Father are one ! ' then I felt 
 that I knew a great deal more about Him. If the 
 Lord Jesus is His image, we need not be afraid of 
 Him." 
 
 " Yery true, my love. I never thought of it in that 
 way ! " said Mrs. Chloe : " But tell me, don't you ever 
 feel afraid at night, when you wake up and hear all 
 sorts of strange noises, like sighs and moans and 
 people walking and whispering ? " 
 
 "Oh yes, very often. But, Aunt Chloe, if you are 
 afraid in your snug pretty little room with Bateson 
 
Surprises, 379 
 
 within call, and your whistle just at your head, 1 
 wonder what you would say to sleeping where Lucy 
 and I used to do, in one corner of the great deserted 
 dormitory, with half the house shut up and in ruins, 
 and those great awful caverns underneath it." 
 
 " Yes, I never was so very much afraid, till after 
 I had seen the caverns and the black water ! " I 
 added : "I dream of them now at times." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " said Mrs. Chloe shuddering. 
 « What did you do ? " 
 
 "Mother Prudentia used to tell us to put our- 
 selves into the hands of God, and the Holy Virgin, 
 and repeat the psalm ' Qui habitat^ — the ninety- 
 first, you know. I used to feel so safe and easy 
 when I came to, ' He shall cover thee with His 
 wings.' " 
 
 "My dear, will you look me OHt that psalm? 1 
 think I will learn it by heart ! " said Mrs. Chloe : 
 " Of course I have read it hundreds of times, but 
 somehow I never thought it was me whom He would 
 cover. Thank you, my dear, you have done me a 
 great deal of good." 
 
 Amabel found the psalm in Mrs. Chloe' s great 
 prayer-book, and I noticed afterwards that she kept 
 it open by her, and used to be murmuring verses 
 over to herself, whenever she was alone with her 
 knitting — the only work she ever attempted now-a- 
 days. She had taken to sitting most of the time in 
 our cheerful sunny little room, and though she was 
 no great help to our lessons, being one of those per- 
 sons who never can refrain from talking when ther« 
 
 25 
 
380 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 is any one to talk to, we were very glad to have 
 her there, and to give up our time to her*, for Ve 
 both felt we should not have her very long. But I 
 am wandering a long way from Mrs. Philippa and 
 her affairs. The lady accomplished her journey 
 in safety, as she sent word when the carriage camo 
 back, and felt herself much better for the change. 
 She sent her love to Mrs. Deborah, with a handsome 
 new china jug — Mrs. Deborah was fond of jugs— 
 and to Mrs. Chloe, a soft warm shawl and a pair of 
 fur-lined slippers ; and there were little presents 
 for Amabel and myself, and a parcel of needles, 
 knitting-pins and thread for the school children. 
 Richard on being questioned, declared that Mrs. 
 Philippa had purchased all these things herself — 
 that she was buying " a power of new gowns," and 
 was " as pert as a pyet," and moreover had not 
 called him a fool once since he left the Hall ; by 
 all which signs he concluded infallibly, that Mrs. 
 Philippa was not long for this world. 
 
 " Did you see any one that we know, Richard, 
 beside Lady Betty's family ? " asked Mrs. Chloe. 
 
 " I did see Doctor Brown ! " answered Richard : 
 " His Reverence was about buying of a new coach, 
 and Lady Betty and Mrs. Philippa went with him 
 to see it." 
 
 Whereupon I glanced at Amabel, and she shook 
 her head severely at me. 
 
 Shrove Tuesday was a lovely day, I remember. 
 Amabel and I had been out looking for flowers, 
 and had found very few, for spring comes but slowly 
 
Surprises, 381 
 
 in Northumberland. However, we had gathered a 
 bunch of wind flowers, and had the wonderful good 
 luck to find in a sheltered sunny spot a tuft of prim- 
 roses, and a few sweet blue and white violets. When 
 we went in to carry them to Aunt Chloe, we found 
 her leaning back in her chair sobbing bitterly. Mrs. 
 Deborah held an open letter in her hand, and looked 
 as though she did not know whether to laugh or be 
 angry. A box full of bride-cake and another of 
 white gloves and favors stood on the table. I 
 guessed all in a minute and glanced at Amabel, 
 who looked puzzled enough. With all her intelli- 
 gence, she was never very "gleg at the uptak," 
 except where people's feelings were concerned. I 
 was dying with curiosity, but of course I did not ask 
 any questions, but waited to be told. 
 
 "Well, nieces, what do you think has happened?" 
 said Mrs. Deborah I knew well enough, but no- 
 body likes to have their news forestalled, so I did 
 not say a word, but left the answer to Amabel, who 
 was as innocent as a babe. 
 
 "Nothing bad, I hope, aunt; nothing to Mrs. 
 Philippa," said she. 
 
 " Something to Mrs. Philippa, but nothing bad," 
 •aid Mrs. Deborah, trying to keep the corners of her 
 mouth in order. "Nieces, your Aunt Philippa is 
 married !" and here Mrs. Deborah broke down into 
 a hearty laugh, while Mrs. Chloe sobbed afresh, and 
 murmured, "Sister Deborah, how cawyou?" 
 
 "Why, one may as well laugh as cry, child," said 
 Mrs. Deborah. "Yes, after twenty years of mourn- 
 
382 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 fill constancy to the memory of her first lore, my 
 Sister Philippa is really married, and to whom do 
 you think V 
 
 " To Doctor Brown !" I could not help saying. 
 
 " Even so, child, but how did you hear T 
 
 "I did not hear. Aunt Deborah, I guessed," I 
 replied. "Amabel was shocked at me for hinting 
 such a thing before Mrs. Philippa went away." 
 
 "You are a shrewd little puss," said Mrs. Deborah, 
 shaking her head, but not looking at all displeased. 
 " I never thought of such a thing." 
 
 " I am sure I did not," said Mrs. Chloe, through 
 her tears. " She never hinted such a thing to me — 
 I that have stood by her for so many years. I do 
 t?iink she might have told me, at least." 
 
 " I suppose she was ashamed," replied Mrs. Debo- 
 rah. " Never mind, Chloe, we all know that poor 
 Philippa is peculiar. I hope Doctor Brown will be 
 as glad of his bargain five years hence as he is now." 
 
 " She said he was her spiritual advis r," said Mrs. 
 Chloe, beginning to recover herself a little. " She 
 said she had derived great benefit from him." 
 
 "Well, so it seems she has." 
 
 "And here is Amabel going to marry the first 
 Church of England clergyman she ever heard 
 preach," continued Mrs. Chloe. " I declare, I shall 
 begin to think spiritual advisers are very dangerous 
 people." 
 
 Mrs. Chloe was very much hurt at her sister's 
 want of confidence in her for a while, but her amia- 
 ble spirit soon began to make excuses for her. In 
 
Surprises, 383 
 
 truth such marriages were not very uncommon in 
 those days. Two people who were betrothed would 
 steal away from a ball or party, perhaps, to another 
 room itt the same house, with two or three witnesses, 
 be married, and return to the company as if nothing 
 had happened ; and marriages were sometimes kept 
 a profound secret for months. It was not a good 
 fashion, and brought about a good many complicated 
 lawsuits, but it was not considered at all disreputar 
 ble. Mrs. Philippa's fortune was in her own right, 
 and nobody had a shadow of authority over her, ex- 
 cept, perhaps, her brother, and as she was older than 
 he by two or three years, she naturally did not think 
 he had any special right to direct her. Doctor 
 Brown's family, though not distinguished, was 
 respectable. There was nothing against him per- 
 sonally, and he had a comfortable private fortune 
 besides his office at Durham. Nevertheless Sir 
 Julius was furiously angry, and wrote Mrs. Deborah 
 a most unreasonable letter — as though she had been 
 the one to blame. 
 
 I think Mrs. Chloe suffered the most of any one 
 from this very unexpected healing of Mrs. Philippa's 
 twenty years' heart-break. She missed her sister, 
 whom she had really loved despite her unkindness, 
 and I am sure she felt it hard that Mrs. Philippa 
 should get a rich husband, while she herself had 
 none at all. It was truly pitiable to see how the 
 poor thing's thoughts still ran upon such things, 
 though every one in the house could see with half 
 an eye that she was not long for this world. She 
 
384 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 grew thinner and weaker every day, and her little 
 dry con^h kept her awake in spite of all Mrs. Bebo- 
 raVs bread jellies, and poppy and lettuce syrups. 
 Mr. Lethbridge used to come and read to her some- 
 times, but she did not like him very much, and, 
 indeed, he was not a cheering visitor. I used to 
 wonder if he thought it was good for a sick person 
 to hear the particulars of every case of illness and 
 suffering in the parish. 
 
 Mrs. Philippa paid us a visit, during Lent, with her 
 husband. I never in all my life saw any one so 
 pleased with being married. She could talk of 
 nothing else, and uttered some speeches which made 
 us young ones feel as if we did not know where to 
 look. I never was fond of seeing over-much billing 
 and cooing in public between even young married 
 folks ; but I never saw a bride and bridegroom of 
 twenty -one so exasperatingly silly in this respect as 
 Doctor and Mrs. Brown. Hewerer, she was very 
 good-natured, and invited us all to visit her so soon 
 as she should be settled in her new house, which, 
 according to her description, was quite a palace. 
 She was especially kind to Mrs. Chloe, and took 
 great pains to amuse her. She staid a whole week, 
 and then left her old home apparently without a 
 single regret. 
 
 We had another visitor during Lent, namely, Mr. 
 Oheriton. It seems Mr. Lethbridge had business in 
 Newcastle which would keep him there some three 
 weeks, and Mr. Cheriton learning of it, arranged to 
 exchange duties with him for that time. Oh what 
 
Suf prises, 385 
 
 a comfort it was to have him preach again! He 
 held service on Wednesdays and Fridays, and, as we 
 always went to church, we saw him tolerably often. 
 Mrs. Deborah invited him to make tiie Hall his home 
 during his stay, but he declined, saying that there 
 were so many cases of severe illness among the peo- 
 ple — as, indeed, there were — that he wished to be 
 near at hand in case of a sudden call. Mrs. Deborah 
 admitted the validity of the excuse, but begged him 
 to come to dinner or supper without ceremony, as he 
 would always find a plate, and he did so wi^ very 
 tolerable frequency. Both parties kept carefully 
 clear of politics, and I think Mrs. Deborah came to 
 regard Mr. Cheriton's whiggery as more his misfor- 
 tuae tkan his fault — as a kind of disorder that ran 
 in seme families like gout. 
 
 Mr. Cheriton was a fine musician, as I have said, 
 and he brought us a great parcel of new music by 
 the best composers. "We used to sing together a 
 deal, whieh was a great pleasure to Mrs. Chloe. 
 Next to having a love affair of her own, was the 
 pleasure of watcJiing another's. 
 
 But Mr. Cheriton did Mrs. Ohloe good in other 
 and better ways. He himself proposed that as she 
 could not go to church, he should have prayers for 
 her bep.efit every Sunday evening, after which he 
 would read her his sermon. H« was a true " son 
 of consolation," and knew just what to say and 
 wliat not. Whenever he spent the evening with us, 
 we had OTening prayers, which we did not at other 
 times, and Mr. Gberiton usually said a £ew words 
 
386 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 upon the Gospel for the day or week. 1 think Mrs. 
 Deborah, at first, looked on this practise of preach- 
 ing in a private house, as a dangerous innovation 
 akin to field preaching, and holding conventicles; 
 but she soon came to like it. 
 
 ^ Mr. Cheriton held several long conversations with 
 Mrs. Chloe, and I began presently to perceive a change 
 in her. She left off talking about her past matri- 
 monial chances, and her plans for visiting " my 
 Sister Brown," when warm weather came. Her 
 Bible was constantly in her hand or by her side as 
 she sat in her great chair or lay on the .couch, and 
 she spent a good deal of time studying a volume of 
 Mr. Charles Wesley's poems, which Mr. Cheriton 
 had brought to Amabel. 
 
 " I don't know how it is, but they seem somehow 
 to express just what I want ! " she said rather apol« 
 ogetically to Mrs. Deborah one day. " And, you 
 know, Sister Deborah, that Mr. Wesley i% a regularly 
 ordained clergyman of the Church of England." 
 
 " Do read them as much as you like if they are 
 any comfort to you. Sister Chloe ! " was Mrs. De- 
 borah's reply. I think she would even hav« wel- 
 comed a Roman Catholic priest if he had brought 
 any comfort to Chloe. I used sometimes to wonder, 
 by the way, how Mrs. Deborah reconciled her hatred 
 of popery and her almost idolatrous loyalty to the 
 banished Stewarts, but there were a great many 
 others in the same case. I do not beEeve there 
 were ever a more unreasonable and unreasoning set 
 of people than the English Jacobites. After all the 
 
Surprises, 387 
 
 national experience of tlie faithlessness of their 
 idols, they were just as ready to fall down and adore 
 them again, as though they had never broken a 
 pledge. They worshipped the Church of England. 
 Yet they were ready to set over her a man who was 
 bound by the most solemn obligations to overthrow 
 her. It was certainly a pity to see the blood and 
 treasure that were thrown away, and the misery and 
 distress that were brought about, by the unreason- 
 ing loyalty to one particular family, which had 
 never shown itself worthy of trust. 
 
 Mr. Cherit-on went home at last promising to 
 come again as soon as possible, and leaving a great 
 many well wishes behind him. While he had been 
 very careful not to interfere with Mr. Lethbridge's 
 arrangements, but on the contrary had upheld him 
 in every possible way, the people could not but feel 
 the difference between his ministrations and those 
 of the rector. 
 
 " Seems like as if one could talk to that gentle- 
 man and open one's mind to him ! " said Mary 
 Tliorne, a very intelligent old woman in one of the 
 alms houses. " He listens to one, he does, and finds 
 out what one means. I told him all my trouble 
 about the Sacrament," a matter on which poor old 
 Mary had been much exercised ; — " and told him 
 how I was afraid either to come or to stay away. 
 Mr. Lethbridge always said it was want of faith, 
 and Doctor Brown would just say, 'poor soul, 
 poor soul,' kind of pitying like, and then go home 
 and send me some broth or something. He was 
 
388 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 very kind, but he didn't help me any. But Muster 
 Cheriton, he made it all plain, and now it seems as 
 if I could not wait for Easter to come, that I may 
 go to the Lord's table." 
 
 Easter came and passed very happily, and it was 
 observed that there were more communicants than 
 were ever seen before. We all went to church in 
 the morning, except Mrs. Chloe, who had failed a 
 great deal of late, and now seldom left her bedroom 
 before noon. 
 
 In the afternoon, Mr. Lethbridge brought the 
 feast to her, and to old Roberts, who was growing 
 very infirm and hardly able to perform his duties. 
 Amabel and I walked out in the park, gathered a 
 great nosegay for Mrs. Chloe, and talked of our 
 future as young folks will do. Of course, I was to 
 live with Amabel, till I had a home of my own, and 
 was to have the south room which looked toward 
 the church. I was not so light hearted as Amabel, 
 for Mrs. Thorpe, who wrote to us sometimes, had 
 mentioned in her last letter that her nephew's ship 
 had never been heard from since it sailed for the 
 Indies, and that people were beginning to think 
 something had happened to her. However, I kept 
 my troubles to myself, or rather I tried humbly to 
 lay them on some one better able to bear them than 
 I, and I listened to Amabel's plans and discussed 
 them with real interest and pleasure. 
 
 " Mrs. Chloe does not talk any more about the set 
 of chairs she was going to begin in the spring," re- 
 marked Amabel. " She never says anything now 
 
Surprises, 389 
 
 about getting well when the warm weather comes, 
 but I think she seems a great deal happier than she 
 used." 
 
 " She has given up ! " said I. " You know dear 
 Mother Superior used to say that there was great 
 happiness in giving up. Mrs. Chloe told me the 
 other day, that you and Mr. Cheriton, between you, 
 had done her more good than you would ever know." 
 
 " I am sure I am very glad to hear it ! " said 
 Amabel, her quiet eyes shining with pleasure. 
 
 " Lucy, what have I done that I should be so 
 happy ? While you that are so much better in every 
 way — " 
 
 Amabel stopped short. It was the first time she 
 had given me a hint that she had guessed my secret. 
 
 ^^BonH, please, Amabel!" said 1. "I hope I can 
 bear all I am called on to endure, but I canH bear 
 to h€ar it talked about even by you. Forgive me, 
 dear ! " For I was afraid I might have hurt her. 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive!" said Amabel, 
 pressing my arm in hers. " I should feel just so." 
 
 We walked home without any more words, and I 
 shut myself up alone awhile. Comfort came to me 
 by and by, and when Mrs. Chloe remarked, as I 
 kissed her good night, that this had been a happy 
 day, I was glad to be able to agree with her. 
 
 The nex^ day but one, as Amabel and I were re- 
 turning from the village school, we were astonished 
 to meet Mr. Cheriton. His face was pale, his dress 
 disordered, and his jaded horse showed how fast he 
 had travelled. It was just at the entrance of the 
 
390 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 avenue, and one of the grooms being at hand, Mr. 
 Cheriton gave him the horse, with a charge to be 
 careful of him, as he had made a hasty journey. 
 
 "We were not looking for you!" said Amabel. 
 " What has brought you in such a hurry?" Then 
 turning pale as Mr. Cheriton did not answer, 
 "Walter, what is it! You have ill news. What 
 does it mean?" 
 
 "That is what you must tell me!" said Mr. 
 Cheriton, in a hoarse voice, not a bit like his own. 
 " I received this letter yesterday. Read, it both of 
 you." 
 
 He put it into Amabel's hand, as he spoke, and I 
 looked over her shoulder. It was a very short and 
 ungracious letter from Sir Julius, saying that he had 
 heard reports injurious to Mr. Cheriton's character, 
 and having learned from the best authority, tliat 
 these reports were even less than the truth, he for- 
 bade him to entertain any hopes of his daughter, or 
 even to see her more. 
 
 "An enemy hath done this! " was Amabel's first 
 word. 
 
 "Yes, but who? I did not know that I had 
 one. I know some idle tales were told about me at 
 one time, but I thought they had all died out long 
 ago. Amabel, you will not — " 
 
 " Don't ask Amabel to pledge herself tb anything 
 just this moment ! " I interrupted. " Let us go 
 straight to Mrs. Deborah." 
 
 " You are right, Lucy ! " said Mr. Cheriton. " I 
 hardly know what I am doing. Let us go to Mrs. 
 Deborah, as you say.'* 
 
Surprises, 391 
 
 " Mis. Deborah is in her own sitting-room, read- 
 ing her letters ! " said Richard, in answer to my 
 inquiries. " An express has come from Sir Julius, 
 with great news." 
 
 I do not know that I have any Scotch blood, but 
 I certainly do have at times an odd kind of second 
 sight. The moment Richard spoke I knew it all. 
 
 We found Mrs. Deborah sitting in her little room, 
 half office, half parlor. She had an open letter 
 before her, but she was not reading it. She was 
 pale, and her black brows seemed almost to hide her 
 eyes. She hardly seemed at first to understand 
 who we were, and asked somewhat fiercely what we 
 meant by coming to disturb her. 
 
 " We wanted help ! " said Amabel. " Aunt, can 
 you explain that ? " handing her the letter as she 
 gpoke. Mrs. Deborah glanced through it. 
 
 " Too well 1 " said she. " I also have had a letter 
 which explains it all. Child, your father is married 
 ai^ain, and to Lady Throckmorton." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 VISITORS. 
 
 HAT is it ! " said Mr. Cheriton, striking 
 his hand on the table, while Amabel and 
 I stood as if dumb. " She told me when 
 I would not come to her card parties on Sunday, 
 that she would send me a bull's head. * And to 
 think of the hours that I have wasted, and worse 
 than wasted in that woman's house — dishonoring 
 my Master's liveiy. It is a judgment upon me, but 
 this child — what has she done ? " 
 
 " Hush, Walter, do not speak rashly, nor talk of 
 judgments ! " said Amabel, speaking quite calmly, 
 though she was pale as death. " We will not talk 
 of judgments, but of chastenings." 
 
 " Of persecutions, rather ! " I added. " Blessed 
 are they who are persecuted for righteousness' sake ! 
 If you had kept on flattering her she would not 
 have been your enemy." 
 
 " If I had never begun it, she could not have 
 
 * Alluding to the old Scottish and Northumbrian custom of 
 placing a hull's head before guests, whose death was determined 
 
 C392) 
 
Visitors. 393 
 
 fennd occasion agamst me ! " returned Mr. Cheri- 
 ton. " My sin hath found me out." 
 
 "Hush!" said Mrs. Deborah, raising her hand. 
 " You young people think you have all to bear. Is 
 it nothing to me to have that woman come into my 
 place, — ^knowing her as I do? To see my only 
 
 brother besotted with a Oh me, oh me ! how 
 
 shall I ever tell Chloe?" 
 
 And Mrs. Deborah broke down in a burst of bitter 
 weeping, dreadful to see in one usually so self-re- 
 strained. We were all about her in a moment. She 
 clasped Amabel in her arms, and laying her head 
 on her shcfulder as she knelt on the floor, she sobbed 
 bitterly. As for me, I was too fiercely angry to 
 cry. Mr. Cheriton, who had in some degree re- 
 gained his self-control, at the sight of Mrs. Deborah'g 
 distress, now spoke in his deep voice, 
 
 " Let us pray ! " 
 
 I shall never forget that prayer, nor how it sus- 
 tained and comforted us all. We knelt in silence 
 for some moments, and then Mrs. Deborah rose — 
 
 " Children, we must consider what is to be done ! " 
 said she. " It is evident that my brother has been 
 set against Mr. Cheriton, by somebody interested 
 in preventing this marriage. Be quiet while I read 
 you his letter, or that part of it which relates to 
 you." 
 
 We listened accordingly. The letter was a i^pe- 
 tition, for the most part, of what Sii Julius had 
 written to Mr. Cheriton, only that it entered more 
 into particulars, accusing Mr. Cheriton of low 
 
394 T^^^ Foster- Sisters. 
 
 intrigues, and conduct unbecoming a gentleman, 
 and concluded by saying — 
 
 "I will never give my daughter to a canting 
 Methodist. Let Mr. Cheriton give up his irregular 
 practices — ^his field preaching and class-meetings, 
 let him apologize to my wife for his affronts to her, 
 and show by his conduct that he regrets them, and 
 I may possibly be induced to overlook the natural 
 irregularities of a young man. I say possibly, for I 
 may have other and higher views for my daughter." 
 
 " He is very good ! " said Mr. Cheriton, with a 
 look on his face and a tone of bitterness in his 
 voice, which I never witnessed or heard before. 
 " If I will give up preaching to the poor and seek- 
 ing the lost, that is to say, if I will give up the work 
 I am doing for the Lord, he will possibly overlook 
 what I am said to have done for the devil. As to 
 Lady Throckmorton, as I have never affronted her, 
 I owe her no apology. What say you, Amabel ? 
 Shall I give up my preaching to the colliers and 
 ballast men, for your sake ? " 
 
 " Never ! " said Amabel firmly : " I would rather 
 never see you more in this world, than that you 
 should swerve one hair's breadth from your duty 
 for my sake." 
 
 " Besides, it would be only a chanoe ! " said I : 
 " Do you not see, that Sir Julius says he may have 
 other and higher views for his daughter ? " 
 
 " Let us say no more at present, my children ! '* 
 said Mrs. Deborah, " but take time to think. Mr. 
 Cheriton, you are much in need of refreshment. 
 
Visitors. 395 
 
 Lucy, will you order something ? Amabel, my love, 
 you had better retire to your room and compose 
 your spirits. We will talk of this matter again." 
 
 But a sad interval was to pass before the mat- 
 ter was again discussed. We had not yet separa- 
 ted, when Jenny came in all haste to say, that Mrs. 
 Ohloe had fallen into a fainting-fit, and her woman 
 could not bring her to, with all she could do. 
 
 " It was just that grinning fool Richard ! " said 
 Jenny in great wrath : " He must come in with a 
 basket of sticks, for Mrs. Chloe wanted a bright 
 fire, and what must he do, but congratulate her on 
 the happy news as he called it, and when Mrs. Chloe 
 asked what it meant, he said master was married to 
 Lady Throckmorton, and poor Mrs. Chloe, she just 
 gave one mournful cry and sunk back like one dead." 
 
 All these particulars were given to us, for Mrs. 
 Deborah had hurried to her sister. Poor Mrs. 
 Chloe came out of her fainting-fit, only to have a 
 dreadful bleeding from her lungs. An express was 
 sent in all haste for the doctor, and another for 
 Mrs. Philippa — Mrs. Brown, I should say. The doc- 
 tor did not arrive till night, and then gave no 
 hopes. Mrs. Chloe survived about a week, and 
 then passed quietly away, in the comfort of a 
 reasonable, religious, and holy hope. I suppose she 
 could not have lived long at any rate ; but there is 
 no doubt that the news of her brother's marriage 
 to a woman whom she disliked, and with the best 
 of reasons, hastened her end. She gave Mrs. Debo- 
 rah written directions as to the disposition of her 
 «6 
 
396 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 affairs, and said that she had made her will, which 
 was ill the hands of Mr. Thirlwall, the family law- 
 yer and man of business at Newcastle. I had sup- 
 posed as much, knowing that he had paid her 
 several visits during the winter. 
 
 An express had been sent to Sir Julius, as soon 
 as Mrs. Chloe's case had been pronounced hopeless, 
 and he arrived in time for the funeral without 
 his wife, who he said was unfit for such a hasty 
 journey. 
 
 I am not apt to take impressions at first sight. 
 But when I do, though I may sometimes change 
 them for awhile, I am very apt to return to them. 
 My first sight of Sir Julius' picture, led me to think 
 him a vain man, at once weak and obstinate. I 
 have never seen cause to change my opinion. Sir 
 Julius greeted his sister with a great show of cor- 
 diality, but withal, much as if he had been an im- 
 pudent lad caught robbing an orchard and deter- 
 mined to brave it out. He was very gracious to 
 Amabel, and more condescending to me than I 
 thought there was any call for, seeing that my 
 family was as good as his own or better, and that 
 he had all these years been pocketing the rents 
 from my poor father's little estate of Black Lees. 
 (So I had learned from Mrs. Chloe, though I forgot 
 to mention it in the right place.) However, I was 
 determined to bear everything for Amabel's sake. 
 He could not well find fault with the arrangements 
 for the funeral, seeing that Mrs. Chloe had ordered 
 them all herself ; but he frowned at the needless 
 
Visitors. 397 
 
 expense, as he called it, of giving new frieze coats 
 to the poor men in the aim-houses, and new gray 
 gowns to the old women ; and swore roundly, when 
 he heard that Mrs. Chloe had ordered Mr. Cheriton 
 to officiate at her funeral, " that he would not have 
 the canting Methodist enter his house." 
 
 " There will be no occasion for him to do so, 
 since he will meet my poor sister's corpse at the 
 church-yard ! " replied Mrs. Deborah calmly : " Let 
 me advise you, brother, to swear no rash oaths. 
 There has been harm enough done that way in this 
 family." 
 
 Sir Julius was silent, and made no more objec- 
 tion to Mr. Cheriton. I could not but see how 
 Mrs. Deborah put him down, whenever they were 
 together. 
 
 We had another very unexpected guest at the 
 funeral. Notice of Mrs. Chloe's death had been 
 sent to an aunt of Mrs. Deborah's who had married 
 one of the Scotts of Eskdale, and was called Lady 
 Thornyhaugh, after the name of the estate, as the 
 custom is in Scotland concerning landed proprietors. 
 She was a widow of many years standing, and was 
 about eight} -Ive years old, though no one would have 
 taken her to be seventy. She arrived on Iiorse-back 
 riding behind a trusty man-servant, and attended 
 by her bower-woman, as she called her, as old, 
 upright, and active as herself. I fell in love with 
 her at once, and she was kind enough to take 
 equally to me. Her presence was a great comfort 
 to us all, and especially to Mrs. Deborah. She was 
 
398 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 a beautiful old lady, with silvery white hair which 
 would curl in spite of her, eyes the exact counter- 
 part of Amabel's, and a perfectly refined and lady- 
 like manner. She spoke with a very strong Scotch 
 accent,* but we had learned Scotch enough from 
 Elsie, not to mind that. 
 
 The funeral was celebrated, and then came the 
 reading of the will, at which all the family were 
 present. It seemed that Mrs. Chloe was much richer 
 than either of her sisters, since beside her share of 
 her mother's fortune, which was not inconsiderable, 
 she had inherited some five thousand pounds from a 
 god-mother, for whom she was named. This for- 
 tune, after a legacy of five hundred pounds apiece to 
 her brother and Mrs. Brown, and the same to myself, 
 was equally divided between Mrs. Deborah and Am- 
 abel. Mrs. Deborah's portion was also to be divided 
 between Amabel and me after her death. Remem- 
 brances were left to Doctor Brown and Mr. Leth- 
 bridge, to the doctor and lawyer, and to each of the 
 servants — even to the little girl who weeded the 
 flower-beds. 
 
 I think, Mrs. Philippa — I shall never learn to 
 write Mrs. Brown — was disappointed a little, but if 
 so she was too proud to show it. Indeed, I must say 
 that no one could have behaved better than she did 
 throughout the whole affair. I should say that Mrs. 
 Chloe left "my Sister Brown" all her ornaments, of 
 which she had a great many, and a fine cupboard of 
 
 * As did all Scotch ladies at that time, when Scotchmen had 
 not yet conceived the ambition to be t£^en for English. 
 
Visitors, 399 
 
 blue cliina which she had been collecting all her life, 
 and which Mrs. Philippa had always coveted. 
 
 Sir Julius, on the contrary, did not try to hide his 
 vexation. It was plain that he had always counted 
 on Mrs. Chloe's leaving all her money to himself, 
 and I was wicked enough to be glad to see him dis- 
 appointed. He swore roundly at Mr. Thirlwall for 
 allowing Mrs. Chloe to make such an absurd will, 
 and for not letting him know about it in time to 
 have it altered. The old gentleman took snuff, and 
 answered quietly that it was not his place to betray 
 the secrets of his clients, but that if Sir Julius was 
 dissatisfied he was quite welcome to employ any 
 other lawyer he pleased ; whereat Sir Julius drew in 
 his horns, if I may be allowed the expression, and 
 began to stammer some sort of apology. 
 
 " I am astonished at you, brother, I am, indeed !" 
 said Mrs. Brown, with a great deal of real dignity. 
 " My Sister Chloe had a right to dispose of her prop- 
 erty as she pleased, and I for one am quite satisfied 
 with the arrangement. Doctor Brown, are you not 
 satisfied with my sister's disposition of her estate ?* 
 
 "Certainly, my dear, certainly," replied the doctor; 
 " and I should have been satisfied if the good lady 
 had not left us a penny." In which, I doubt not, he 
 spoke the truth, for he was already rich, and love of 
 money was not one of his faults. 
 
 Sir JuHus stayed at home about a week, and went 
 away in a much better humor than that he had 
 brought with him. He was very proud of Amabel's 
 beauty and accomplishments, and disarmed by her 
 
4r<^ The Poster-Sisters. 
 
 submission to his will. He had a long talk with Mr. 
 Cheriton, and at last, of his own accord, he promised 
 to put no force upon Amabel's inclinations for the 
 present, though he insisted that the young people 
 should neither see each other nor correspond till he 
 gave them permission, and this they both promised. 
 
 " I would not have the lass build too much on her 
 father's present mood," said the old lady from 
 Thornyhaugh, as we two sat together in the little 
 south room the evening after Sir Julius had departed. 
 " I should not speak so of my nevoy belike, but he 
 aye minds me of what was said of King James the 
 Sixth by ane wha kenned him weel. ^ Do you ken a 
 jackanape?' said he. *If you hold Jocko by the 
 chain you can make him bite me, but if I hold him 
 by the chain I can make him bite you.' " 
 
 " That is just what I think, madam," said I. (As 
 we were alone together I thought I might have the 
 comfort of speaking my mind for once.) " I know 
 Lady Throckmorton — Lady Leighton, I mean — a 
 little, and from what I have seen of them both I do 
 not believe Sir Julius is likely to make any stand 
 against her." 
 
 "Aye, and what do you know of her, my lass ?* 
 
 In answer I gave her an account of our visit to 
 Lady Throckmorton. 
 
 "Just like her!" was the comment. "Whafs 
 bred in the bone stays long in the blood. I kenned 
 her mother before her, and she was just such another. 
 A fine guardian, truly, to set over his daughter. 
 Aweel, Lucy Corbet, I am no Papist nor favorer of 
 
Visitors 401 
 
 Papists, or of them that would bring them back on 
 this land, but, saving their religion, I would wish 
 you and my niece were safe back yonder in your 
 convent. Poor children! This world is a hard 
 place for motherless lassies." 
 
 She stroked my head as I sat on a low seat to 
 which she had called me beside her, and I kissed 
 her beautiful withered hand, and felt comforted by 
 her sympathy. 
 
 "What I most fear, if I may venture to say so^ 
 madam" — I began, and then stopped. 
 
 " Say what is in your mind, bairn," said the old 
 lady, " I shall never repeat a word." 
 
 "What I fear for Amabel then is, that Lady 
 Throckmorton — ^I mean Lady Leighton — ^will try to 
 marry her up to some of the men who are always 
 hanging about her — ^to Lord Bulmer, for instance. 
 Do you think, madam, that in that case Amabel 
 would be bound to obey ?" 
 
 The old lady meditated for a moment before she 
 spoke. 
 
 "No, bairn, I would not say so. If my nevoy 
 forbids his daughter to marry this minister — what is 
 his name ?" 
 
 "Mr. Cheriton." 
 
 "Aye, Mr. Cheriton. If my nevoy forbids his 
 daughter to marry this man, though there be naught 
 against him, doubtless his daughter is bound to obey 
 her father, at least till she is of age. Children ar© 
 to obey their parents in the Lord. But no parent 
 has the right to make his child perjure herself by 
 
402 The Foster-Sisters^ 
 
 promising to love and honor a man whom she hatea 
 and despises, or to promise to love one man while 
 her heart is another's. That such matches have 
 sometimes turned out well to appearance is but say- 
 ing that sin is sometimes overruled for good. Nay, 
 I am as earnest as any one for obedience to parents, 
 but if a father bids his child to bow down before an 
 idol, she is not bound to obey." 
 
 We both started as Amabel came forward to the 
 fire and spoke, for we had not heard her enter. 
 
 " I think you are quite right, aunt," said she. " H 
 my father requires me to give up Mr. Cheriton I will 
 do so, at least till I am of age, but nothing shall 
 ever make me marry any one else while he lives — 
 nothing !" 
 
 She spoke without excitement, but with the calm 
 resolute air I knew so well. 
 
 "You are right, niece!" said Leddy Thorny- 
 haugh : " So long as you hold that resolution nobody 
 can make you marry. But if you should ever, either 
 of you, be driven to straits and need a friend, come 
 to me at Thornyhaugh and you shall find one if I 
 am alive." 
 
 The good lady went away next day much 
 regretted by us all. Elsie would fain have returned 
 with her foster-sister, for such she was, but after 
 some private conversation she decided to remain. 
 Doctor and Mrs. Brown also took their departure, 
 Mrs. Philippa — there it goes again — had made her- 
 self very agreeable during her stay. She seemed 
 wonderfully well pleased with her new state of Kfe^ 
 
Visitors, 403 
 
 iwid 1 suppose happiness agreed with her. She gave 
 lis all pressing invitations to come and visit her, 
 and was very affectionate to Mrs. Deborah at part- 
 ing. I believe she did really in some degree begin to 
 appreciate her sister's forbearance toward her 
 through all those weary years. As for her husband, 
 he was always pleasant when he was pleased, and 
 some people are not even that. He was just the 
 husband for Mrs. Philippa for he was too easy going 
 to mind her little tempers, while he could be firm 
 enough when once he set his foot down. 
 
 As soon as our company had departed, Mrs. 
 Deborah set on foot a great house-cleaning and 
 renovating. Sir Julius had intimated his intention 
 to retiyn to Highbeck Hall in the course of the 
 summer with his wife and a party of friends, and 
 Mrs. Deborah was determined to leave all in order 
 for him. I say to leave advisedly, for nothing could 
 shake her determination to depart from Highbeck 
 Hall before Lady Leighton entered it. 
 
 "I will never see that woman in my honored 
 mother's place 1 " she said : " If my brother had 
 chosen to marry a sober respectable person like his 
 second wife, though she had been even a grocer's 
 daughter, I should have nothing to say ; but I will 
 never sleep under the san^e roof with that woman." 
 
 Amabel and I found in this cleaning and moving 
 process some diversion at least. It was quite 
 wonderful to me to see what hoards of curious 
 things had accumulated in the house. Such heaps 
 of old finery — silks and satins and laces — such odds 
 
404 The Poster-Listers 
 
 and ends of gold and silver, and old-fashioned orna- 
 ments and what not. In turning out a chest of 
 drawers one day we came across an old needlecase 
 of gold with blue and white enamel, and seeing how 
 much I admired it, Mrs. Deborah gave it to me. 
 Carelessly enough I laid it on the top of a tall cab- 
 inet which stood in our bedroom, but when I went 
 to look for it, it had disappeared. 
 
 " What can have become of it ? " said I to Amabel, 
 ** I am sure I laid it here this morning." 
 
 " You should have put it carefully away in your 
 work-bag, and then it would have been safe ! " 
 remarked Amabel, seeing an occasion which indeed 
 she seldom wanted in my case, for a little homily 
 on tidiness. "Perhaps it has rolled down behind 
 the cabinet." 
 
 " I can see it ! " said I peeping into the very 
 narrow space between the cabinet and the wall, 
 " but I cannot reach it. Let us try to move the cab- 
 inet out a little, Amabel." 
 
 To our agreeable surprise, the apparently heavy 
 cabinet moved with a good deal of squeaking and 
 creaking indeed but with tolerable ease, upon rollers 
 concealed in the gilt griffin's claws which formed 
 its feet. I recovered my needlecase and then began 
 admiring the freshness and beauty of the hanging 
 behind the cabinet. 
 
 "It is of a different pattern from the rest!" 
 remarked Amabel : " It is like that in the little with- 
 drawing room down stairs." 
 
 " It is not fastened to the wall, either," said I. I 
 
Visitors, 405 
 
 raised the long strip of hanging as I spoke, and to 
 my surprise — to my alarm I might almost say — I 
 discovered a bolted door behind it. 
 
 " See here, Amabel! '' said I : "This door opens 
 into the ghost room ! Are you not afraid ? " 
 
 " No, I don't know that I am ! " replied Amabel: 
 " There is a good substantial bolt, as you see, and 
 as for the ghost I believe that sort of gentry do not 
 need doors for their entrance and exit." 
 
 " Would you dare open it ? " said I : " I have a 
 curiosity to see how a room looks into which no 
 one has set foot for two hundred years and more." 
 
 " Well, look then ! What harm can it do ! And 
 yet after all I would let it alone, I think ! " said 
 Amabel. <^ Perhaps Mrs. Deborah would not like 
 it." 
 
 At that moment Amabel was called down stairs 
 fco attend to some matter or other. I looked at the 
 bolted door and my curiosity grew stronger. I 
 could not think of any harm it would do to take a 
 peep, and I wanted to see what a ghost's room looked 
 like. So I pushed back the bolt and opened the 
 door with less difficulty than I expected, rather 
 dreading all the time, lest I should see the poor wolf- 
 lady's green fiery eyes glaring at me through the 
 darkness. However, I saw nothing of the kind. 
 The door opened into a kind of closet or press, and 
 that into a common-place looking room enough, 
 with a bed hung with dark faded red stuff, and 
 other furniture of the same sort. The windows 
 were close shuttered, and overgrown with ivy, but 
 
4o6 The Foster- Sisters, 
 
 a little light struggled through the round apertures 
 in the top of the shutters. Certainly, the room was 
 dusty and smelled close, but for a room unused for 
 two hundred years, it had a remarkably modern ap- 
 pearance. I guessed at once that I had intruded 
 unwittingly into some family secret, and was not 
 slow in coming to a conclusion as to its import. I 
 drew back at once, and closing the door I pushed 
 the cabinet back into its place, determining to tell 
 Mrs. Deborah what I had done. I took an opportu- 
 nity of doing so wher. we were together in the still 
 room next morning. Mrs. Deborah looked surprised 
 but not offended. 
 
 "You are a boid girl, Lucy. Were you not 
 afraid?" 
 
 " No, Aunt DeOorah. I did not believe anything 
 would hurt me, and I had a great desire to sec what 
 the place was like." 
 
 "And you did not find it at all what you expected. 
 Well, my girl, since you have seen so much, I may 
 as well tell you that those rooms have been used 
 within forty years as a place of concealment for 
 hunted loyalists. Their haunted reputation protects 
 them from any curiosity on the part of the house_ 
 hold, and there is a way of access to them from the 
 garden, which I will show you sometime. It is per- 
 liaps as well that some one beside myself should 
 be acquainted with the clue, as poor old Roberts 
 cannot live many days. He is the only one who 
 knows anything about the matter, and 1 may die ^t 
 any time," 
 
Visitors. 407 
 
 "Does not Sir Julius know?" I asked in surprise. 
 
 " No. The family rule has been that the secret 
 should be told to the eldest child — Avhether son or 
 daughter, unless the daughter be married. To-night, 
 when the family are in bed, I will shew to you and 
 Amabel the secret passage, but you must promise 
 me, solemnly, never to communicate it, unless to 
 Amabel's eldest child. It may come to be a weighty 
 secret, but since you have unwittingly intruded into 
 it, you must be content to bear your share. There, 
 I am not blaming you. Finding that a door opened 
 into your room, it was but natural that you should 
 wish to see where it led." 
 
 That night, accordingly, when the rest of the 
 household had gone to bed, Mrs. Deborah came to 
 our room carrying a light in a lanthorn. Instantly 
 I was reminded of the time when Mother Superior 
 took us children into the vault to show us the dan- 
 ger we had escaped. 
 
 "I will never poke my nose into any more se- 
 crets ! " I said to myself, for truth to tell, I did not 
 relish the expedition at all. I had been looking at 
 the picture of the ghostly lady in the saloon, and I 
 did not at all fancy meeting that fierce beautiful 
 face at some turn or corner. I had always said to 
 myself that I did not believe in her one bit, but it 
 was one thing to say so in daylight, and another 
 when I was intruding on her den in the night time, 
 by the fitful light of a dark lantern. 
 
 However, if the lady were displeased, she did not 
 phow it. Mrs. Deborah led us through the room 
 
408 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 into which I had peeped, and into another very 
 much like it. Here she pushed aside a corner press 
 which opened bodily like a door, and shewed a dark 
 entry and a flight of steps, very narrow and rugged, 
 which led down below the level of the ground floor, 
 and then up again at a sharp angle, to a low door in 
 the thickness of the outer wall. This she opened 
 and we found ourselves in a small court not far 
 from the stables. 
 
 " There is a ghost here too ! " said she ; " that of 
 a horseman, who walks despairingly up and down, 
 while his horse paws the stones in the corner yonder. 
 Hark, don't you hear him ? " 
 
 I certainly did hear the sound of a horse's hoof, 
 as it seemed, near by. I suppose it was an echo 
 from the stables. 
 
 "Not one of the servants will come hither after 
 night fall, for their lives ! " said Mrs. Deborah. " I 
 may just tell you that poor Mcintosh of Borlan, lay 
 concealed in these rooms, for many a day, after 
 Foster's treachery lost the day for us at Preston, 
 and it was by this very door that he made his escape 
 at last, after the pursuit had in some degree cooled 
 down. * But come, we must not linger here. Come 
 to my room." 
 
 We retraced our steps carefully, noting by Mrs. 
 Deborah's desire, every turn of the path, and found 
 
 * The Jacobites firmly believed that the fatal defeat at Preston 
 in 1715, was due to Foster's treachery. There is a curious old 
 ballad concerning Mcintosh's escape in the Borderer's Table 
 Book 
 
Visitors, 409 
 
 ourselves once more in our own room. From thence 
 we proceeded to Mrs. Deborah's, where we found a 
 nice little supper prepared for us, with a jug of hot 
 elder wine to keep us from taking cold, as Mrs. Deb- 
 orah said. Certainly, I did not sleep any better 
 for it, nor for the images that haunted my mind of 
 persecuted Jacobites, and possibly more desperate 
 characters, finding refuge in the next room. How- 
 ever, one becomes used to anything. I never found 
 in my life any particular difficulty in keeping secrets, 
 nor did this one trouble me. I should not be telling 
 it now, if there were any possible use in keeping it, 
 or if these same rooms were still in existence. 
 
 Mrs. Deborah was the owner of a small but suffi- 
 ciently convenient house, with an orchard and gar- 
 den and a few acres of land, about half a mile from 
 Highbeck church in the opposite direction to the 
 Hall. This house it seems was a kind of heir-loom, 
 descending to the eldest unmarried or widowed 
 daughter. It had stood empty for many years, 
 save for the old man and woman who had lived in 
 the kitchen. One day, we rode over to see it with 
 Mrs. Deborah ; it was rather forlorn in aspect cer- 
 tainly, but not badly out of repair. 
 
 " I shall have it put in order at once ! " said Mrs. 
 Deborah, surveying the little parlor. " I have saved 
 money for that very purpose, and the furniture of 
 my own rooms and that which my Sister Chloe left 
 me, will go far toward making the place comfort- 
 able." 
 
 "Then you are determined to leave the Hall — 
 and me ! " said Amabel. 
 
410 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Child, if I could do you any good by staying, I 
 would never leave you, no, not if that woman hum- 
 bled me in the dust ! " was the reply. " But I 
 should only do you harm. As my brother's wife 
 she has a right to rule, and I cannot live under her. 
 There would be a constant clash, and I am no 
 match for such as she. Besides, if worst comes to 
 worst, I can make a home for you and Lucy." 
 
 There was no use in arguing with Mrs. Deborah, 
 and besides, I felt that her course was a wise and 
 dignified one. For myself, I was determined never 
 to leave Amabel, come what might, unless I were 
 absolutely driven away. I little knew then how I 
 was to be tried, but I soon found out. 
 
 It was the middle of July, when letters were 
 received from Sir Julius, or rather from his wife, 
 saying that they would come to Highbeck Hall 
 about the first of August. Lady Leighton wrote 
 that a quantity of new furniture etc., had already 
 been sent by sea to Newcastle, and that her own 
 housekeeper and other servants, would arrive about 
 a week in advance of her, to attend to the disposi- 
 tion of the things. The old housekeeper was to 
 be pensioned off, by Sir Julius' order. The other 
 servants could remain for the present, if they chose 
 to make themselves useful, and be amenable to the 
 new housekeeper. Then came the sting of the let- 
 ter, so far as I was concerned. 
 
 " As for the young woman, Lucy Corbet, if she 
 chooses to take the place which belongs to her, and 
 for which she was kindly educated by Sir Julius— 
 
Visitors, 41 1 
 
 that of mir daughter's waiting-woman — I am con- 
 tent that she should remain for the present. But 
 she must distinctly understand, that it is as a ser- 
 yant and not as an equal, that she is permitted to 
 stay ; otherwise, she must make up her mind to 
 find another home. Moreover, if I find her abet- 
 ting our daughter in her infatuation for that person 
 in Newcastle, with whom she was so unhappily 
 entangled, she will be dismissed at once ; that affair 
 is entirely at an end, and Miss Leighton must hold 
 herself like a dutiful child, at her parents' disposal," 
 
 "There shows the cloven foot!" said Mrs. 
 Deborah. 
 
 " I am glad of it ! " I answered : " 1 like to know 
 what I have to expect." 
 
 " You need have to expect nothing of the sort, 
 Niece Corbet ! " said Mrs. Deborah : " You are 
 quite welcome to a home with me so long as I have 
 one, or till you can communicate with your kinsman 
 in the South." 
 
 " Oh Lucy, you must not leave me — you will not 
 leave me ! " said Amabel imploringly, her eyes fill- 
 ing with tears. Remember what you promised me 
 before we came from France. I am selfish to wish 
 to keep you here to be insulted, when you might 
 have a happy home with Aunt Deborah, but how 
 can I face life without you ? " 
 
 " You shall not face it without me ! " I answered. 
 " My mind is made up about that. Dearly as I 
 should love to live with Aunt Deborah, I can never 
 leave you while it is possible for me to stay. When 
 
 2^ 
 
412 The Fostet -Sisters. 
 
 it is not, if dear aunt will take me in, I will gladly 
 come to her." 
 
 " And will you — a Corbet of one of the best fami- 
 lies of the South — will you take the place of a 
 waiting-maid under this proud woman ? " said Mrs. 
 Deborah, her brows darkening. 
 
 " For AmalDcl's sake I will take any place, and 
 endure any affront, Aunt Deborah ! " I answered : 
 " where she goes I will go. The Lord do so to me, 
 and more also, if aught but death or dire necessity 
 part her and me." 
 
 I said these solemn words advisedly. I had said 
 them in my own mind many times while thinking 
 of this very thing. Mrs. Deborah's brows relaxed. 
 
 " You are your father's own child, Lucy. Have 
 your way then, since I verily believe it to be the 
 right one. When you can no longer stay here, then 
 come to me both of you. If I am not living, go to 
 your aunt at Thorny liaugh. Bless you, children, 
 you do surely show forth your faith, not only in your 
 lips but in your lives." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CHANGES AT HIGHBECK. 
 
 RS. Deborah at once began her prepara- 
 tions for removal to the Little House, as 
 her mansion was called, and we helped 
 her as far as we could. Amabel kept up 
 wonderfully considering, and tried her best not to let 
 her trouble trouble others. But it is not the people 
 that bear things best, who feel them least, and as I 
 saw my dear girl's face grow pale and thin, and 
 noted the dark marks under her eyes, my heart was 
 very bitter toward the author of all this distress. 
 In some sense, her pain was harder to bear than 
 mine, inasmuch as I could say, " I opened not my 
 mouth, because Thou didst it.'* No hand but my 
 Heavenly Father's had parted Mr. Thorpe and me 
 — for it seemed quite certain by news received from 
 the East, that his ship had gone down with all 
 hands, during a great storm in the Indian Ocean. 
 
 In another mine was the worst. For Amabel 
 there was still a charm, Sir Julius might change 
 his mind or a dozen other things might happen. 
 Mr. Cheriton was at Newcastle alive and well, and 
 we heard of him every now and then by Mrs. 
 
 (413) 
 
414 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Thorpe, who wrote every time she sent a parcel to 
 me or to Mrs. Deborah. (It was a wonder how 
 many things Mrs. Deborah needed from Mrs. 
 Thorpe about that time.) But my friend was gone. 
 I could never see him again as long as I lived. My 
 heart might hunger as it would to see or hear from 
 him, and I never could see or hear from him — ^no, 
 not if I should run all over the world. Let no one 
 say that absence is like death. It is like that other 
 popular folly of comparing death and sleep. There 
 is the distance of an eternity between them. 
 
 As for my other trouble — that of being degraded 
 from being Amabel's equal and companion, to being 
 her waiting woman — that did not disturb me very 
 greatly at this time. I had faith enough in Amabel 
 to believe that it would make no difference with her, 
 and I had too great a contempt for Lady Leighton 
 to trouble myself very much about her. I had yet 
 to learn that people whom we despise can sting 
 almost as deeply ag those whom we respect. 
 
 The arrival of the new furniture and servants at 
 the Hall was the signal for Aunt Deborah to leave 
 it. The new house-keeper turned out to be Mrs. 
 Wilson, my lady's woman, whose acquaintance we 
 had made during that unlucky visit. She was full 
 of her own consequence, found fault with every 
 thing, scolded the old servants, was barely civil to 
 Amabel and a good deal less than civil to me. 
 
 The old house-keeper Jenny and Richard left the 
 Hall with Mrs. Deborah and also old Elsie, who was 
 still alive and able, as she expressed it, to do a day's 
 
Changes at Highbeck. 4^5 
 
 darg with any one. I should mention perhaps, that 
 Elsie's great nephew Alick Grahame who had 
 attended his lady on her late visit to Highbeck was 
 greatly smitten with our little Mary Lee, and some 
 love passages had been between them. Elsie had 
 at first been rather scandalized at her nephew for 
 falling in love with a town bred English girl, but 
 Mary's pretty neat ways and kind attentions to her- 
 seK had won her over, and she was well pleased 
 with the affair. So were we, for Alick was a fine 
 young fellow, a favorite with his mistress and likely 
 to do well in the world. 
 
 In due time came an avant-courier with news 
 that my lady was on her way from New Castle and 
 might be expected by supper time. Every thing 
 was now in a bustle to receive her, Mrs. Wilson 
 was here, there, and every where, overseeing, scold- 
 ing and arranging. Amabel and I were in our 
 room, when she put her head in at the door without 
 the ceremony of knocking and said in a sufficiently 
 pert tone : — 
 
 " Mrs. Leighton, I think on such a day as this 
 you might spare your woman to help me a little 
 instead of keeping her here busy with that nonsensi- 
 cal embroidery ! " 
 
 Amabel turned full upon her, her gray eyea 
 lighting up — 
 
 " Did you knock, Wilson ? " she asked carelessly : 
 *• I did not hear you ! " 
 
 " I beg pardon ! " said Wilson in a tone which 
 Mounded as if the words were dragged out of her — 
 
416 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " Yery well ! " said Amabel : " That will do. Be 
 80 good as to shut the door." 
 
 Wilson was absolutely cowed and went away 
 without another word. I ventured to hint to Ama- 
 bel that she had probably made an enemy of this 
 woman. 
 
 " I do not think so ! " was Amabers reply : " If 
 I read her ariglit, she is one of those natures 
 who take all kindness for timidity and behave them- 
 selves accordingly. At all events it will be time to 
 give way when I am obliged to." 
 
 Lady Leighton arrived in good season with a 
 train of servants and attendants of all sorts, and 
 was received with a great deal of form. I did not 
 see the meeting, but Amabel told me afterward that 
 Lady Leighton had been very affectionate to her, 
 saying tliat she had no doubt Amabel would show 
 herself a dutiful and obedient child to the mother 
 Sir Julius had given her. 
 
 " Mother indeed ! " said I :" It is a profanation 
 to apply the word to her. 
 
 " Hush dear ! " returned Amabel : " Remember 
 she is my father's wife and we must treat her with 
 the respect due to her position." 
 
 " And you, Amabel ! " 
 
 " I courtesied and said I hoped I should always 
 remember my duty. I could not say more." 
 
 " What did your father say ? " 
 
 " Sir Julius has not come ! " was the reply. " It 
 seems business has detained him in London for the 
 present. Lady Leighton tells me that she is expect- 
 ing a house full of company next week." 
 
Changes at Highbeck, 417 
 
 There is a certain class of beings who are said to 
 appear when spoken of. I would not say that L^dy 
 Leighton belonged to this class, however well 
 qualified she might be to adorn it, but it is certain 
 that she came in at the moment we were speaking of 
 her. 
 
 " What is that about Lady Leighton ! " said she. 
 
 " I was but saying Madam, that you told me you 
 were expecting company ! " replied Amabel. 
 
 " Yes, that is true, and I trust we shall give you 
 a little gayer life than you have been leading lately. 
 Is th!3 your waiting woman, my love ?" 
 
 " This is Lucy Corbet, my foster sister, Madam ! " 
 replied Amabel — " I thought you had known her as 
 you entertained her at your house in Newcastle." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Lady Leighton, looking slightly dis- 
 concerted, but recovering herself in a moment. 
 ^ Yes! I was misled by the intimacy which existed 
 between you, into treating her as an equal with 
 yourself — ^but it must be understood," she added, 
 her eyes growing bright and fierce as I had seen 
 them before — " It must be understood at once, that 
 all that must be at an end. I do not blame you so 
 much as your guardians in France and your father, 
 who allowed such a state of things to grow up, but 
 the young woman must understand that if she 
 remains, it must be as a servant and under my con- 
 trol or that of my house-keeper. Do you hear me, 
 young woman ? " turning to me. 
 
 I simply courtesied. 
 
 "Very well! I see you can be humble when it 
 
4t8 The Poster-Sisters, 
 
 suits you. Keep so, and you may find me your 
 friend. Let me see you put on any fine lady airs 
 and you leave this house on the instant ! " 
 
 I courtesied again. My Cornish blood was boil- 
 ing but I was determined not to give her any handle 
 against me. Lady Leighton now turned to Amabel, 
 criticised the fashion of her dress and found fault 
 with the arrangment of her hair. 
 
 " One would think you had lived in the ark all 
 your life ! " said she. " Pray for whom are you 
 wearing all this mourning ? " 
 
 " For my Aunt Chloe, who died not three months 
 since, madam ! " answered Amabel. 
 
 "Nonsense, child! nobody mourns for aunts and 
 uncles nowadays. That kind of thing is gone out. 
 I must see you in colors directly. What a prepos- 
 terous head. I think, after all, I must put one of 
 my own women about you. I cannot have you look- 
 ing so like a fright. Corbet, cannot you at least 
 lace up your mistress properly T 
 
 " It was Mary Lee who dressed me, madam," said 
 Amabel. 
 
 "I must find something else for her to do,*' was 
 the reply. "A chit like you does not need two 
 women, surely. This is a pretty room — much pret- 
 tier than mine. I think I must change with you. 
 What is next you V 
 
 " The haunted rooms, madam," I answered, with 
 some satisfaction. " There is said to be a ghost in 
 them, and it is there the howl of the wolf is heard 
 when any great misfortune is about to befall the 
 family." 
 
Changes at Highheck. 419 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Lady Leigliton, tiirning pale 
 through all her rouge — "What stuff is that ?" 
 
 At that very moment, before the words were fairly 
 out of her mouth, a long-drawn and most doleful 
 howl, ending with a frightful sound between a scream 
 and a yell, was heard, as it seemed, close by. Lady 
 Leighton turned still paler, and grasped a chair as if 
 to keep herself from falling. " In Heaven's name, 
 what was that ?" said she. 
 
 " It sounded like a howl," said Amabel, which it 
 certainly did. As for me I was ready to choke, but 
 I bestirred myself to hand Lady Leighton a smelling- 
 bottle and to fan her, for she looked ready to faint 
 away. She revived presently, and evidently made a 
 great effort to recover her self-possession. I thought 
 she was even a little mollified toward me, for she 
 told me at parting that she had no ill will toward me 
 so long as I behaved myself properly. 
 
 "What could it have been ?" said Amabel, turning 
 to me after her ladyship had left the room. 
 
 "You goose — ^begging pardon for calling my mis- 
 tress a goose," said I. " Don't you know the voice 
 of Sultan, the young blood-hound ? I can make 
 him warble like that any time with my little ivory 
 whistle." 
 
 "Why did not you speak, then ?" asked Amabel, 
 rather pettishly, for she had been a little scared as 
 well as my lady. 
 
 " It was not my place," I answered, with a demure 
 courtesy. " I must practise upon keeping my place, 
 you know. But, Amabel — mistress, I mean " — 
 
 Amabel flewat me and shook me. 
 
420 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " Let me ever hear you say that again !" said she, 
 kissing me between the shakes. " How dare you ? 
 But what were you going to say T 
 
 " How can I tell, you have shaken it all out of 
 me," I returned, laughing. " Oh, I know. Amabel, 
 don't you know when we first looked at the picture 
 of the wolf-lady, we wondered who it was like T 
 
 "Yes; why?" 
 
 " It is like Lady Leighton. Don't you see she has 
 the same blue-green eyes and thin lips, and the same 
 look of watchfulness ? Perhaps, after all, that was 
 her relation calling for her." 
 
 " Don't say such horrid things," answered Amabel, 
 shuddering. " I can see the likeness you speak of, 
 however. But, Lucy, you will never be able to stay 
 here. It is not right that you, a young lady of for- 
 tune and family, should be exposed to such indigni- 
 ties. You must go to Aunt Deborah. It would be 
 too selfish in me to keep you." 
 
 •* Don't you see that is exactly what she wants ?" 
 I asked. " It does not suit her policy just now to 
 dismiss me altogether. It would make a talk, and 
 perhaps give rise to awkward enquiries. If she can 
 make me go of my own motion she will, but I don't 
 think she will accomplish that. I will leave when I 
 am forced — not before. Don't you remember Mrs. 
 Thorpe's saying once that when it came to a contest 
 between will and wonH, wonH had the advantage, 
 because wonH had only to stand still ?" 
 
 " How happy we were in those days, and how far, 
 far away they seem!" observed Amabel, sighing. 
 
Changes at Highbeck. 421 
 
 " Mother Superior might well say that the world was 
 a hard place." 
 
 " It was in those happy days that we learned what 
 must support us now, Amabel," said I. "Where 
 should we be but for the books Mr. Wesley gave us, 
 and the truths he taught us T 
 
 " Oh, if we could only see him and ask his advice !" 
 said Amabel, and with that she fell to crying hys. 
 terically, so that I had much ado to get her quieted 
 again. Poor thing! she was over-wrought, and 
 nature would have her way. She was really ill next 
 day with a head-aclie and sore throat, and the illness 
 was not ^dthout its advantages, for Lady Leigh ton 
 never came near us, and we were left in peace for at 
 least a few days. 
 
 I will not pretend to give an account of the slights 
 and indignities I was made to undergo whenever I 
 left the shelter of Amabel's room. The new serv- 
 ants were not slow to perceive that I was no favorite 
 with their mistress, and treated me accordingly. I 
 no longer dined with Amabel, but in the house-keep- 
 er's room, and Mrs. Wilson took care that I did not 
 lack sauce to my meat. She was herself in a very 
 bad humor. She was horribly jealous of her lady's 
 new French waiting-woman, and provoked at the 
 amount of care and work which fell to her share. 
 A mischievous man-servant, one of the old stock who 
 had staid behind, made sure that she should hear of 
 all the ghost and goblin tales about the place, and 
 did not fail to add mysterious hints of hordes of 
 gypsies and border robbers which haunted the wild 
 
422 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 recesses of the hills. The brown man of the moors 
 and the old Picts (still feared and abhorred in North- 
 umberland,) were not wanting, till poor Wilson was 
 actually afraid to go to bed. An odd accident one 
 day turned this woman from an enemy into my 
 friend. There was a young Highland bull of a very 
 fine breed (a present from Thornyhaugh to Mrs. 
 Deborah, who loved cattle,) which was pastured in 
 a field near the house. This bull had been a pet of 
 mine, and I often fed him with bread and salt, so 
 that he would come readily at my whistle, and as he 
 had never shown any ill temper, I was not at all 
 afraid of him. One day I had set out to see some 
 of the poor women in the alms-houses, and had not 
 gone far when I saw Mrs. Wilson in a position of 
 some danger. 
 
 Some one had left open the gate of Chieftain's en- 
 closure, and he had come out to taste the grass by 
 the lane side. He was feeding peaceably enough, 
 when Mrs. Wilson came by with a red silk apron 
 on, and Chieftain instantly conceiving in his bovine 
 mind that the same red apron was intended as an 
 insult to himself, at once began to stamp, tear up 
 the ground and lash himself into a rage. Wilson 
 had just sense enough not to turn and run, but not 
 enough to take off the obnoxious apron. She was 
 backing toward a stone wall, and Chieftain was 
 following her, more and more enraged every mo- 
 ment. I saw directly that she would never be able 
 to mount the wall, and that help must be had at 
 once or not at all, and I resolved with an inward 
 
Changes at Highbeck, 423 
 
 prayer, to try my power over the creature. I blew 
 a sharp note on my whistle. The bull looked round, 
 and gave a grumble of recognition, as who should 
 say, *' wait till I finish this little affair and I will 
 come," but, as I called him, and held out the basket 
 from which he was used to receive his treats, he 
 turned and followed me quietly enough. I led him 
 to his enclosure, tempted him inside, and gave him 
 half a loaf of white bread, which I was carrying to 
 poor Mary. Then securing the gate, as well as I 
 could, I went back to find out what had become of 
 Wilson. I found her sitting flat on the ground, 
 crying as if her heart would break. Her first words 
 were very unexpected — 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Corbet, I have used you shameful, and 
 yet you have saved my life. I do believe that nasty 
 creature would have killed me before I could get 
 away. But I beg your pardon for treating you so — 
 that indeed, I do ; and I will never do it again, if 
 you will only forgive me ! " 
 
 " I forgive you with all my heart ! " said I, " but 
 don't sit there on the wet grass, or you will get a 
 fever, and that will be as bad as the bull." 
 
 I helped her to rise, and finding that she really 
 trembled so she could hardly stand, I gave her my 
 salts and my arm to lean on back to the hall. She 
 found her voice presently and began to pour out her 
 Woes. She hated the place. It was not what she 
 had expected. She was worked almost to death, and 
 my lady was taken up with that grinning French 
 woman, and had never a good word for poor Wilson, 
 
4^4 1^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 as had served her so long. I tried to stop her, but 
 I might as well have tried to stop the Highbeck at 
 flood time. At last the worst of her troubles came 
 out. She was so afraid. She heard such dreadful 
 noises at night, like people walking and whispering 
 in the entry and in the room itself, and cries and 
 groans that seemed to come from far down, and I 
 don't know what all. She slept with a Bible under 
 her pillow, but it did no good. The noises came all 
 the same. " Did I think a Prayer-Book would be 
 better?'' Her terror was so real, that I could not 
 but be sorry for her. 
 
 " Neither Bible nor Prayer-Book will do you anj 
 good by lying under your pillow ! " said I. " They 
 are not made to be used like adder stones or rowan 
 twigs. Study your Bible and Prayer-Book, confess 
 your sins, ask Divine protection, and then you will 
 not be afraid of the noises the wind makes in this 
 old pile." 
 
 " But, I can't ! " sobbed Wilson. ** I am not good 
 like you and Miss Leighton, and I have done so 
 many wicked things. Oh, I wish I had never left 
 my mother's cottage to wait on a great lady." 
 
 The poor thing was really hysterical, so I got her 
 to bed and sent her some lavender and sal volatile 
 by Mary Lee. She was well enough next day, and 
 I fear her penitence had vanished with her fears. 
 However, she was henceforth kind and respectful 
 to me, and did a good deal to make my life more 
 endurable, by checking the insolence of her fellow 
 gervants. 
 
Changes at Highbeck, \2^j 
 
 Lady Leighton's guests arrived in a day or two, 
 and I recognized among them several persons whom 
 I had seen in Mrs. Thorpe's shop. Lord Bulmer 
 did not present himself, but I heard from Mrs 
 Wilson, who told me more news than I cared to 
 hear, that he was expected — 
 
 "And worse luck, I say!" added Wilson. "I 
 wish he was a thousand miles away ! Miss Corbet " 
 she added, whispering in my ear, " do you tell Miss 
 Leighton to beware of him, and keep out of his way 
 yourseK. He is a bad wicked man. He has my 
 poor lady under his thumb, and will make her see 
 sorrow — " 
 
 " Hush ! " said I, interrupting her. " You must 
 not betray your lady's secrets." 
 
 The woman stared at me half amazed. 
 
 " I thought you would like to know ! " said she. 
 " I thought my lady was your enemy." 
 
 " She is not my friend, I fear ! " I answered. 
 " Nevertheless, I must do by her as I would be done 
 by. We have no right to return evil for evil, even 
 to our enemies, you know. If you knew any secrets 
 of mine, supposing I ever had any, I should not 
 like to have you tell them to my lady." 
 
 " I believe you really are good ! " said Wilson. 
 " My lady says you are a canting Methodist. Are 
 you ? Did you learn that among the Methodists ? " 
 
 " I learned it from the word of God ! " said I, 
 " where you may learn many things that will do you 
 good, in this world and the next. As to being a 
 Methodist, I do not know what that means. There, 
 
426 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 I think your distilling is going on all right now, — 
 for I had been helping her in the still room, where 
 she got into unheard of difficulties, and had nearly 
 blown herself up two or three times. Do not let 
 your still get too hot, and you will do very well." 
 
 " I am sure you are very kind to take so much 
 pains for me ! " said Mrs. Wilson. " But Miss 
 Corbet, it is on my conscience to tell you one thing 
 which I know, for certain — no matter how," she 
 added, putting her face close to mine. "Lord 
 Bulmer is determined to marry Miss Leighton, and 
 he will make my lady give her to him. As to Sir 
 Julius, he is just a mould of weak calves-foot jelly, 
 he will keep any shape you put him into, so long as 
 he is in it and no longer ! " 
 
 I retreated to my own room very much moved by 
 what I had hoard, and sat down to consider it. I 
 was alone, for Lady Leighton had kept Amabel 
 much with herself for the last few days, and seemed 
 to be trying to conciliate her. I thought over what 
 Wilson had told me, about her lady's being in the 
 power of Lord Bulmer, and I remembered, or 
 thought I did, that on the evening we had spent 
 with her, she had treated him quite differently from 
 the other young men who formed her court. What 
 hold could such a coxcomb have over this imperious 
 woman of fashion, accustomed to carry all before 
 her? Did she owe him money, or was he in posses- 
 sion of inconvenient knowledge ? 
 
 " Oh my soul, come not thou into their secret ! " 
 I said to myself. But supposing that Sir Julius 
 
Changes at Highheck, 427 
 
 and his lady were both against her, would Amabel 
 hold out ? Of that I had little fear. But would she 
 not, might she not, be forced into a marriage? 
 Such things were done I knew well enough. I had 
 heard of more instances than one. All things con- 
 sidered, I thought it but right to tell Amabel of 
 what I had heard, and the warning Wilson had 
 given me. I had no chance during the day, but at 
 lasi she came to our room looking pale and tired 
 eno.igh. Lady Leighton had said no more about 
 changing rooms with us, and indeed she seldom or 
 never came into our part of the house. Like many 
 other perfectly irreligious people, she was very 
 superstitious, would turn pale at the screech of an 
 owl, and be miserable a whole day, because she had 
 dreamed of a white horse, and I owed the only invi- 
 tation I had received since her arrival, to the fact 
 that there were thirteen people to sit down. 
 
 " Oh Lucy, how tired, how tired I am ! " said 
 Amabel, dropping wearily into a chair : " what 
 should I do, if I had not you to come back to ? " 
 
 "You would have a better Friend than poor 
 Lucy ! " I returned. " Come, let me loosen your 
 gown and stays, and make you comfortable. What 
 have you been doing to tire you so ? " 
 
 " It is not what I have done ! " said Amabel : " I 
 
 have walked out with my lady a little, but that did 
 
 not tire me. It is these people and their talk that 
 
 disgusts me. That rational beings can occupy 
 
 themselves in such ways, and that women who call 
 
 themselves ladies should listen to, and join in such 
 28 
 
4^8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 talk. Nobody is safe from their tongues — not those 
 they call their dearest friends. I wonder whether 
 it ever occurs to my lady, that these same people 
 talk of her in just the same way, behind her back.'* 
 
 " No doubt they do ! " I remarked : " You know 
 Mrs. Thorpe used to say, that a dog which would 
 fetch a bone would carry a bone. It was a homely 
 proverb, but I believe it is true." 
 
 " Then the everlasting trifling ! " resumed Ama- 
 bel — " the utter impatience of any thing like seri- 
 ousness, and worse, the making free with sacred 
 names and things. Mr. Dugdale must needs 
 address himself to me, with some ridiculous riddle 
 about St. Peter." 
 
 " And what did you say ? " I asked. 
 
 "I told him he must excuse me, for I did not 
 consider the sacred word as a theme for merry- 
 making and jesting. He had the grace to look a 
 little abashed." 
 
 " And what said my lady ? " 
 
 " Oh, she said — ' You must know, Mr. Dugdale, 
 that my daughter sets herself up for a precisian and 
 a saint ; but we shall soon cure her of that folly 
 when we get her to town.' And then, Lucy, she had 
 the cruelty and effrontery — ^yes, I will say it, if she 
 is my father's wife — to ask him if he had heard the 
 upshot of the affair between Mr. Cheriton and the 
 pretty milliner's daughter. Was he really going to 
 marry her? or was he only amusing himself? And 
 Mr. Dugdale answered with an oath, that Walter 
 Cheriton must be greatly changed since he knew 
 him, if he mixed up in any such affair as that." 
 
changes at Highheck, 429 
 
 "I am glad the young man had that grace at 
 least!" said I: "But Amabel, you will not let 
 such idle talk disturb you, will you ? " 
 
 " I will not let it shake my faith in Walter, for 
 the tenth part of a moment, if that is what you 
 mean ! " said Amabel, raising her proud head as in 
 defiance. "And then that Mr. Trimble, the new 
 chaplain, must needs say, that every one knew how 
 Cheriton was using his power over the poor people, 
 and that old Wesley was just the same. And I had 
 to sit by, and hear it all." 
 
 " Poor child ! " said I devoutly, hoping this might 
 be the worst that Amabel would have to bear. 
 " But now listen to me, darling, I have something 
 to tell you ; " and I imparted to her Mrs. Wilson's 
 news about Lord Bulmer. 
 
 " I have feared as much from some hints that my 
 lady has let fall ! " said Amabel : " but I will 
 never consent. I have told my father that I will 
 not marry Walter against his will, at least till I am 
 of age ; but I will never wed any one else — no, not 
 if they drag me before the priest. I have made up 
 my mind to that. I will flee to my aunt in Scot- 
 land, or perish on the hills before I will marry any 
 one but Walter Cheriton." 
 
 " It may not be so easy to flee ! " I suggested. 
 
 Amabel smiled. 
 
 "I know this old house, better than my lady 
 does ! " said she. " I have explored it too well, not 
 to kjiow that there is hardly a room which has not 
 more entrances than one. Have you forgotten the 
 ghost's room, and the secret stair, Lucy ? " 
 
430 The Foster-Sister^. 
 
 " But suppose my lady changes the rooms ? ** 
 
 " I believe there is no danger of that at present. 
 But Lucy, let us not borrow trouble, we know wIiq 
 has promised to care for us, and He will surely per- 
 form His word, though not perhaps in our way. 
 Let us go to our reading and settle our minds in 
 that way. There is no other." 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and in the evening 
 occurred the first distinct collision between my lady 
 and Amabel. We had all gone to church in the 
 morning, filling the great family pew where Amabel 
 and I had been used to sit with Mrs. Deborah. I 
 was about to enter it as usual, when my lady in a 
 voice which could be heard all over the church, 
 haughtily ordered me to take my place with the ser- 
 vants where I belonged. I knew that the little gal- 
 lery was already crowded rather more than was safe, 
 and was about to sit down on one of the free seats, 
 when Mrs. Deborah opened the door of the rectory 
 pew where she was sitting, for me. Whether my 
 lady saw it or not I do not know, at any rate she 
 thought it best to make no disturbance. I saw a 
 good many flashing eyes among the poorer folk, for 
 Northumbrians are very independent in their feel- 
 ings, and by no means endued with that slavish 
 reverence far " the quality," which is found in the 
 East and South; and I was decidedly a favorite 
 among the villagers. 
 
 I was glad to see that Mr. Lethbridge was not in 
 the least disturbed by the presence of so many dis- 
 tinguished strangers. He read the service in his 
 
Changes at Highbeck, 431 
 
 usual solemn way, for though he was not what could 
 be called a good reader, he was impressive by his 
 evident sincerity. His text was " Be sure your sin 
 will find you out ! " and he spared nothing in en- 
 forcing it, though my lady yawned, whispered, and 
 all but laughed aloud, as did several others of her 
 company. I was glad to see that Mr. Dugdale and 
 his sister took no part in these performances, but 
 withdrew themselves into a corner and listened with 
 respect at least. 
 
 My lady treated Mrs. Deborah to a swimming 
 courtesy after service, which Mrs. Deborah re- 
 turned with a dignified salute, and that was all 
 which passed between them in church. As soon as 
 she reached the porch, my lady called me sharply 
 to her — 
 
 " Corbet, why did not you take your proper place 
 as I told you ? '' 
 
 " The gallery was already crowded, my lady ! " I 
 answered, " and it is not considered altogether safe. 
 It has not been used for some years." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Deborah's clear voice broke 
 in — 
 
 " I shall take it as a favor, madam, if you will 
 allow my niece Corbet to sit with me in church as 
 she has always been used to do. She is of course 
 entitled to the pew which belongs to her father's 
 estate — that next your own, but as it is not agreea- 
 ble for a young gentlewoman to sit alone, I shall be 
 obliged if you will give me her company." 
 
 Ladj Lei^hton turned her eyes on Mrs. Deborah 
 
432 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 and tried to stare her down, but it would not do,— 
 Mrs. Deborah was more than her match. Every 
 one had heard her words and the visitors were ex- 
 changing glances of amusement. She tried to give 
 the matter another turn. 
 
 " Certainly, Mrs. Deborah. It shall be as you 
 please — I was not aware that the young person was 
 an acknowledged relative of the family, though I 
 had heard there was some connection. Shall we 
 not see you at the hall, Mrs. Deborah ?" 
 
 " I shall do myself the honor of calling when my 
 brother returns!" was the answer, with another 
 stately salute — and the two ladies separated. 
 
 I dined in the housekeeper's room, and found my- 
 self tFeated with more than her usual respect by 
 Mrs. Wilson. She even rebuked one of the men 
 sharply, for presuming to make fun of the sermon. 
 The man stared, and asked Mrs. Wilson if she were 
 turning Methodist. 
 
 " Methodist or not, I will be mistress at my own 
 table ! " answered the housekeeper ; " and I will 
 have you to know that, John Davis." 
 
 The man answered sulkily that he meant no 
 harm. It was no more than his betters did. 
 
 "Aye, you must all ape your betters, though they 
 were riding post-haste to perdition ! " said Mrs, 
 Wilson ; and there the matter ended. 
 
 That evening, I was alone in our bed room. My 
 lady had taken the little red parlor for her own 
 use, so I had no other place. I was sitting by the 
 open window trying to compose my spirits with 
 
Changes at Highheck, 433 
 
 reading Mr. Law's Serious Call, which was, and is, 
 a great favorite of mine, till it grew too dark to 
 read, when I began singing softly to myself my 
 favorite song from the Messiah. I had not finished 
 it when Amabel entered the room. 
 
 " All in the dark ! " said she. 
 
 " I did not expect you so early," was my answer, 
 " and the twilight is so sweet, I do not like to shut it 
 out. But how did you contrive to escape so soon ? " 
 
 " I was sent away in disgrace," was her reply. 
 " My lady all but boxed my ears ! " 
 
 " Why, what was the matter ? " 
 
 " The matter was this. I had sat quietly in my 
 corner, taking no part in what was going on, but 
 talking with Miss Dugdale about our old convent 
 life in France. She seems a nice modest young 
 lady, and I wonder her mother should trust her 
 here by herself. However, we were talking quietly, 
 as I said, when my lady came up and asked me if I 
 knew how to play piquet. You know we learned it 
 of Mr. Thicknesse, so I could not say no. ' Come 
 then ! ' said my lady, ' here is Mr. Merton wishes 
 to play. Sit down and play with him, and I will 
 look on and learn.' She spoke quite kindly, and 
 as I know a great many people do play cards on 
 Sunday, I expected no scene, but simply asked her 
 to excuse me. ' But why ? Why should you not 
 afford Mr. Merton that pleasure ? ' she asked. I 
 told her that I could not play cards on the Lord's 
 day — ^it was against my conscience. With that she 
 laughed scornfully — ^you know her way — and said 
 
434 ^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 that since my conscience allowed me to join such 
 an assembly at all, it need not be so particular as to 
 what I did there. And she was so far right, Lucy. 
 I had no business there, and nothing shall take me 
 there on a Sunday niglit again. I told her that if 
 she would permit me I would leave the room, and 
 Mr. Merton said very politely, ' Pray don't force 
 Miss Leighton's conscience, madam, anothe rtime, 
 perhaps, she will oblige me.' But my lady would 
 not give up the point, and she must needs call in 
 the chaplain, who talked about the danger of being 
 righteous over much, and said only Methodists and 
 fanatics indulged in such fancies. Then my lady 
 assumed the imperious, and ordered me to sit down 
 instantly, and I told her she must excuse me, 
 whereat, she ordered me out of the room, and here 
 I am." 
 
 " I hope you may hear no more of it ! " said I. 
 " If I read my lady aright, she will never forgive 
 anyone who refuses to yield to her." 
 
 " I cannot help it, Lucy. Where my conscience is 
 not concerned — where there is no question of right 
 and wrong — I will give way to her in all things, as 
 I have done already, in leaving off my mourning. 
 But when I see things to be wrong or even doubtful 
 I must forbear them whatever it costs." 
 
 I was right in thinking that Amabel had not 
 heard the last of the matter. That very night my 
 lady came to our room, and after berating Amabel 
 in no measured terms — ^for fine ladies of that day 
 used to scold and call names like fish-wives, actually 
 
Changes at Highbeck, 435 
 
 forgot herself so far as to box her ears. If there 
 had been a weapon in my hand at that moment, I 
 do believe I should have killed her. I sprang for- 
 ward, but Amabel put her hand on my arm to check 
 me, while she stood looking Lady Leighton straight 
 in the face, white as marble and as firm. 
 
 "Well, then, I did not mean to cuff you, though 
 you richly deserve it," said my lady, feeling, I sup- 
 pose, that she had put herself in an awkward posi- 
 tion. "I am quite ready to overlook your silly and 
 impertinent conduct this evening, so you promise to 
 obey me in future." 
 
 " I have already said, madam, that I will obey you 
 in all matters not of conscience," replied Amabel. 
 
 "Which means that you will only take your own 
 way when you want it," was the reply. "We shall 
 see who is to be mistress in this house. As for you, 
 Corbet," turning to me, "you will do your young 
 lady no service by abetting her rebellion, I can tell 
 you that, nor yourself either. I chose to pass over 
 your conduct this morning, because I did not wish 
 to make a scene in a public place, and with a childish 
 old woman, but I can tell you I shall allow no rebel- 
 lion, however it may be abetted. It would take very 
 little to make me send you a packing, and this inso- 
 lent girl to a boarding-school, where she will learn 
 to do what she is bid without appealing to her 
 conscience." 
 
 I simply courtesied. I have always found silence 
 the best armor in dealing with violent people. 
 "As to you, Miss Leighton, your father is coming 
 
43^ I'he Foster-Sisters. 
 
 in a short time, and we shall then see who is to be 
 Lady Paramount. I repeat once more that I will 
 send your favorite woman adrift and yourself where 
 you will learn obedience by the hardest if I see any 
 more of these airs from either of you." 
 
 With this she quitted the room. 
 
 "Well, we have learned something !" said Amabel. 
 "We know that my father is coming." 
 
 " Much good he will do," was on my lips, but I did 
 not say it. I bathed Amabel's heated cheek with 
 elder-flower water, for my lady had struck in good 
 earnest, and I was afraid her fingers would leave a 
 black mark. I think she herself was scared at what 
 she had done, for she was all sunshine and sweetness 
 the next day — even to me. She happened to hear 
 me singing over my work, and was so much pleased 
 with my voice as to ask, or rather command me, to 
 come and sing for the entertainment of her company 
 that evening. I was not sorry to oblige her, and 
 received many compliments on my performance. 
 After this for a time we had fair weather at the Hall. 
 I was frequently called on to sing alone, or in com- 
 pany with Amabel and young Mr. Dugdale, a simple 
 young gentlemen, knowing a great deal about music 
 and china, and a very little about any thing else. 
 My lady was all honey to me, and even made me a 
 present of some lace — small thanks to her. She 
 intimated to me very clearly that she could make or 
 mar my fortunes accordingly as I served her. I 
 wanted none of her making, and, indeed, my greatest 
 fear was that she should find out a match for me. 
 
Changes at Highbeck. 437 
 
 However, I was willing, for AmabeFs sake, to be on 
 good terms with her. 
 
 The next Sunday no one went to church but Am- 
 abel and myself, and Mr. Dugdale and his sister. 
 We had a quiet, pleasant walk home, conversing on 
 serious subjects, and Mr. Dugdale showed a little 
 better side to his character than I had yet seen. As 
 we reached the Hall door he asked Amabel if he 
 should see her in the saloon that evening. 
 
 "No, sir!" answered Amabel. "My lady has 
 kindly promised to excuse me." 
 
 " Then, perhaps— perhaps — ^" said the young gen- 
 tleman, stammering between bashfulness and earnest- 
 ness. "Perhaps you will allow -my Sister Chatty to 
 spend the evening with you." 
 
 "Please do, Miss Leighton," added Chatty. 
 
 "You see, though I have a great regard for my 
 lady, and — and — all that," pursued Mr. Dugdale, 
 "yet Chatty is young, and she has no mother to 
 direct her, poor thing, and I am a man of the world, 
 you know, but Chatty isn't, and — really, you know, 
 I do think, young ladies — you understand — '* 
 
 If we did understand it was no thanks to him, 
 poor young man, but of course one could not refuse 
 such a request. Chatty spent the evening with us, 
 and we had a very quiet, profitable time reading the 
 Bible, singing, and talking. Chatty was a nice, 
 modest, sensible young girl, who had a bias to good 
 given her in her childhood by her mother. She was 
 glad to talk of that mother, and to have her lessons 
 recalled. Siie has since married well, ajid makes an 
 
I 
 
 438 The Foster- Sisters. 
 
 excellent and happy wife and mother, with a great 
 family of daughters, one of whom is my namesake. 
 The next day we saw the arrival of a groom on 
 horseback with letters to my lady, and learned that 
 Sir Julius was expected to arrive before evening. 
 
CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH. 
 
 B, JULIUS arrived sure enough, and with 
 him Lord Bulmer, and another gentleman 
 whom I did not know, but who was pre- 
 sented to Amabel as Captain Dangerfield. The mo- 
 ment I saw this man T conceived an intense aversion 
 to him, as if I had had a premonition of what he 
 had come for. He was rather handsome — indeed, I 
 think most people would have called him very hand- 
 some — but his style of face was one which I always 
 distrust. He had rather a high, round head, with 
 wavy hair growing well back from his forehead, 
 eyes at once black and shallow, and opening very 
 widely up and down, and eye-brows highly arched. 
 [ could judge nothing of the shape of his mouth, 
 for he wore a heavy moustache, having been, it was 
 understood, in the imperial service. 
 
 Sir Julius was very gracious to Amabel, and 
 hardly less so to myself. He seemed surprised at 
 ^he position in which he found me, and meeting me 
 after supper asked me why I had not been to the 
 table. I told him the simple truth — namely, that 
 my lady had ordered me to take my meals in the 
 
 (439) 
 
440 T^he Foster-Sisters. 
 
 housekeeper's room, whereat he muttered some- 
 thing, and seemed greatly disconcerted. I fancy 
 he and his wife had some words about the matter, 
 and that she judged it best to give way ; for the 
 next day my lady sent for me, and ordered rather 
 than invited me to take my meals with the family 
 as usual. 
 
 It was evident from the very first, that Lord 
 Bulmer had come as Amabel's suitor. He lost 
 no opportunity of appearing in that character, 
 and fretted her constantly by his assiduous atten- 
 tions. She on her part was barely and distantly 
 civil, gave him the coldest and shortest answers, 
 refused his attentions whenever it was possible, and 
 took no more notice of his compliments than the 
 picture of her grandmother in the saloon would 
 have done. She kept me close by her side on all 
 occasions, and in short gave his lordship clearly to 
 understand that he was utterly disagreeable to 
 lier. 
 
 I am not sure that this was good policy on Ama- 
 bel's part. Lord Bulmer was so accustomed to 
 conquer wherever he went, so used to being courted 
 instead of courting (for he was esteemed the great- 
 est match in the country), that this decided opposi- 
 tion on Amabel's part put him on his mettle, and 
 made him determined to conquer her aversion and 
 win her regard. I do think he loved her, sc far 
 as his base and sensual nature was capable of lov- 
 ing anything. 
 
 As for my lady, I did not know how to under- 
 
News from the North, 441 
 
 stand her. She seemed at once to be jealous of 
 Lord Bulmer's attentions to her step-daughter, and 
 desirous of forwarding his suit. At the very time 
 she contrived to have the two tSte-art^te, by calling 
 me to her side, I have seen her look at them, as 
 though she would like to kill both of them. Mean- 
 time she filled the house with guests — ^mostly gen- 
 tlemen — ^till there was not a spare corner, except 
 the ghost rooms and the apartments known as the 
 King's chamber. I think that she would have laid 
 violent hands on these, only that when she spoke of 
 having them put in order the servants, with Wilson 
 at their head, declared they would leave the house 
 at once, if the door was so much as opened. I knew 
 there was no particular danger of such a catastro- 
 phe, from the simple fact that Mrs. Deborah had 
 carried off with her the keys to that part of the 
 house. There was no way of entering the ghostly 
 rooms, for even the door which opened from our 
 room had been fastened on the other side. So the 
 guests were accommodated wherever a place could 
 be found for them, and the shut-up rooms remained 
 shut up still. There were a great many people 
 coming and going, and, as I could not but observe, 
 arriving very frequently in the night. There was 
 much whispering in corners, and reading and writ- 
 ing of letters, and white flowers and ribbons were 
 paraded upon all occasions. Only Amabel would 
 wear none but red flowers and ribbons, though they 
 were not especially becoming to her, and when one 
 day my lord presented her with a basket of beauti- 
 
442 The Foster- Sisters. 
 
 ful exotics which he had caused to be sent from his 
 own famous hot-hoases, she remarked carelessly 
 that she did not like white flowers, and gave them 
 to Chatty Dugdale, who appeared in them at dinner 
 to my lord's evident mortification. 
 
 " So you would not honor my poor flowers ! " I 
 heard him say to her afterwards. 
 
 "I told you I did not like white flowers!" she 
 answered. "I beg you will put yourseK to no 
 more trouble on my account." 
 
 His lordship's eyes blazed with anger, but he only 
 bowed and turned away. 
 
 The next day news arrived which made every 
 one open their eyes. The Pretender, whose landing 
 in Moidart in July with but seven men at his back 
 had been rumored but hardly believed, had put him- 
 self at the head of the Highland clans, and eluding 
 the vigilance and skill of General Cope (no great 
 feat if all tales were true), had actually entered 
 Edinburgh in triumph, and was holding his court 
 there. There was no bound to the exultation at 
 the Hall when this news arrived. Sir Julius 
 ordered a distribution of beef and ale to all the ten- 
 ants, and a grand banquet was prepared at the Hall 
 to which all the neighboring gentry were invited. 
 But I noticed that very few of them came, and of 
 the families who accepted the invitation, only the 
 gentlemen were present. In fact, scarcely any 
 ladies of what might be called the county families 
 had visited Lady Leighton at all. The table was 
 not half filled. Sir Julius' brow darkened omin- 
 
News from the Noftk. 443 
 
 /usly, as he looked on the vacant seats, and when 
 fche toast was proposed of " health to the rightful 
 king and confusion to usurpers," it was not received 
 with any great degree of enthusiasm. 
 
 In the year 1715, the gentry of Northumberland 
 had risen almost as one man to support the cause 
 of James Stewart, or the old Pretender, as the 
 Loyalists called him. But a new generation had 
 arisen since then. People who remembered " the 
 fifteen " had also a vivid recollection of the hang- 
 ings and confiscations which followed it, and had 
 no mind to run the same risks again. Others were 
 content to see things remain as they were. The 
 race of non-juring clergymen, who had done a great 
 deal to keep alive the flame of devotion to the 
 Stewart family, was dying out, and only here or 
 there was one to be found. It was observed after- 
 ward, in the march to Derby, that the proclamation 
 of King James in the towns through which the 
 army passed excited no more enthusiasm or curi- 
 osity than would have been produced by the adver- 
 tisement of a quack doctor.* 
 
 The ill success of his political banquet did not 
 tend to put Sir Julius in any better humor than he 
 was before. Neither did the fact that on the follow- 
 ing Sunday, Mr. Lethbridge preached a really fine 
 and eloquent sermon on the duty of resistance to 
 rebellion and faithfulness to the existing govern- 
 ment. His usually slow and I must say tedious 
 delivery waxed nervous and decided, as he warned 
 
 * See Duncan Forbes, or any memoir of the time. 
 29 
 
444 '^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 his hparers agampt being led into treasonable prac- 
 tises by false rP)L)re.«ontations. Sir Julius, who had 
 cojne to church, I suppose in compliment to his 
 wife, looked furious. Lady Leighton yawned, 
 laughed and chatted all but aloud with the gentle- 
 men who sat by her. Lord Bulmer whispered 
 something to Amabel, but was met by a look which 
 silenced even him. I could not forbear peeping at 
 Aunt Deborah. She seemed as if she did not 
 know whether to be angry with the preacher for his 
 doctrine or pleased at his vexing her sister-in-law. 
 Indeed, I could not help thinking that Mrs. Deb- 
 orah's loyalty toward James Stewart had cooled 
 considerably, since she had learned that Lady 
 Leighton espoused his cause so warmly. 
 
 The next morning, I was sitting with Amabel in 
 our own bedroom, when Lady Leighton's woman 
 tapped at the door, with a summons. Miss Leigh- 
 ton, was to attend her father and mother in the 
 library. 
 
 "The time of trial is at hand!" said Amabel, 
 turning to me, after she had sent a message, that 
 she would come at once. " Pray for me, Lucy ! " 
 
 " Dear Amabel, you won't give way ! " said I. 
 " Indeed, I would not urge you, but I know this 
 Lord Bulmer is a wicked man, and will make you 
 miserable." 
 
 "If he were the best man in the world, it would 
 make no difference to me ! " replied Amabel. " My 
 love, such as I had, is given away, and J cannot 
 call it back." 
 
News from the North. 445 
 
 " But what will you say ! " I asked, detaining her, 
 as she bent to kiss me. 
 
 " I shall see, when the time comes. There is no 
 use in planning before hand. Let me go, dear. I 
 must not keep them waiting, and since it must 
 come, the sooner it is over the better." 
 
 This was just the difference between Amabel 
 and me. She, as I have said before, hardly ever 
 made a plan, and I was always making them, and 
 then finding out that they were of no avail, and that 
 I had after all to depend on the impulse or direction 
 of the minute. 
 
 I threw myself on my knees and prayed most 
 earnestly, that my darling might be supported and 
 stayed up in the deep waters through which she was 
 called to pass, and then feeling somewhat comforted, 
 I set myself to cheat the moments of anxiety by 
 planning and cutting a little coat out of an old 
 gown of Mrs. Philippa's for Mary Thornaby, who 
 was just about short-coating her first baby. I had 
 the little garment well under way before AmabePs 
 Btep was heard in the gallery. I sprang up to meet 
 her. She was very pale and looked ready to drop 
 with fatigue, and as I caught her in my arms she 
 laid her head on my neck, and wept long and bitter- 
 ly. I let the tears have their way, thinking they 
 would relieve her oppressed sprits. At last she 
 quieted herself and then told me all about it. 
 
 " I found my father and his wife sitting in the 
 library, and Lord Bulmer standing behind my 
 lady's chair. He made me a deep reverence as he 
 
44^ The Foster- Sisters, 
 
 came in, but I only courtesied in general and would 
 not look at him." 
 
 " Amabel ! " my father began, and then he hesita- 
 ted and looked at his wife. Then as she declined 
 to help him out, he began again: "Amabel, your 
 father and mother have sent for you to inform you 
 of something which will be greatly to your advan- 
 tage, and they hope to find in you an obedient and 
 grateful daugliter." 
 
 I did not see anything in this which called for an 
 answer, so I courtesied again, whereat my father 
 said — I would say peevishly, but that he is my father 
 " Oh, courtesying is all very well, but we want an 
 answer in words ! " 
 
 "To what, sir?" I asked— 
 
 "To this, Miss Leighton!" replied my lady, 
 speaking suddenly and sharply. Lucy she is as 
 like the wolf woman as one pea is like another — 
 " Your father has received an offer for you from a 
 worthy gentleman far beyond your desert or degree." 
 
 " Not so, and it please you madam ! " said my 
 lord, making another bow ; " Nothing can be above 
 Miss Leighton's deserts. Say from the humblest of 
 her slaves, who has never before seen a lady so worthy 
 ol his devotion, and whose whole life shall be one 
 study to promote her happiness." 
 
 My lady smiled strangely, while her eyes shot fire 
 in their curious fashion. 
 
 " You plead your cause so well, my lord, that I 
 might spape my pains. In one word, Amabel, my 
 Lord Bulmer has made proposals for your hand, and 
 it is your father's will and wish — " 
 
News from the North, 447 
 
 " And your's also, I trust, madam ! " interrupted 
 my lord, in a tone of deferential anxiety. " I can 
 ill want the good wishes of so old a friend ! " 
 
 '* And my own of course," said my lady, biting her 
 red lip and frowning — " that you should accept his 
 proposals, and as the times are something disturbed 
 and your father may be called away, we intend that 
 the marriage should take place immediately. You 
 may now withdraw." 
 
 " Stay a moment, my lady ! " said Lord Bulmer. 
 "Let me haye the pleasure of learning from my 
 birdie's own sweet mouth that I am accepted." 
 
 " You hear what my lord says ! " said my lady, 
 and again it seemed as though she spoke by con- 
 straint. " What have you to answer ? " 
 
 "Only this, madam!" I answered, being now 
 constrained to speak. "I have already told my 
 father that I will not marry without his consent, at 
 least until I am of age. But I have already given 
 my affection to a worthy man with his full concur- 
 rence, and I will never wed another. In any other 
 matter, I am ready to yield to my father's wishes. 
 In this I cannot do so. It is simply impossible." 
 
 My father looked confused enough for a moment. 
 
 " May I ask who is the happy man ?" asked my 
 lord. 
 
 " Our daughter refers to a childish entanglement 
 with a person in Newcastle," said my lady — "that 
 Mr. Cheriton who has so strangely disgraced himseK 
 of late." 
 
 "Oh! the Methodist parson who had the adventure 
 
14^ The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 with the pretty milliner !" said my lord, sneeringly. 
 " I should like to meet this irresistible apostle." 
 
 "You have already met him, my lord," I could not 
 help saying. "I had myself the pleasure of wit- 
 nessing your encounter in front of Mrs. Thorpe's 
 shop." 
 
 My lord had the grace to look a little ashamed of 
 himself. 
 
 "This is all folly, Amabel," said my father, 
 shortly. "I will hear no more of it. You must 
 make up your mind to accept Lord Bulmer, and that 
 speedily." And then he condescended to argue with 
 me, and tell me of my lord's wealth, and the settle- 
 ments he was prepared to make, and wondered I could 
 hesitate between two such men. 
 
 " I do not hesitate, sir," I answered. " My choice 
 is made long since." 
 
 "And you will be so mean spirited as to cling to 
 tiis parson of yours, even while he is intriguing 
 with all sorts of people," said my lady. 
 
 "That I do not believe, asking your pardon, 
 madam," said I ; " but since you will push me to the 
 wall, I must needs say that if there were not another 
 man in the world I would never marry Lord 
 Bulmer." 
 
 " But you shall marry him !" said Sir Julius, and 
 he added, " Lucy — I will not repeat his words." 
 
 "What do you expect, Sir Julius, when you allow 
 your daughter such a companion ?" said my lady. 
 That insolent girl, Lucy Corbet, abets her in her 
 rebellion, and your own sister acts as a go-between." 
 
News from the North. 449 
 
 "We shall soon settle that by giving Lucy Corbet 
 business enough of her own to attend to," answered 
 Sir Julius, and then he bade me go to my room and 
 not leave it till I was prepared to do my father's 
 will. So here I am a prisoner, and if I may but 
 have you for my jailer I do not care for how long." 
 
 "I am glad you were firm," said I, " though it is 
 a cruel necessity which makes a young girl stand 
 out against her father." 
 
 " It is not my father but his wife," answered Am- 
 abel. " Only for her I believe he would never have 
 turned against Walter. Oh Lucy, how could he 
 marry such a woman ? And what is the strange 
 power which Lord Buhner has over her ?" 
 
 " Perhaps she wished to marry him herself and 
 could not succeed," said I. "I believe that what 
 Wilson told me is true, and that she is under his 
 thumb. But what means your father's remark 
 about me ?" 
 
 " Perhaps he has a match prepared for you, also," 
 answered Amabel. "I have had my suspicions of 
 that Captain Dangerfield." 
 
 "That is a match which will never take fire," 
 said I. 
 
 I suppose Sir Julius thought better of the matter, 
 for Amabel was sent for to supper. She told me 
 when she returned that Lord Bulmer had hardly 
 spoken to her or noticed her, but had devoted him- 
 self entirely to Mrs. Wardlaw, a very showy young 
 widow, who had come on a visit from Newcastle. 
 
 " She was delighted, of course," said I. 
 
45 o The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " She seemed so, certainly. Such airs as she put 
 on — twisting her head, and rolling her eyes, and 
 turning about those white hands of hers." 
 
 " She would be pretty if she could ever let herself 
 alone," said I ; " but I don't admire her ways. She 
 seems as though she could not be happy without the 
 attention of every man within reach. But what did 
 you do all the evening?" 
 
 "Oh, I sat in the corner and taught Miss Dugdale 
 how to make daisy trimming, and Mr. Dugdale enter- 
 tained us with tales of his school and college days. 
 Poor little lad ! what a pity he should have an ambi- 
 tion to be considered a man of the world !" 
 
 The next morning Amabel was invited, or rather 
 commanded, to attend her step-mother in her dress- 
 ing-room, and I took the opportunity of walking over 
 to see Mrs. Deborah. I found her opening a package 
 she had received from Newcastle. 
 
 "You are just in time, Niece Corbet," said she. 
 " Here are a letter and a parcel for you from good 
 Mrs. Thorpe. But before you read tell me the news 
 at the Hall. Is it true, as the rumor goes, that Am- 
 abel is to marry this fine Lord Bulmer ?" 
 
 " She will never marry him unless she is absolutely 
 forced to do so, Aunt Deborah," I answered. " She 
 says that she would not wed him if there were not 
 another man in the world." 
 
 "And you think she is right, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes, madam, I cannot but think so," I answered. 
 " To marry one man while she loves another would 
 be flat perjury, in my opinion." 
 
News from the North. 451 
 
 "But suppose the one she loves to be iinwortliy." 
 
 " That may be a reason for refusing him, but not 
 for marrying another." 
 
 "Well, child, you may be right for aught I know,'" 
 said Mrs. Deborah, sighing. "I am glad, at least, 
 that we are assured there will be no marrying ot 
 giving in marriage in the next world, for I think that 
 same marrying makes most of the trouble in this." 
 
 " Then if my lady makes up a match for me and 
 T refuse it, you will take me in, won't you. Aunt 
 D jlorahr" I ventured to ask. 
 
 " Yes, child, you shall never want a home while I 
 have one. But do you know whether my brother 
 has any news from Edinburg ? " 
 
 "I have heard of nothing new, madam. The 
 prince has his court there and keeps possession of 
 the city, but the castle holds out against him as 
 does Sterling. It is also said that he intends to 
 march into England, before long." 
 
 " I hear as much in my letters from Newcastle, 
 and also that the citizens are very busy strengthen- 
 ing the defences and levying soldiers. By the way, 
 Mr. Wesley is there and has made himself con- 
 spicuous by getting up a loyal address to the King. 
 I should say the Elector of Hanover. You do not 
 know whether my brother intends to join the 
 prince ?" 
 
 " No, Aunt Deborah, not for certain, though I 
 believe my lady is very earnest to have him do so." 
 
 " I dare say. Anything to take him out of the 
 way ! " muttered Aunt Deborah. 
 
452 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " Would you not wish to have Sir Julius join the 
 prihce, Aunt Deborah ?" 
 
 Mrs. Deborah paused before she answered. 
 
 " I ought to wish it ! " said she. " Our house has 
 always been loyal to the rightful line, and yet — child, 
 I do not know what to say. When I think of tliis 
 gallant young prince, and the stock from which he 
 is sprung, I feel as if I could risk anything to set 
 him on the throne of his fathers. And then on the 
 other side, when I think of a civil war and all the 
 horrors it brings in its train, it seems as if anything 
 must be better than that. You say my lady is 
 desirous of having Sir Julius go north ! " 
 
 " I am not so certain about that, madam, but 
 there is no doubt of her loyalty to the prince. She 
 wears no ribbons but white. She is very busy mak- 
 ing of white favors and cockades, and receives 
 letters from the north every day. I believe she 
 would like to go to Edinburg herself." 
 
 Mrs. Deborah muttered something which I did 
 not hear, and then asked me why I did not open my 
 parcel. I was only waiting her leave to do so and 
 availed myself of it with all speed. It contained a 
 letter from Mrs. Thorpe, enclosing quite a large 
 packet, post marked Exeter, and sealed with black. 
 I guessed at once what had happened. My kind 
 old kinsman was dead. 
 
 So it proved. Mr. Carey, Captain Corbet's lawyer 
 in Exeter, had written to that effect, and not know- 
 ing my exact direction had sent the letter to Mrs. 
 Thorpe's care. Captain Corbet had died at home 
 
News from the North. 45 3 
 
 in his own bed, at the Wells House, as it v/as called, 
 in Cornwall, and with the exception of some lega- 
 cies, had left me all his property, which amounted, 
 taking one thing with another, to about three hun- 
 dred a year — perhaps more. I was to enjoy one- 
 third of this income till I came of age, and the 
 whole of it till I was twenty-five, after which the 
 property was mine own, and was to be settled upon 
 me in case of my marrying. If however, I wedded 
 any one but a loyal subject of the present govern- 
 ment, the whole was to go to a certain orphan school, 
 not far from Exeter. 
 
 I could not but shed some tears for the kind old 
 man who had come so far to see me. I had always 
 thought of him, as a friend and dependence. Mr. 
 Carey wrote very kindly, saying that he would take 
 every care of my interest, and that if I wished it I 
 could come to him at once and be a guest in his 
 family, for as long a time as I found it convenient. 
 His wife added a marvelously ill spelled but very 
 kind note to her husband's. I should say that Mr. 
 Carey was appointed my guardian or trustee, — I don't 
 now remember the proper term. He enclosed me a 
 sum of money — fifty pounds I think, to provide 
 myself with mourning and for any other occasions. 
 I was very glad of this supply, for I had very little 
 left, and I thought I might need it. My mourning 
 was already to my hand. Mrs. Thorpe wrote a 
 good deal of Newcastle news — ^for she was a very 
 fluent pen woman. She told me how the walls 
 were being fortified, and how loyal all the people 
 
454 ^^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 were — liow Mr. Wesley preached to the soldiers, 
 and that with the approval of their officers, and 
 how Mr. Cheriton assisted him. She said that Mr. 
 Cheriton was thinner and graver than his wont, but 
 worked harder than ever among the poor. 
 
 " Don't believe one word you hear against him ! " 
 wrote the good woman. " He has been slandered 
 as others have been for the same reason, and my 
 mind misgives me that Miss Leighton will have 
 enough of these tales poured into her ear; but there 
 is not one word of truth in them. Never was any 
 man more careful of giving occasion for evil speak- 
 ing than he." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe told me a great deal more, as to how 
 the people were busy with the defences of the town 
 — ^how active Mr. Wesley had been in promotmg 
 loyal addresses, and how he had preached again 
 and again, now in St. Anne's church, the only one 
 opened to him,* now at the Sandgate, to the lowest 
 of the people, and again to the soldiers and officers 
 at the camp, being listened to everywhere with 
 great attention. How Mr. Cheriton, though he did 
 not hold with him in all things, yet sought his 
 advice and looked up to him as a father. I could 
 see that a great change had taken place in Mrs. 
 Thorpe's feelings toward the Methodists. 
 
 " I had news of an old friend of yours by Mr. 
 Wesley ! " she added, in conclusion. " He tells me 
 that the French gentleman, who came over with us, 
 
 * I do not know tfeat in fact any church was ever opened to 
 Mr. We»ley in Newcastle. L. E. G 
 
News from the North. 455 
 
 Father Brousseau, has become a Protestant, and 
 means, if possible, to take orders in the Church of 
 England." 
 
 Here was a budget of news, indeed, and I was in 
 haste to carry it to Amabel. I took my leave of 
 Aunt Deborah, not thinking how soon I was to see 
 her again, and hastened homeward. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 • A HASTY REMOVAL. 
 
 HAD taken a short cut across the park in 
 my hurry, but, as so often happens, my 
 more haste turned out worse speed, for I 
 got among the springs and had to go back. I knew 
 there was a path higher up on the hill-side, leading 
 through a very quiet and sequestered part of the 
 domain, and crossing the beck by a little stone foot- 
 bridge. I struck into this path and following it I 
 came out on a level spot of ground surrounded on 
 all sides by high trees, where was a little pavilion 
 half in ruins. The place had no very good name, 
 being tenanted by some of the numerous bogeys 
 with which the place abounded. I was therefore 
 the more surprised to hear voices from the interior, 
 and to recognize one of these voices as Lord Bul- 
 mer's. I hesitated a moment what to do. The 
 path ran close under the window, which however 
 was raised a good deal on this side, and as the 
 ground was soft, and the shade very deep, I thought 
 I might slip by unperceived. Just as I came under 
 the window, I heard Lord Bulmer say — 
 
 "Let him alone— let him alone. Let my lady 
 
 (450) 
 
A Hasty Removal, 457 
 
 manage ; she will give him no rest till she gets him 
 away to Edinburgh, and then she will take matters 
 into her own hands." 
 
 " And your lurdship will not forget to put in a 
 word for me ! " said another voice which I did not 
 know for the moment. 
 
 " No, no ! you shall have your black-eyed damsel, 
 Dangerfield. 'Tis a pretty creature, too — far more 
 attractive to my eye than yonder statue of snow." 
 
 I did not wait to hear more, but stole past the 
 window and, once within the shadow of the wood, I 
 ran like a hare till I reached the neighborhood of 
 the gardens. As ill-luck would have it, I met my 
 lady face to face in the gallery. 
 
 " So, girl, you have been playing truant ! " said 
 she: "I have been sending to seek you every- 
 where." 
 
 " No, madam ! " I answered respectfully, for 1 
 always strove to act in such a way as to give her 
 no handle against me. " Miss Leighton gave me 
 leave to go out, and I have been to see Mrs. Debo- 
 rah and the old women at the village." 
 
 " Mrs. Deborah ! Mrs. Deborah may find — but 
 that does not matter now. Come into my room." 
 
 I followed her, wondering what could be coming 
 next. My lady had taken Mrs. Philippa's apart- 
 ment for her own, and had fitted it up much in the 
 style of the room in Newcastle, that I remembered 
 so well ; with painted jars and china monsters, and 
 all kinds of decorations in painting, and shell-work, 
 and flower-work, and all the other ornamental 
 
458 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 works that ever were invented. The air was heavy 
 with the same scents I so well recollected, and 
 warm with a fire burning on the hearth. My lady 
 threw herself into a great chair and I stood before 
 her noticing as I did so how worn she looked, and 
 how her wonderful beauty — ^for it was something 
 wonderful even yet — seemed like a mask put on to 
 hide the real woman underneath. She always gave 
 me the odd idea of a spirit of some kind, inhabiting 
 a body that was never made for it. 
 
 " Lucy Corbet, sit down ! " were her first words. 
 I obeyed, wondering more and more as she added — 
 
 " Child, how pretty you are ! Ah, if my poor 
 little Magdalene had lived, she would have been like 
 you. She was dark, too ; but I only had her five 
 years, and then lost her forever. Ah me." 
 
 " Your ladyship may have her again ! " I could 
 not help saying : " She is in the hand of the Lord 
 where no evil can touch her." 
 
 " So much the better if she is ! " was the abrupt 
 reply. " There, child, don't talk Methodism to me. 
 I am too old for that sort of thing." 
 
 "Surely, no one is too old for the comforts of 
 religion, madam ! " I persisted, impelled by I know 
 not what impulse, but I trust a good one: "It 
 seems as if such a treasure in Heaven should be a 
 strong magnet to draw one thitherward." 
 
 " Tush ! " said my lady sharply and bitterly : 
 what do I know of Heaven or care to know ? I tell 
 you child, this world is all that we can grasp or 
 hold. What do we know of the other ? This alone 
 \? ours " 
 
A Hasty Removal, 459 
 
 " For how long, madam ? " 
 
 She winced at the question. 
 
 " There, that will do. You have discharged your 
 conscience, and I wish to hear no more. Listen to 
 me. I like your spirit, child, and if you will be 
 obedient to me and help me, I will advance your 
 fortunes and perhaps protect you from some 
 dangers." 
 
 " I trust not to fail in my duty, madam ! " I 
 began, but she snapped me up. 
 
 " Duty ! nonsense — ^listen to me. Lucy Corbet, 
 Amabel must marry Lord Bulmer ; she must ; 
 there is no help for it. If she or you struggle or 
 oppose, you will but make matters worse for her. 
 If she gives up with a good grace, he may be kind 
 to her, for he is greatly in love with her, though she 
 angers him by her coldness. If she continues her 
 present conduct, he will revenge it on her, when 
 she is in his power, for marry him she must." 
 
 She paused a moment, and then went on in a 
 lighter tone. 
 
 " You must see that it is for Amabel's interest to 
 treat Lord Bulmer with civility at least, since she 
 must marry him at last. Use your influence to 
 induce her to do so, and I will reward you for it. 
 A very good match has been proposed for you, bet- 
 ter than you have reason to hope for, with a well- 
 born gentleman high in the service of King James. 
 I will persuade my husband to accept the offer, and 
 will provide for you like a lady. Refuse to do what 
 J wish, and you will leave this house and be separt^- 
 30 
 
460 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 ted from Amabel forever — for you may be sure that 
 Lord Buhner will suffer no one near his wife who 
 shall oppose his power over her." 
 
 She ceased and sat looking at me with those 
 strange eyes, in a way which made me think of a 
 story Mr. Thorpe had told us, of certain poison 
 snakes which draw birds into their mouths by look- 
 ing at them. I felt as though a web was being 
 woven round me, taking from me all power of free 
 motion. I made a vigorous effort, said a short 
 prayer for grace and direction, and then spoke out. 
 
 " Madam, will you please tell me in so many words 
 what it is that you would have me do ; then I can tell 
 whether it is in my power or not T 
 
 "Frankly spoken," returned my lady, apparently 
 not ill pleased. " I will have you use your influence 
 with Amabel to give up Mr. Cheriton and consent 
 to marry Lord Bulmer. Tell her that you have 
 received certain news of her lover's infidelity and 
 his approaching marriage. Work on her pride, of 
 which she has abundance, and shame her out of 
 caring for a man who has ceased to care for her. 
 Tell her that Lord Bulmer has promised never to 
 interfere with her religion, and that he also promises 
 her every indulgence, even to having you live with 
 her if you do not marry." 
 
 "And if I refuse to do this ?" said I. 
 
 "Then you leave this house forever!" she an- 
 swered, suddenly and sharply. "There, I do not 
 wish to hear your decision now. Go and think about 
 it. Remember, girl, that I have your life and char- 
 
A Hasty Removal 461 
 
 acter in my hand — in my hand !" she repeated, shut- 
 ting her small, thin hand, as if she would crush 
 somethiTig she held within. "Now go, and come 
 when I send for you !" 
 
 I made my courtesy and withdrew to our room. 
 Amabel was not there, having gone out riding with 
 her father, whom she strove carefully to please in 
 all things. I was not sorry to be alone. What a 
 wave of temptation rolled in upon me ! Suppose I 
 were to refuse obedience to my lady, what would be 
 the result ? I should be separated from Amabel, my 
 second self, never, perhaps, to see her again. My 
 reputation would be ruined. I knew enough of my 
 lady to know that she would not scruple to tell any 
 story about me, and I also knew that the fact of 
 living under her roof would be no advantage to me. 
 On the other hand, if Amabel married Lord Bulmer 
 it would be no more than hundreds of girls did every 
 year at the bidding of their parents. He had been 
 a bad man, no doubt, but not worse than many other 
 young men. He was very much in love with Amabel, 
 that was plain to be seen, and she might have such 
 an influence over him as to reform him. I had heard 
 and read of such things. She would have every 
 thing that the world has to give, and, if she were 
 not interfered with in religious matters, why could 
 she not be happy after all ? Mr. Cheriton had not 
 written to her, though he might easily have sent a 
 note in Mrs. Thorpe's letter to me. Perhaps what 
 my lady said was true, and be was going to marry 
 some one else. 
 
462 The Foster-sisters. 
 
 How long I sat pondering these things I do not 
 know, but I was roused by the sound of the noon 
 bell — the Angelus — which was always rung at High- 
 beck when the lord of the manor was at home. In 
 a moment a clear vision arose before me. I seemed 
 CO be standing once more in the old convent vault, 
 holding fast to Mother Superior's hand, and gazing 
 with awe and dread at that sullen and dismal pool, 
 whose black waters hardly reflected the gleams of 
 the lantern. I smelled the strange damp odor of 
 the vault. I felt the soft and sticky ground under 
 my feet, which seemed to catch and hold me fast, 
 and I heard dear mother's sweet and solemn voice 
 saying^- 
 
 " This is the pit of destruction, and every willful 
 sin brings you nearer to it." 
 
 The spell was broken. I sprang from my seat and 
 walked rapidly up and down the room. How could 
 I for a moment have dreamed of such a thing? 
 What good would it have done if I had consented ? 
 I should not have moved Amabel one hair's breadth, 
 and I should have lost her friendship forever. I 
 should have been doing the devil's own work, to be 
 paid with his wages. No, it never could be, what- 
 ever the consequence to her or to me. I could not 
 do this great wickedness and sin against God. The 
 straight path was the only safe path, and, though it 
 might seem to be hedged with briars and built up 
 with stones, I must follow it. Through whatever 
 scenes of trouble it might lead me in this world, the 
 end was sure. 
 
A Hasty Removal. 463 
 
 Tlicii the tempter would try me on the other side. 
 Was I quite sure which was the right path ? Were 
 not children to obey their parents ? Would not Am- 
 abel have great means of doing good ? Was not I 
 myself throwing away chances of usefulness such as 
 I might never have again ? Was I not dishonoring 
 my Christian profession by abetting Amabel's diso- 
 bedience, and suffering a slur to be cast on my own 
 good name ? Had I not been taught by my former 
 spiritual guides that falsehood was a venial sin, and 
 might even become a virtue in the cause of religion ? 
 
 But I knew now who was speaking to me, and how 
 to answer him. I threw myself on my knees and 
 prayed earnestly for help and direction, and I had it. 
 It could never be right to do evil that good might 
 come. I did not believe that Mr. Cheriton was un- 
 faithful. I had evidence to the contrary under my 
 hand, and I should be a base liar and slanderer if I 
 told Amabel what I did not myself believe. No, 
 come what might, I must be true to her, to my Mas- 
 ter, to myself. Oh, if she would only come in, that 
 I might speak to her, that I might warn her, that I 
 might tell her what I had heard ! 
 
 I thought for a moment what it was best for me to 
 do. I took Mrs. Thorpe's letter, folded it small, and 
 put it into Amabel's prayer-book, where she would 
 be sure to find it. I wrote a few words to her, telling 
 her that I might be sent away from her for a time, 
 begging her to believe that I could not help it, and 
 telling her that I would communicate with her if 
 possible. 
 
464 The Poster-Sisters, 
 
 I had hardly fiiiislied these preparations when my 
 lady's French woman knocked at the door, and told 
 me I was to go to her mistress at once. I found my 
 lady sitting where I had left her. She bade me be 
 seated, and signed to her woman to withdraw. 
 
 "Well, Lucy Corbet, have you considered this 
 matter ?" 
 
 "I have, madam." 
 
 "And what is the answer ? " 
 
 "The answer is no, madam!" I replied, with a 
 firmness that surprised myself. "I have looked at 
 the thing on all sides, and have come to the conclus- 
 sion that I cannot serve you in this matter." 
 
 " Then the thing will be done without you, that is 
 all ! " said my lady coolly, though she looked dis- 
 concerted. " The thing will be done all the same, 
 and you will lose the profit — ^that is all ! " 
 
 " What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the 
 whole world and lose his own soul?" The words 
 seemed to come without any will of mine. My lady 
 looked taken aback, but she recovered herself in a 
 moment. 
 
 " Nonsense, child ? Leave such dreams and delu- 
 sions to the vulgar, and those who have their living 
 to make thereby. I tell you again, girl, this world 
 is all we can grasp, — all that we can make sure of. 
 Let us make ourselves happy here, and leave the 
 next, if there be any next — ^to care for itself ! " 
 
 " Your ladyship is happy here, then ! " 
 
 "What do you mean? How dare you — ^" said 
 she, strangely agitated for a moment. Then resum- 
 ing her lofty and careless demeanor, " Think well, 
 
A Hasty Removal, 465 
 
 Lucy Corbet — ^think well, before you speak! Is 
 this your final answer?" 
 
 " It is madam ! " I replied, though a sharp pain 
 seemed to rend my heart as I thought of all my 
 words involved. " I cannot help you in this mat- 
 ter." 
 
 " Then you leave this house on the instant 1 " said 
 my lady, sternly, " taking with you my own and my 
 husband's anger, and what relics of character your 
 escapades here and in Newcastle have left you. 
 You whom my husband, in his folly, has educated 
 to be a fine lady at his expense. You shall learn 
 what it is to be without a home." 
 
 Much more she said, which I will not set down 
 here, calling me a beggar more than once. 
 
 "Not quite a beggar, madam, since Sir Julius has 
 always drawn two hundred a year from my father's 
 estate ! " said I, as she paused from sheer lack of 
 breath. 
 
 "As to what you threaten, I am in the hands 
 of One who knows my innocency, and will not let 
 my enemies triumph, even though they may seem to 
 do so for a time. Oh, my lady, think, think of what 
 you are doing before you take the last downward 
 step that may make return impossible. Think of 
 your own child in heaven, and of how you would 
 have had her dealt by, before you go any farther. 
 I do not speak for myself, though in driving me 
 from my foster sister, you are breaking both our 
 hearts. I have both means and friends, who will 
 not see me wronged. But think — oh think. The 
 
466 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Judge even now stands before the door. Even now 
 your hour may have struck and the world you so 
 love may be slipping from under your feet. Whose 
 then will those things be which you have provided ? 
 What pleasure will they give you when you lie cold 
 in death on yonder bed, and cannot raise so much 
 as an eyelid to see or a finger to touch one of them ? 
 You might be so happy with Amabel, if you would. 
 She would be to you all your own child might have 
 been, if you would but let her. You know Lord 
 Bulmer to be a wicked, hard, cruel man — you know 
 it ? Oh, do not sin by putting into his power the 
 child the good Lord has given you, to make up for 
 the one he took away, and to lead you to Heaven ! " 
 
 My lady listened without interrupting me, and I 
 almost thought she was going to yield. But she 
 did not, though I believe her good angel whispered 
 to her. Her face, which had softened for a moment, 
 grew hard as stone, and her eyes shone balefully, 
 while her red lips were compressed to a thread. 
 She stood for a moment at the parting of two ways. 
 Then she deliberately chose the wrong one, and 
 walked on to her ruin. She would have the world 
 for her portion, and she had it. 
 
 " You will leave this house at once ! " said she, 
 taking out her purse as she spoke. " Wilson will 
 send your clothes after you wherever you choose. 
 If Amabel ever speaks to you again, I will send her 
 where she shall learn that there are worse things 
 than step-mothers. But I do not wish to expose 
 you to temptation by sending you away penniless. 
 What wages are owing to you ? " 
 
A Hasty Removal, 467 
 
 My Cornish blood flashed up at this gratuitous 
 insult. 
 
 " Thy money perish with thee ! " said I. " I have 
 enough of my own, but if I were starving I would 
 take nothing from your hand. As to my character, 
 perhaps Mrs. Deborah's countenance may go as far 
 in the country as Lady Throckmorton's." 
 
 I don't defend myself in saying this. It was not 
 according to the spirit of meekness and it was fool- 
 ish besides, for it lost me the advantage I had while 
 I kept cool. But however unwisely sped, the arrow 
 reached its mark and found a joint in the armor. 
 Scarcely one of the county ladies had called upon 
 Lady Leighton. 
 
 " You defy me, do you ? " said she. 
 
 " No ! " I replied, recalled to myself. " I was 
 wrong to speak so. Not that I fear you, Lady 
 Leighton. But I want nothing from this house save 
 what is rightly mine. I have not wrought for gold, 
 and I have no debts to put me in any man's power." 
 
 She winced at this, I could see, but answered 
 haughtily. 
 
 " I am not here to bandy words with a discharged 
 waiting maid. Go and put your things together — 
 such as you need at once. The rest I will give 
 orders about. Leave this house within haK an 
 hour, or I will order the men to put you forth, like 
 what you are ! " 
 
 It showed the essentially cruel nature of the 
 woman, that she should add this last insult to the 
 injury she had already done me. And it was to her 
 
46^ The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 that 1 must leave my love, my lily, my other self. 
 I can hardly recall, even now, without sickness of 
 heart, the feelings with which I gathered together 
 so many of my possessions as I could conveniently 
 carry. I had not finished wheii Mrs. Wilson came 
 to the room followed by the French waiting woman. 
 
 " So Miss Corbet, I always said pride would have 
 a fall ! " said she, in her old insolent tone, which 
 she had not used toward me for many a day. 
 " Just be pleased to separate your things from Miss 
 Leighton's, will you ? Fine doings, when a young 
 lady and her waiting woman keep their clothes 
 together in the same drawers. But there will be an 
 end of all that now." 
 
 I did not answer, but stepped into the closet to 
 take my Bible and Prayer-book. Wilson followed 
 me, and, shutting the door as if by accident, she 
 seized my hand and whispered — 
 
 " Poor thing, I know how it is. Don't you take it 
 too much to heart, but keep up your spirits, and I 
 will look after your things, and send all safe. I 
 dared not speak before that French spy." Then 
 aloud. " I cannot let you take that. Miss Corbet — 
 not till I have Miss Leighton's leave — " 
 
 " Wilson, if 1 have ever done you a good turn, be 
 kind to Miss Leigh ton ! " I whispered. 
 
 " I will, I will, and it shall go hard but I will get 
 you news of her. What shall I tell her ? " 
 
 " Tell her I was sent away — that they would not 
 let me stay to see her. I am going to Mrs. Deb- 
 orah." 
 
A Hasty Removal. 469 
 
 " Quite right. TU befriend her, if only to save 
 my poor dear lady from sinning — don't be too hard 
 on her, Miss Corbet. She is in trouble herself." 
 Then aloud again. "There, you have had time 
 enough, in all conscience." So pack off. " No, I 
 don't want any money, Miss — " as I offered her a 
 gold piece I had in my pocket. " There, go. I'd 
 say God bless you, if I dared." 
 
 " God bless you, Wilson, and teach you to know 
 and follow Him ! " said I. I followed her down 
 stairs carrying my basket. As I left the Hall, I 
 had just a glimpse of Amabel, flushed with exercise 
 and looking more cheerful than I had seen her for 
 a long time. Oh, for one word. But I dared not 
 linger, and I turned away. Two or three of the 
 men laughed sneeringly as they saw me go forth, 
 and one of them made an insolent remark, whereat 
 Harry, the only footman who had remained behind 
 when Richard left, turned on him and knocked him 
 down into a particularly thorny rosebush. 
 
 *' Take that for your impudence to a young lady ! " 
 said he, and then coming to my side — "Let me 
 carry your parcels for you. Miss Corbet ! " 
 
 " Tliank you, Harry, but I fear you will get into 
 trouble with my lady, and perhaps lose your place ! " 
 
 "I don't care that for my place!" said Harry, 
 snapping his fingers. " Besides, I have given warn- 
 ing already. I don't care to stay in this house as 
 things go now. I was n't brought up to such things 
 and I don't care about getting used to 'em." So 
 saying, he fell behind and carried my bundles all 
 the way to the Little House. 
 
470 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Mrs. Deborah was in her little garden gathering 
 some late flowers, and she looked up, surprised 
 enough to see me so soon again. Then observing 
 Harry with his load, and perhaps seeing something 
 in my face which told her the story, she opened her 
 arms to me. I fell on her faithful breast, and the 
 anguish which had been rending my heart found a 
 merciful vent in a tempest of tears and sobs. Mrs. 
 Deborah led me into her little parlor, seated me on 
 the sofa, and putting her arms about me she let me 
 weep my full before she asked me a single question. 
 Then, as I grew calmer by degrees, she drew from 
 me the story of my expulsion from the Hall. 
 
 " She is a wicked woman, and you are well out of 
 her hands ! " said Mrs. Deborah. " As to your 
 character, I do not think you have much to fear 
 upon that score ! " 
 
 " It is not myself that I think about ? " I replied. 
 " I would willingly bear all she can inflict, to save 
 Amabel out of her hands." 
 
 "We must ask God's help for her," said Mrs. 
 Deborah, solemnly. " I know no better way at 
 present — or at any time." 
 
 " But, oh, Mrs. Deborah, what can Sir Julius be 
 thinking of ? " I cried. " How can he let his daugh- 
 ter be so sacrificed ? " 
 
 Mrs. Deborah's brow darkened. " Child, it is the 
 curse of our house," said she abruptly, "that the 
 men should be wholly governed by some woman or 
 other. His father was so before him, as I know to 
 my cost. My father married a second time, and hi^ 
 
A Hasty Removal, 471 
 
 wife — Julius's mother — so drew his heart away ^om 
 his elder children that he had hardly a kind word 
 for us, and would have utterly disinherited us had it 
 been in his power. My brother's second wife was 
 not a lady, but she was a kind, good woman and 
 would have been a good friend to the child had she 
 but lived. But it was not God's will." 
 
 " The question is, what is to be done now ! " said 
 I, with a little impatience, I fear. 
 
 " We can make no move at present," replied Mrs. 
 Deborah. " All we can do is to wait. My poor 
 child, it is hard upon you, I know, but you must see 
 that we must act, if at all, with great caution. 
 Amabel is in her father's hands and under his roof, 
 and we have no right to interfere, so long as she is 
 not in actual danger. Take patience, my poor child, 
 take patience. 'Tis the woman's medicine ? " 
 
 With that, I fell to crying again, and grew so 
 hysterical that Mrs. Deborah made haste to put me 
 to bed, and dose me with hartshorn. I was not 
 given to such attacks, but I was overcome with grief 
 and fatigue. I quieted myself as soon as I could, 
 and after awhile I fell asleep, and awoke somewhat 
 refreshed and composed. I lay a long time think- 
 ing over all that had happened. I did not see how 
 I could have acted otherwise. Even had I dissem- 
 bled with my lady, and promised to use my influence 
 for her when I did not intend to do so, she would 
 soon have found me out, for her eyes were every- 
 where, and her French waiting maid was a ready 
 and willing spy. No, 1 could not have done other- 
 
472 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 wise. For myself, as I said, I had no cares or fears. 
 Mrs. Deborah would give me a home as long as. I 
 needed one, and so I did not doubt would Mrs. 
 Brown, were it only to spite her brother's wife, and 
 then there was Mr. Carey in Exeter. True, it was a 
 long way off, but others had made the journey and 
 why not I. Again, there was Mrs. Thorpe in New- 
 castle, and the old lady of Thornyhaugh. Oh yes, 
 I had a plenty of friends. But Amabel ! To have 
 her so near me, and yet out of my reach, and be- 
 yond my help. It did seem to me that the thought 
 was intolerable, and I cried aloud in my anguish. 
 Then at last I betook myself to that place whither 
 I should have gone at first. I laid my case before 
 Him, who has promised to be the friend of the op- 
 pressed and the orphan, told Him all my woe, and 
 besought His help. I laid my dear one at His feet, 
 as a mother of old might have brought her suffer- 
 ing babe to the Lord Jesus, and besought Him to 
 have a care over her. Having thus calmed myself, 
 I arose, dressed, and went down to seek Mrs. Deb- 
 orah. 
 
 It was near evening, and the level sun was shin- 
 ing into the south and west windows and lighting 
 up the low rooms. Mrs. Deborah had brought away 
 so many of her own and Mrs. Chloe's personal mat- 
 ters, that the little sitting-room had a curiously 
 familiar look, as we see in a dream a well-known 
 place which we know to be the same, though it is 
 not in the least like the reality. Mrs. Deborah was 
 sitting V7ith her knitting as »f old. She called me 
 
A Hasty Removal, 473 
 
 to a seat beside her, and seeing that I had no work 
 Bhe opened a drawer, and took out something that 
 carried me back to the old inn at Newcastle — Mrs. 
 Chloe's bed-quilt knitting. 
 
 " There child^ you may work at that at odd min- 
 utes if you like. It does very well to take up when 
 you have nothing else to do, and I should like to see 
 the quilt finished." 
 
 We talked long and earnestly over AmabePs 
 affairs, but when our conversation was broken off 
 by a call to supper we could arrive at no other con- 
 clusion than that we had already come to — namely, 
 that we must wait and let matters take their course 
 for the present. We had not finished our meal 
 when we heard horses' feet outside, and were sur- 
 prised by the entrance of Sir Julius. 
 
 With all reverence, I must say the great man 
 reminded me of nothing so much as of a dog, that 
 has to face his master with a stolen joint of meat 
 on his conscience. In vain did Sir Julius strut and 
 frown and try to look big and impressive. He was 
 cowed under his sister's gray eyes and black brows, 
 and looked as though he expected every moment to 
 be taken across the old lady's knee and disciplined 
 with her slipper. He took on an elevated tone of 
 reproof toward me at first, and talked of ingratitude 
 and the expense he had been put to on my account ; 
 but he came down from his high horse rather sud- 
 denly when Mrs. Deborah remarked, drily, that my 
 father's rents must have a good deal more than 
 paid all the cost of my education, and that no doubt 
 
474 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 he would be ready to account for the surplus, when 
 called upon to do so. 
 
 " And pray, Sister Deborah, who is to call me to 
 any such account ? " 
 
 " Perhaps Lucy herself, when she comes of age, 
 or possibly Mr. Carey, her trustee, under her nucleus 
 will." 
 
 This was news to Sir Julius ; he eagerly inquired 
 what his sister meant, and received an account of 
 Mr. Andrew Corbet's will. He asked to see the 
 letter, and I showed it to him. 
 
 "And you must take just this time to quarrel 
 with my lady ! " said he, irritably. " Why could not 
 you let her say her say, and keep quiet ? " 
 
 " Because she would not let me ! " I answered. 
 " I have ever treated her with respect as you know, 
 but when she came to require of me to be down- 
 right false to myself and treacherous to Amabel — " 
 
 "Oh, false and treacherous!" he broke in 
 peevishly, repeating my words. " Could you not 
 temporise a little ? But you and Amabel have got 
 your heads full of Methodistical notions, and you 
 are wiser in your own conceits than ten men that 
 can render a reason." 
 
 " They might be that, and not be absolute Solo- 
 mons, were the reason no better than some men's ! " 
 said Mrs. Deborah, drily. 
 
 " And I had such a good match for you, and I 
 have pledged my word to Buhner that you should 
 marry Dangerfield — and what am I to say to him ? " 
 
 I did not see that I was called upon to furnish 
 
A Hasty Removal, 475 
 
 Sir Julius with words, so I remained silent and 
 knitted as though all my energies were given to the 
 square of cotton in my hands. Sir Julius fussed 
 and fumed and swore, and stalked about, and get- 
 ting no help from either of us he suddenly changed 
 his tone, and began to coax me to come back to the 
 Hall. He would make my peace with my lady. 
 Dangerfield was a gallant gentleman, and a great 
 favorite with the prince and King James. He was 
 sure to rise, and I might be a countess before I died. 
 Amabel and I were two silly girls, quarrelling with 
 our bread and butter. He wished to Heaven he 
 had left us in our convent. Then, growing angry 
 again, he vowed that Amabel at least should bend 
 to his will, and with that he dashed away. 
 
 The next morning early, long before day, I was 
 waked by the trampling of many horses, and the 
 sound of subdued talking. I rose, and looked out 
 of my window, which commanded a view of the road. 
 By the bright moonlight, I saw a train of horsemen. 
 There were about thirty in all, and Sir Julius rode 
 at their head. I looked eagerly to see if Lord Bul- 
 mer was among the riders. He was a very big 
 man, head and shoulders above any other man 
 about the place, and looked especially tall on 
 horseback ; but I saw nobody that I could take for 
 him. 
 
 1 could not sleep again, and the moment I heard 
 Mrs. Deborah stirring I went to her room and told 
 her what I had seen. 
 
 " He has gone then ! " said Mrs. Deborah. " He 
 31 
 
476 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 has cast in his lot with this young adventurer, and 
 who knows whether he will ever return ? I ought 
 to rejoice in his loyalty and courage, but something 
 seems to tell me he is influenced neither by one nor 
 the other, but by base subserviency to the will of a 
 wicked woman." 
 
 " Nay, madam ! " said I : " Sir Julius has always 
 expressed the warmest devotion to King James and 
 the prince. One ought not to think the worse of a 
 good cause because it is espoused by a wicked per- 
 son." In my heart, I was by no means sure of the 
 goodness of the cause. All Mrs. Deborah's lessons 
 — all my reading in Clarendon, Ken, and Bancroft, 
 had not convinced me of the divine right of kings, 
 and the duty of absolute, passive obedience to their 
 will ; nor had they impressed me with any very ex- 
 alted notions of the virtues of the Stewart family, 
 but I was willing to comfort my dear old friend so 
 far as was possible. My own heart was full of 
 anxiety for Amabel, left as she was in the power of 
 her enemies, without even the feeble support of her 
 father's regard. 
 
 "Well, Amabel will at least be left in peace for 
 awhile," said Mrs. Deborah, after a pause. "No 
 doubt Lord Bulmer will have accompanied my 
 brother." 
 
 " He was not with him this morning, I am sure," 
 I replied, and gave my reasons. 
 
 " Even were it so they will not drive on the busi- 
 ness during my brother's absence." 
 
 ♦* I am not so sure of that either," said I, 
 
A Hasty Removal, 477 
 
 " She would never be so bold." 
 
 I believed Lady Leighton bold enough for any- 
 thing, and said so, telling Mrs. Deborah what I had 
 heard in my walk. I did not add what I thought — 
 that Sir Julius had gone away on purpose to leave 
 matters in the hands of his wife. One hesitates be- 
 fore telling a sister that her only brother, the head 
 of her house, is a base coward, even though one may 
 be couviuced that she knows as much already. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 <*AN EARLY SNOW SAVES MUCKLE WOE." 
 
 T was two or three days before we heard a 
 word from the Hall. Even my clothes 
 were not sent to me, and I began to think 
 I was to be deprived of them. Meantime a visitor 
 arrived in the shape of Alick Graham, old Elsie's 
 nephew, and Lady Thorny haugh's servant. He 
 brought Mrs. Deborah a present of moor game, 
 cheeses, and fine wool for her knitting, of his mis- 
 tress' own spinning, and for Amabel and me each a 
 large soft plaid or mantle, such as were then worn 
 by all classes in Scotland. He would fain have gone 
 at once to the Hall to see his sweet-heart, saying 
 that he had but little time to stay, and, in the lan- 
 guage of the old ballad, 
 
 " He could not come ilka day to woo." 
 But Elsie persuaded him to " bide a wee," as she 
 said, seeing it was not likely- that Mary would see 
 him unless she had notice beforehand of his coming, 
 which she (Elsie) would try to send her. They 
 were still arguing the point when who should appear 
 but Mary herself, with my bundles and some of her 
 own, escorted and assisted by Harry, who, I fancy, 
 
 (478) 
 
"^« Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe** 479 
 
 would gladly have cut out the handsome young 
 borderer, had it been in his power. I left the two 
 glaring at each other like two dogs, whom prudence 
 or politeness restrains from fighting in the house, 
 and took Mary in to Mrs. Deborah to learn her news. 
 
 " My lady has sent me away, miss !" sobbed Mary, 
 bursting into tears, " and without a bit of a charac- 
 ter, and she called me a thief to my face, me that 
 never touched so much as a pin that did not belong 
 to me, and though Mrs. Wilson herself said she 
 wished every one in the house was as honest as I 
 was." 
 
 I soothed and comforted Mary as well as I could, 
 and Mrs. Deborah told her she would give her the 
 best of characters, which seemed to afford her a little 
 consolation. 
 
 "And what of Miss Leighton?" I asked, when 
 Mary had recovered her composure. " How is she T 
 
 "Well enough in health, miss, but sad enough in 
 her spirits, as well she may be. My lady taunts and 
 sneers at her from morning till night, and then there 
 is Lord Buhner hanging round, and giving orders in 
 the house — who but he? — as though he were its 
 master and more. It's my belief as they mean to 
 compel my poor young lady into a marriage whether 
 or no." 
 
 " But how can they ?" I asked. " Mr. Lethbridge 
 would never lend himself to such business." 
 
 "No, miss, but there's that Mr. Trimble — ^the 
 chaplain as they call him — he is none too good at 
 the best, and when he U half seas over, as he is 
 
4^0 The Poster-Listers, 
 
 about half the time, he will do any thing for more 
 liquor. By what my lord's man let out one day, I 
 believe he was brought to the hall for this very job." 
 
 I looked at Mrs. Deborah and wrung my hands 
 with impatience and anxiety. 
 
 "Take care, Mary Lee! say no more than you 
 know to be true," said Mrs. Deborah, gravely. 
 
 "I'm sure I beg your pardon, Mrs. Deborah, 
 ma'am, if I spoke disrespectful," said Mary. " But 
 oh, Mrs. Deborah ! oh, ladies ! do save my poor 
 young lady ! They will kill her among them. They 
 have shut her up alone in her room with no one 
 near her, only that wicked French woman takes her 
 her meals, and poor meals they are. Even Mrs. 
 Wilson is not allowed to go to her. And, Mrs. Deb- 
 orah, the wolf howled last night ! I heard him my- 
 self, and so did all of us, and Harry says it bodes 
 some great misfortune. And worse than that" — 
 here her voice sank to a whisper — " the picture of 
 the wolf-lady came out of its frame and walked about 
 the house — Ellen saw it." 
 
 " Nonsense !" said Mrs. Deborah, but she looked 
 uneasy. I knew very well that she herself believed 
 in the howling of the wolf as portending some great 
 misfortune, and that she was not entirely incredulous 
 on the subject of the walking picture. 
 
 "Where did Ellen see the wolf-lady ?" 1 asked. 
 
 " In the long gallery, miss. She had been down 
 to the kitchen to get a warm salt-bag to put to Han- 
 nah's cheek, for the poor thing is half dead with an 
 income in her face, and she made bold to go through 
 
"An Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe" 481 
 
 the gallery to reach the little stairs. She heard a 
 voice as if pleading as for very life in the little 
 saloon, and another deep voice that seemed to answer 
 in scorn, Ellen said, and she had just time to slip 
 behind the great Indian screen, when the lady came 
 out in a long white gown, and with both hands 
 pressed to the sides of her head. She passed along 
 so close that Ellen said she could almost have 
 touched her, and went into the great hall, and then 
 Ellen ran up stairs to her own room." 
 
 I glanced at Mrs. Deborah. I did not believe in 
 the ghostly character of Ellen's vision, neither, I 
 saw, did she. 
 
 " When did you last see Miss Leighton, Mary?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Yesterday morning, Miss." 
 
 « And Lord Bulmer is still at the Hall ? He did 
 not go with Sir Julius ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am. Captain Dangerfield did, but he 
 is back again to-day. Oh, Mrs. Deborah, save my 
 dear young lady 1 " 
 
 " Did you bring me no note or message, then ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Yes, Miss. I forgot ! One from Mrs. Wilson. 
 She has been very good to me, has Mrs. Wilson. 
 She said the note was about some napkins or some- 
 thing!" 
 
 I took the note, and, dismissing Mary to her sup- 
 per and the society of her favored lover, I opened 
 it. It was fairly well written, and I had no trouble 
 in reading it. 
 
4^2 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " Miss, if ever you loved Miss Leighton, contme 
 some way to help her to^ightP 
 
 The word was underscored. ^* To-morrow may 
 be too late ! They will all be in the great saloon at 
 the other end of the house acting of plays. Miss 
 is shut in her room. They will not let me near her. 
 I sign no names for fear of accidents. Remember, 
 to-nig}itP 
 
 This, disentangled from her peculiar spelling, was 
 Mrs. Wilson's note. Mrs. Deborah looked at me in 
 dismay. 
 
 " What can we do ? " said she. 
 
 I considered a moment, and a plan darted into 
 my head, which I proceeded to open to Mrs. Deb- 
 orah. 
 
 " That might do so far as getting Amabel away 
 from the house is concerned ! " said Mrs. Deborah ; 
 " but what to do with her afterward ? " I could not 
 keep her here with any safety, and there are strong 
 reasons against her going to Newcastle ! " 
 
 " I have an idea about that too ! " I returned ; 
 " but we must call Elsie and her nephew in council. 
 I think we can depend on their fidelity." 
 
 " My life for Elsie in such a case ! " said Mrs. 
 Deborah. " I will send for her at once." 
 
 Elsie made her appearance and I told her what I 
 had in my head. Alick had ridden a stout pony 
 and Mrs. Deborah had plenty of others, for horses 
 were abundant and cheap in those days, in the 
 North. Why should not Amabel and myself return 
 with Alick to Eskdale, and take refuge with Lady 
 Thornyhaugh till better times ? 
 
*' An Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe** 483 
 
 "And indeed mem, the losses — I mean the young 
 leddies — could not do better. Alick will ken every 
 pass among the hills by night as well as by day, 
 and by noon to-morrow they may be in safety," said 
 Elsie. Alick being called in, laughed at the idea of 
 pursuit, once we were among the hills. 
 
 " It will no be very mirk after midnight, though 
 1 doubt there's a storm brewing. I ken every path 
 between here and Eskdale. Let us once have a 
 gude start and let them follow wha' can ! " 
 
 " And Mary and me will just slip cannily awa' after 
 dark to the house of a seventh cousin of my ain, 
 who will give us a blythe welcome ! " added Elsie. 
 "Then if any one hears of Alick's riding home 
 with two women, folk may just think it was his 
 joe * and his auld auntie." 
 
 There was little time to lose, for it was drawing 
 toward night already, and by midnight we must be 
 well on our way. Every thing favored us. The 
 night was dark, with a fitful wirid from the east, 
 which I well knew would make all sorts of eerie 
 noises about the old hall. I made up two bundles 
 of needful clothing, dressed myself in a thick gray 
 woolen gown, and wrapping my plaid about me I 
 stole up through the woods to the Hall. The east 
 wing was brilliantly lighted, as was also the great 
 hall, and the sound of musical instruments told me 
 that the revel was in full progress. In the west 
 wing burned only one dim light, and that I well 
 knew was in Amabel's room. 
 
 * Sweetheart. 
 
4^4 ^/^^ Poster-Sisters. 
 
 I do not pretend to be above fears more than 
 other people, and I shuddered with something be- 
 sides cold when I found myself in the little deserted 
 court where the phantom cavalier was said to walk, 
 and when I applied the well-oiled key to the lock, I 
 could almost have sworn that a light hand was 
 laid on my shoulder. Nothing was to be seen, 
 however, and in the cause of my foster sister I 
 would have faced the evil one himself. I unlocked 
 the door, and lighting the dark lantern I carried, I 
 went softly down and then up the rugged stairs, and 
 found myself in the ghostly room. I stayed not to 
 look around me, but knocked gently at the door of 
 communication. There was no answer, and for a 
 moment my heart sunk at the thought that Amabel 
 might have been forced to be present at the play. I 
 blew my little ivory whistle very softly at the key- 
 hole, and to my intense delight I heard Amabers 
 voice. 
 
 " Lucy, where are you ? " 
 
 " In the ghost room ! " was my answer. " Open 
 the door quickly ! " 
 
 " I cannot ! " was the answer. " It is fastened on 
 your side." 
 
 I found the bolt and pushed it back, — ^the cabinet 
 v^^as rolled aside, and in a moment Amabel was in 
 my arms. She was but the shadow of herself, but 
 her lovely face was calm as ever. 
 
 " Is it really you ! " said she, holding me off and 
 looking at me. " I almost lost hope when they took 
 poor Mary from me. Oh, Lucy, I have been cruellv 
 used." 
 
"An Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe" 485 
 
 " I have come to save you, but there is not a 
 momeni to lose ! " said I. " Don't take anything 
 from the room. I have wraps in abundance. Come ! " 
 
 I pulled the cabinet back to its place, drew down 
 the tapestry and bolted the doors. We hastened 
 down the stairs and out into the court. A few 
 dropa of rain were falling, and it was pitch dark. 
 Amabel held the lantern, while I locked the door, 
 and barred the entrance to the court on the outside. 
 We then made the best of our way to the old pavil- 
 lion, where Alick was to await us with the horses. 
 He was not in sight. 
 
 "Can he have played us false?" was my first 
 thought. I whistled softly and had the satisfaction 
 to see him emerge from a thicket of evergreens. 
 
 " It is all well so far, Leddies ! " said he. " Hasten 
 to mount, and let us be on our way. I believe it is 
 going to snow, but so much the better for us. Early 
 snow saves muckle woe, the auld by-word has it." 
 
 I had taken the precaution to bring from home a 
 thick gown and riding skirt. These I hastily put 
 on Amabel, over the silk gown she wore. Alick 
 put her on horseback and we set out on our dark, 
 long ride. 
 
 "Are we not going first to Aunt Deborah's?" 
 asked Amabel as we turned our horses' heads away 
 from the village. 
 
 " No ! " I answered. " We must lose no time, and 
 if you should be missed they would go to the little 
 house at once to seek you. We must run no risks 
 that we caai help." 
 
486 The Foster -ShUrs, 
 
 Amabel murmured an assent and s^id no more. 
 The remembrance of that wild night's ride is like j» 
 dream to me. I only know that it snowed till afv^er 
 midnight, that it was very dark and Alick seemed 
 to find his way by some occult sense like a dog. 
 We went up hill and down dale. We forded swollen 
 streams where tlie ponies could hardly stem the 
 current, and climbed and descended paths so steep 
 and slippery that it was a wonder how they kept 
 their feet or we our seats. Once or twice we passed 
 camps or trains of smugglers conveying whiskey 
 from Scotland into England, but they took no notice 
 of us except to exchange a civil or surly good-night 
 with our guide, who I fancy might have owed his 
 intimate knowledge of the road to some practise in 
 the same profession. Once we saw a camp of 
 Gipsies in a recess of the hills, their bright fire 
 looking wonderfully attractive in the cold and dark- 
 ness. The snow was now quite deep and muffled 
 the sound of our horses' feet, which was perhaps 
 the reason why the Gipsies took no notice of us. 
 
 " I'm glad we are weel past thae folk ! " said Alick 
 in a whisper. " They are no good folk to meet in a 
 dark night and a lonely place. Is thae other leddy 
 waking, do you think, mem ? speak to her and see ! " 
 
 " Are you awake, Amabel ? " said I, taking her 
 hand, which felt cold as ice." 
 
 " Awake ! " she repeated in a tone of wonder. 
 " I do not feel as if I should ever sleep again. 
 Lucy, why do we not go faster 'i They will follow 
 
 US-" 
 
**An Early S^tow Saves Muckle Woe." 487 
 
 " I wad fine like to see them try it, mem ! " said 
 Alick, overhearing her words : " Forby any trouble 
 they might have in finding the road, they might not 
 pass thae gentry with the pack horses so easily as 
 r^ we have done. They are no' apt to be that civil to 
 folk they do na ken. Na, na ! " Din'na be feared 
 my bonny doo — I mean my leddy. We'll be in 
 Scotland in another hour. See, yonder comes the 
 moon." 
 
 The storm had now ceased, and the waning moon 
 shone out through the clouds, so that we could see 
 where we were going. We had ridden another half 
 hour, when Alick drew bridle on the top of a long 
 hill we had been climbing, and pointed out to me a 
 dark spot in the waste of snow. 
 
 "Yonder is Tibbie Grey's cottage, mem. We 
 shall soon be there, and then we can rest ourselves 
 and our horses. Tibbie is an honest woman, a far 
 awa' cousin of my own, and will give food, and fire, 
 and a welcome to boot, to any friend to Thorny- 
 haugh." 
 
 I was thankful to hear it, for I was growing very 
 weary, and so sleepy that I could hardly keep myself 
 awake. We descended a rougher path than any we 
 had yet passed — so rough indeed, that Alick dis- 
 mounted and led our ponies by the bridle a part of 
 the way. The tree branches brushed our faces in 
 some places ; in others, the rocks towered high and 
 seemed ready to fall down on us. 
 
 " It is turning colder ! " said I, shivering. 
 
 " go inuch the better, mena. We'll no' have the 
 
488 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 snow wreaths sliding down on our heads. But we'll 
 soon be out of this den, and then the road is good." 
 
 In effect we soon came out upon a wider valley, 
 and presently drew up at the door of a small cottage 
 — the same we had seen from the top of the hill. 
 Alick whistled once or twice. The door was opened 
 by a decent-looking woman, with a tartan screen 
 cast over her white mutch." 
 
 " Eh ! Wha' is this ? " said the old woman, who I 
 fancy might not be unused to untimely visitors. 
 " Man Alick, is this you ? and wha' are these." 
 
 "Whist, whist, Tibbie!" It's just myself, and 
 these are twa young leddies, that I am guiding to 
 my auld leddy at Thornyhaugh, and you must just 
 give them the best you ha' for them. Best tell her 
 the truth, mem," he whispered to me : " She will 
 do all the better for us." 
 
 "That will I, that will I!" said old Tibbie, 
 cheerfully : " Come in, by leddies ! " Come in by, 
 and sit upon the fire. It is but a coorse night for 
 the likes of you to be out. Eh, the bonnie doo ! " 
 she exclaimed, as she removed Amabel's plaid. 
 " Wha could ha' the heart to hurt such a winsome 
 creature ? But I'll no fash you with questions. 
 Concie in by, and sit upon the fire." 
 
 She led us into the cottage, where a great fire of 
 turf, made on the earthern floor, threw out a glow 
 which seemed something miraculous to us poor 
 night wanderers. Tibbie set stools for us, removed 
 our wet plaids and riding-skirts, and in a wonder- 
 fully short time put into our hands basins of warm 
 
'^An Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe,*' 489 
 
 milk and generous pieces of freshly-toasted oat- 
 cake. 
 
 " Eat and drink, eat and drink ! " said she : 
 " That will warm you best of a'." 
 
 " Do try to eat something, Amabel ! " said I, see- 
 ing that she held her basin of milk in her hand, as 
 if she hardly knew what it was. " Do try dear, to 
 please me." 
 
 I held the basin to her lips, and had the satisfac- 
 tion to see her drink. Then, as if roused and re- 
 freshed, she looked about her and spoke. 
 
 ^' Lucy, why do we not go on to my aunt's ?" 
 
 " Because the horses must rest, my bonnie leddy ! " 
 said Alick, answering the question : " The puir 
 beasts cannot gang a fit farther, without rest and 
 meat, and we will be none the waur of them our 
 ainselves." 
 
 "But they will overtake us and find us here!'* 
 said Amabel : " I am sure they will. They will 
 track us with the bloodhounds." 
 
 "Not they!" I answered: "They have not 
 missed us yet, and when they do they would not 
 know which way to go. The snow will have cov- 
 ered all trace of us." 
 
 " And that's true, mem ! Believe me, there is 
 nothing to dread ; you are as safe here as if you 
 were at Thornyhaugh." 
 
 " I daresay you are right ! " said Amabel : " But 
 1 am bewildered I think. Oh, Lucy ' it seems as 
 though it must be a dream ; I have dreamed of get- 
 ting away so often. It seems as if 1 7nu8t wake and 
 
490 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 find myself still in that woman's power. But 1 
 will never go back to her ! " she added wildly. " I 
 will kill myself first." 
 
 "You must just get her to bed, poor lamb! " said 
 old Tibbie, answering my look of alarm. "The 
 poor bairn is just overdone with a' she has come 
 thro' ! Shame on them that brought a sweet lamb 
 to such straits." 
 
 As she spoke, she opened a door, on the farther 
 side of the room, and led us into a very small bed- 
 room, in which was a decent-looking bed. 
 
 " It's but coorse accommodations for the likes of 
 you leddies ! " said she, turning down the clothes, 
 " but it's clean enough for the Queen hersel'." 
 
 The bed was indeed clean and sweet, with coarse 
 but very white sheets. I coaxed Amabel to lie 
 down, and placed myself beside her, taking her in 
 my arms. It was long before we slept, for Ama- 
 bel started at every sound, but she grew quiet at 
 last. When I woke, the low sun was shining 
 through the one thick pane of glass which formed 
 the only window. Amabel still slept heavily, and 
 as I lay and looked at her wasted form and pale 
 face my heart swelled with indignation against 
 those who, having such a treasure given them, had 
 not known better how to use it. 
 
 A sudden trampling of horses' feet and the sound 
 of voices roused Amabel. She started up in an 
 instant. 
 
 "They have come!" she exclaimed. "I knew 
 they would. Lucy, I will never go with them I " 
 
**An Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe" 491 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said I. " These are friends, 1 am 
 sure. Do you not hear Alick's voice ? I will peep 
 out and see." I arranged my disordered dress as 
 well as I could and softly opened the door. Alick 
 was standing by the fire talking with an elderly 
 man who looked like an upper servant, while old 
 Tibbie was arranging a meal of cold fowl, white 
 bread and other danties which she took from a 
 basket. A little barefooted lass was busy about the 
 fire, broiling some venison steaks. Our faithful 
 guide had tarried only for food and an hour's rest, 
 and then taking a pony belonging to the cottage he 
 had gone forward to Thornyhaugh, and returned 
 with fresh horses, dry clothes, and a basket of pro- 
 visions. 
 
 "All is well!" said I, returning to Amabel. 
 " You must eat some breakfast and then we will go 
 on to your aunt's." 
 
 I must confess that now the danger was over I 
 was hungry enough to find the sight and smell of 
 breakfast very agreeable. I tried my best to per- 
 suade Amabel to eat, but she only swallowed a few 
 moutlifuls. 
 
 " I would eat to please you if I could ! " said she 
 with her usual sweetness, but indeed 1 cannot. 
 Perhaps when we are once at Thornyhaugh I shall 
 be better." 
 
 I was in as much of a hurry as herself, for I 
 
 feared she was going to be ill. We mounted our 
 
 fresh horses, and in about half an hour Alick pointed 
 
 out the house. It was a tolerably large one with 
 32 
 
492 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 various ornaments of pepper-box turrets, "crow- 
 stepped " gables, and an addition of more modern 
 date than the rest. It stood on a knoll two thirds 
 surrounded by a brawling stream which here comes 
 down to join the Esk, and must once have been a 
 place of strength. Near by but partly in ruins stood 
 a very old and massive tower, almost overgrown 
 with ivy." 
 
 " That is the house ! " said Alick, " and these are 
 the lands of Thornyhaugh." " It's very auld, some 
 part of it. Folk say the tower was built by some 
 of the Beattisons lang syne before the Scotts drove 
 them out, and took the land themselves, but a 
 scholar gentleman who was here from Edinbro last 
 year would have us believe that it was far older 
 even than that, and was built in the time of the 
 Picts. Onyhow it's a very old work and a famous 
 place for bird's nests, only my old Xieddy will not 
 let them be harried if she kens. See, there she 
 stands in the porch. Wha would think that she 
 was past her fourscore and four ? " 
 
 No one, I thought, as I marked her erect figure 
 and the light step with which she came to meet us. 
 She clasped Amabel in her arms, calling her a poor 
 motherless lammie and I know not what other 
 endearing Scotch names. She led us into her sitting- 
 roofn and busied herself in undoing Amabel's wraps 
 while Mrs. Alice, her old bower woman, performed 
 the same office for me. Amabel sank down in a 
 chair and looked round her with an expression of 
 relief. 
 
"An Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe!' 493 
 
 "It is not a dream," said she; "I am really at 
 Thornyhaugh and not at Highbeck, and I am out of 
 that woman's reach. Oh aunt, do not let her come 
 near me ! Indeed, I will be dutiful to my father, 
 but I cannot marry that wicked man." 
 
 "And you shall not marry him !" said the old lady. 
 " Fear nothing, my child, you are safe here. But 
 how was it V 
 
 "They shut me up in my room," said Amabel. 
 "They would not let even Wilson come near me, 
 and tliey took Mary away from me. That French 
 woman brought me my meals, and, scanty as they 
 were, I hardly dared eat them. I believe that they 
 tried to give me opium. My lady came to me the 
 last day — when was it, Lucy ?" 
 
 "Yesterday, I presume." 
 
 "Yesterday," repeated Amabel. "Was it only 
 yesterday ? She came to me yesterday morning and 
 told me that she had waited on my humors long 
 enough, and would do so no longer; that I must 
 make up my mind to be married in the morning, and 
 if I would not come to the chapel willingly I should 
 be dragged thither. I appealed to my father, and 
 she laughed at me, and told me he had gone on 
 purpose to be out of the way." 
 
 " But Lord Bulmer !" said I. " Surely no man 
 with a spark of manhood about him would take an 
 unwilling bride, let alone one who hated him." 
 
 "He would have done it," answered Amabel. " I 
 tried to appeal to his manhood — to his sense of 
 justice. I might as well have appealed to the wolf- 
 
494 1^^^ Foster-Sisters, 
 
 lady's picture. He gave me only empty compli- 
 ments, and coaxed me as one might a wayward child 
 at first. He even tried to kiss my cheek, and when 
 I repulsed him with more force than you would think 
 I could use, he grew white with rage, and swore that 
 he would bend me to his will, and humble me in the 
 dust. He would make me sue for his pardon and be 
 thankful for a word." 
 
 " The villain !" said the old lady. " But how did 
 you escape ?" 
 
 " It was Lucy who set me free. She came alone 
 in the dark through that dreadful room, and took 
 me out of their power. Oh Lucy, I shall never hear 
 music so sweet as the sound of that little whistle." 
 
 " Nay, we owe all to poor Wilson, who sent me 
 word of your extremity by Mary," said I, " and to 
 faithful Alick, who guided us through the hills to 
 this place of safety. As to myself, what less could 
 I have done for my foster-sister ?" 
 
 "Aweel, we will thank the good Lord above all, 
 my children," said the old lady, solemnly. "You 
 have gone through fire and water, and He hath 
 brought you out into a safe place if not a wealthy 
 one. But you have had a hard journey." 
 
 "We have," said Amabel, leaning back in her 
 chair ; " but I would go through ten times more to 
 be safe as I feci now. But oh my poor father!" 
 And she burst into a flood of hysterical tears. 
 
 " Let us hope his eyes may be opened," said the 
 old lady. " But you were best go to your bed, and 
 here comes Alice to say that it is ready." 
 
"An Early Snozv Saves Mtickle Woe** 495 
 
 We were led up a somewhat steep staircase in one 
 of the turrets — what in Scotland is called a turnpike 
 stair — to two small but pleasant and convenient 
 rooms opening together, with a neat white bed in 
 each. Mrs. Alice brought up our bundles, and I un- 
 dressed Amabel, got her to bed, and sat by her till 
 she fell asleep. Then, not feeling sleepy, I dressed 
 myseK as well as I could and went down to the 
 parlor, where I found Lady Thornyhaugh sitting 
 with her wheel on one side of the fire, while Mrs. 
 Alice occupied a similar position on the other, only 
 that she spun with a distaff, or, as she would have 
 said, with a rock and reel. The spindle danced in 
 eccentric circles on the floor, watched by an elfish 
 kitten, and a still more elfish-looking terrier pup, 
 who now and then made a simultaneous dash at it, 
 and falling foul of each other engaged in a rough- 
 and-tumble game of romps. 
 
 " Bairn, why are you not in your bed ?" was the 
 greeting I received. 
 
 "I was not tired, madam, and as Amabel was 
 asleep I thought I would come down." 
 
 "And is she asleep, poor young thing ! so much 
 the better. I fear she will pay dearly for this night's 
 work. I fear she will be ill." 
 
 " So do I, madam," I answered ; " she seems so 
 shaken, and unlike herself." 
 
 " I'm thinking, Lucy Corbet, you may as well say 
 ' auntie,' " said the old lady. "You are but a far- 
 away kinswoman it is true, but you have been more 
 than a sister to my neice, and ' better kind fremit 
 
49^ The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 than fremit kind.'* Bnt if you are not tired sit 
 down and tell me something more of this strange 
 tale. How did Amabel see this other lad, the young 
 minister V 
 
 I told her of our coming to Newcastle, of our 
 meeting with Mr. Wesley and Mr. Cheriton, and the 
 way in which he had rescued the poor preacher's 
 wife from the mob. 
 
 " That was bravely done," said the old lady, her 
 eyes kindling. " He will be a fine lad, yon.'* 
 
 " 'Tis a pity he is a prelatist, though," said Mrs. 
 Alice ; *'and abune a' that he should take up with 
 these Methodists — a wheen sectaries I doubt they 
 are." 
 
 "What is a prelatist ?" I asked. 
 
 "A prelatist ? Oh, just ane that believes in bish- 
 ops, and printed prayers, and written discourses, and 
 surplices, and such like rags of Babylon," answered 
 Mrs. Alice. " They're all prelatists the other side 
 the border, except a few of the chosen seed scattered 
 here and there." 
 
 "A weel Alice, they are brought up that way; 
 you cannot blame the poor lad for preaching what 
 he was taught to believe, and may be even the rags of 
 Babylon may be better than no clothes at all ! " said 
 the old lady with a smile. " At all events this Mr. 
 Cheriton is a brave man and a gentleman, and 
 comes of a good stock, you say." 
 
 "Oh yes, madam — aunt I mean. His friends 
 live not very far from Highbeck, and his father is 
 heir to a title in the South." 
 
 ♦ That is, " Better kind strangers than strange kindred.** 
 
"An Early Snow Saves Muckle Woe!* 497 
 
 " And are they Jacobites like the rest of the 
 Northumbrian gentry ? " 
 
 " No, old Mr. Cheriton is loyal to the present gov- 
 ernment." 
 
 " That is well. Titles and the like are but empty 
 breath, compared to the root of the matter, but yet 
 on% cannot but value good family and a long 
 descent. If Sir Julius had objected to the match 
 at first, it would have behooved Amabel to pleasure 
 her father ; but I cannot think he had a right to 
 withdraw his consent, once given, or to match hrs 
 child against her will to a wicked man and one 
 whom she detests. You are quite sure that this Mr. 
 Cheriton is faithful to Amabel, and that these tales 
 about him are not true ? " 
 
 "I have the best evidence!" said I, and I told 
 her of Mrs. Thorpe's letter, which by the way I had 
 found in Amabel's bosom when I undressed her. 
 
 The old lady asked me several questions about Mrs. 
 Thorpe, and set down her address in her pocket- 
 book. 
 
 " And my nephew, you say, has had no more 
 sense than to cast in his fortunes with that un- 
 lucky lad at Edinbro' ! " said she. 
 
 " So I suppose, aunt ! " 
 
 "The senseless haverell. What good does he 
 think that will do him or any one else ? " 
 
 " He believes that King James will be reigning in 
 London before the next mid-summer." 
 
 " Aye, that he will, when the sky turns pea- 
 green ! " ejaculated the old lady. 
 
49^ The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 " However, I do not believe Sir Julius would have 
 gone to Edinburgh, but for his wife ! " I added, 
 " She is a violent Jacobite." 
 
 " Aye, I daresay she would like well enough to 
 go to Edinbro' herself. How does my niece Debo- 
 rah like such a partisan to her cause ? " 
 
 " Not very well, aunt, I can't but fancy her^'zeal 
 for the prince has cooled a good deal, since my lady 
 came to the Hall." 
 
 " She should remember that loyalty, like poverty, 
 makes us acquainted with strange bed-fellows!" 
 eaid the old lady smiling. " Well, bairn, you are 
 safe for the present, and the future is in better 
 hands than oura." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE DOCTOR FROM NEWCASTLE. 
 
 ADY Thornyhaugh turned out a true 
 prophet. Amabel slept long and heavily, 
 and when she waked she was unable to 
 rise, ^e old lady came up to see her, and pro- 
 nounced at once that she was in for some «ort bf 
 fever. 
 
 The disease did not seem very violent at first. 
 Amabel was wandering at times, but she always 
 knew my voice and was as docile as a child. She 
 had bad nights and slept a good deal in the day- 
 time. She had no appetite, and would take nothing 
 but tea, to the great annoyance of Mrs. Alice, who 
 held tea to be a new-fangled poison ; and ranked it 
 with a broken covenant, a toleration of sectaries, 
 and all the other crying evils of the time. All the 
 «vils then existing in the kingdoms were attributed 
 by her to one of two causes — a broken covenant, 
 and the iniquitous union between England and Scot- 
 land. I cannot say I have to this day a very clear 
 notion of this same covenant, though I heard of it, 
 till I wished either that it had not been made at all, 
 or that it had been broken more effectually and 
 blown out of remembrance. 
 
 (499) 
 
500 The Foster- Sisters. 
 
 But, day by day, Amabel grew more feeble and 
 wasted, till at last she could not raise her head from 
 the pillow, or her hand to her head. One day she 
 called me to her bed-side — 
 
 " Lucy ! " said she in a whisper : " I am going 
 to die." 
 
 I could not contradict her. I believed it too, 
 tliough I dared not dwell on the thought for a 
 moment. 
 
 " I know my aunt and Mrs. Alice think so ! " she 
 continued. " I should be content, Lucy, only foi' 
 you. My life has not been long, but I have learned 
 that this world is a sad place for motherless girls." 
 
 " You must not talk, my dearest, you will exhaust 
 yourself ! " was all I could say. 
 
 " It will not hurt her ! " said Lady Thornyhaugh, 
 hi a whisper from behind the curtain. " Let her 
 say her say and ease her mind." 
 
 " I am ready to go ! " repeated Amabel : " but 
 Oh, Lucy ! I want to see my father and Walter. I 
 want to see my father once more — to tell him — ^to 
 warn him — " 
 
 Her voice failed for a moment. I gave her a lit- 
 tle wine and she went on 
 
 " Lucy, if I never see t\i^ again, tell him that I 
 could not help acting as I did. If he ever feels 
 sorry, tell him tliat I forgive him where there is 
 anything to forgive. And tell Walter I always 
 ioved him; tell him to go on as he is doing. We 
 shvall meet again." 
 
 SJ\e could say no more, and for some hours we 
 
The Doctor from Neivcastle, 50 1 
 
 thought she would never speak again. The doctor, 
 a sensible man, gave as very little hope. 
 
 " The disease is mostly of the mind, but it is 
 wearing out the body ! " said he : " If she could be 
 thoroughly roused and the current of her thoughts 
 changed, it would give her the best chance." 
 
 Lady Thornyhaugh followed the doctor from the 
 room, and had a somewhat lengthened conference 
 with him, in the course of which I was surprised to 
 hear the doctor laugh. 
 
 " The very thing, madam ! " I heard him say : 
 " I would go for him myself, if I could leave my 
 patients." 
 
 " Who would the doctor go for ? " I asked, when 
 Lady Thornyhaugh came back. 
 
 "Another doctor! " said she: "I have sent off 
 an express for him. I have also sent for her father, 
 but I doubt the messenger finding him. Take com- 
 fort, bairn, the case is not desperate. In the multi- 
 tude of counselors there is safety, and I have known 
 muckle good come from a change of doctors. But 
 don't say a word to Amabel if she rouses up." 
 
 The days went on to three or four, and still Ama- 
 bel seemed to grow weaker. She lay most of the 
 time in a sort of trance, now and then rousing to 
 take a spoonful of tea or milk. I read to her from 
 the Bible and Prayer-Book, and the look of her face 
 seemed to show that she heard and liked the words, 
 and sometimes I sung softly, " Jesus, Lover of my 
 Soul ! " and others of Mr. Wesley's hymns. I was 
 thus engaged one day, when I heard the tramplingr 
 
502 The Fosier-Sisters. 
 
 of horses' feet, and the usual noises of a traveler's 
 arrival. Amabel opened her eyes. 
 
 " Lucy, he is come ! " she whispered. 
 
 " Who has come, dearest ! " I asked, rejoicing to 
 hear the voice I almost thought I should never hear 
 again. 
 
 " My father ! I heard his voice. He will be in 
 time. Let him come up ! Go and bring him." 
 
 I stopped a few minutes in my own room to com- 
 pose myself, for the very thought of meeting Sir 
 Julius roused such a tempest of indignation in my 
 oreast that I could liardly breathe. When I went 
 down to the sitting-room, I found Sir Julius walking 
 up and down the room, evidently overwhelmed with 
 grief and embarrassment, while my lady seated in 
 her great chair was laying down the law to him, 
 and Mrs. Alice behind her stood regarding him as 
 though he were the breaker of the covenant, the 
 author of the union, and the gypsy who stole her 
 ducks, all rolled into one. 
 
 ^' But you must allow, aunt, that I had a right to 
 bestow my daughter in marriage according to my 
 own will ! " said he, making a feeble effort to justify 
 himself. 
 
 ^' I allow no such thing, nephew. You had no 
 right to make your child miserable, by giving her to 
 a bad man and one that she detested. You know 
 this Bulmer to be a bad man ! " 
 
 " Well, he was a friend to my lady, and she was 
 set on the match." 
 
 " And you let her rule you ! And you allow this 
 
The Doctor from Newcastle, 503 
 
 same friend of liers to stay at your house in your 
 absence and give orders to your servants and shut 
 your daughter up in her own room and half starve 
 her, while you are sent away on a wild-goose chase 
 and made the scorn of the whole country." 
 
 Sir Julius turned red and white, and seemed not 
 to know what to say. 
 
 " Well, Lucy Corbet, what is it ? " said Lady 
 Thornyhaugh, turning to me. 
 
 "Amabel is awake, madam!" said L I could 
 not bring myself to speak to Sir Julius. " She 
 knows her father is here, and desires to see him, 
 and I do not think there is any time to be lost." 
 
 " She is not so bad as that, surely ! " said Sir 
 Julius, turning pale. 
 
 *' She is at death's door ! " was the answer. " I 
 have sent for another doctor from Newcastle. If 
 he fails, all hope is over." 
 
 Amabel did, indeed, look like a body from which 
 the breath had departed, as we entered the room. 
 She smiled faintly as her father kissed her, but did 
 not try to speak. I gave her a little wine and she 
 opened her eyes and fixed them on Sir Julius with a 
 look which must have gone to his heart, it was so 
 full of love and of sorrow. 
 
 "Daughter, don't you know me?" said he, al- 
 most choked with grief, yet striving to command 
 himself. " Speak to me, my love ! Do you not 
 know me ? " 
 
 She made a faint sign of assent, and pressed his 
 hand, but she could not speak. 
 
504 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 "Oh, my child, my dear dutiful child, whom I 
 have left; to be murdered!" exclaimed the poor 
 man, now really cut to the heart, " only live and you 
 shall never be troubled about this matter again." 
 
 She smiled again, and made an effort to speak, 
 but in vain. Her eyes closed, and it seemed as 
 though every faint breath must be the last. As we 
 stood round her, sounds below announced the arri- 
 val of another guest. 
 
 "The doctor from Newcastle, but I doubt he 
 comes too late," whispered the old lady. She left 
 the room as she spoke. 
 
 In a minute a man's hasty foot was heard on the 
 stairs. Amabel opened her eyes and looked eagerly 
 toward the door. 
 
 "He has come!" she whispered. "Thank God." 
 
 The door opened and Mr. Cheriton entered in his 
 riding gear, just as he had dismounted, and stained 
 with travel. He went straight to the bed, without 
 giving so much as a look at any one of us, and took 
 Amabel in his arms. 
 
 " My love, my precious one. Amabel, you must 
 live for me ! No one shall part us, more." 
 
 " No, Amabel, no one shall part you more ! " said 
 Sir Julius, speaking now with real dignity and feel- 
 ing. " I have been cruel, and I have been misled 
 by others, but my eyes are opened. Will you not 
 try to live for your father and for the husband of 
 jrour choice ? " 
 
 " I will try ! " said Amabel, speaking more cheer- 
 fly than she had done for several days. The old 
 
The Doctor from Newcastle, 505 
 
 lady made a sign, and we stole out of the room and 
 left the lovers together. 
 
 "Aweel, Lucy Corbet, what think you of my 
 doctor from Newcastle ? " asked the old lady when 
 we were in her parlor once more. " Has he not 
 been worth more than all the bitters and bark for 
 our patient ? " 
 
 "Then you sent for Mr. Cheriton!" said Sir 
 Julius, rather dubiously. 
 
 " I suppose, nephew, I can invite what guests I 
 please to my own house ! " answered the old lady, 
 drawing herself up. 
 
 "Of course, of course, aunt, you have done the 
 best thing possible, and just what I should have 
 proposed, had I been here ! " said Sir Julius. " I 
 am very much obliged to you." 
 
 " It's a pity you had not thought as much before 
 matters came to this pass ! " muttered the old lady, 
 who was rather apt to think aloud. " But, however, 
 all's well that ends well, only remember, nephew, 
 that you have given your consent to the wedding of 
 these young ones, and cannot in honor withdraw a 
 second time." 
 
 " I have no wish to withdraw at all ! " returned 
 Sir Julius, peevishly. " I wonder why every one 
 takes me for a weak fool with no mind of my own." 
 
 " 'Tis a wonder indeed ! " said the old lady gravely. 
 "But you must have refreshment after your ride. 
 Alice, will you see if the meal is ready ? " 
 
 Before dinner was served Mr. Cheriton came down 
 stairs, looking pale and worn enough, but very 
 happy. 
 
^o6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " She has taken half a cup of broth, and is sleep- 
 ing quietly!" said he. "I hope the crisis is safely 
 past, but she is very weak." 
 
 "We must try to strengthen her!" said Lady 
 Thornyhaugh. 
 
 " I bring a petition from her to her father ! " con- 
 tinued Mr. Cheriton. " I trust he will not refuse." 
 
 "'Tis a wonder if I do! " said Sir Julius, giving 
 Mr. Cheriton his hand with great cordiality. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 It was neither more nor less than that Amabel 
 and Mr. Cheriton should be married then and there. 
 
 " She wishes at least to bear my name, she says, 
 and that " wife of Walter Cheriton " may be on her 
 tombstone ! " said the poor young man, his eyes 
 overflowing in spite of himself. " Surely, Sir, you 
 will not refuse what may be her last request." 
 
 "No, indeed!" replied Sir Julius. "She shall 
 have her own way in everything, if she will only 
 try to get well, and after all, once they are married, 
 there will be no more to be said," he added, speaking 
 more to himself than to us. Then aloud — 
 
 " But where to find a clergyman ! " 
 
 "A minister is not far to seek!" said Lady 
 Thornyhaugh. Here is good Mr. Craig, not half a 
 mile away. I can send man and horse for him at 
 once if you say so." 
 
 " But he is a Presbyterian ! " said Sir Julius rather 
 perplexed. 
 
 " He is the best I can give you, however ! " an- 
 swered the old lady. . " We have no other kind in 
 
The Doctor from Newcastle, 507 
 
 these parts, unless you like to wait till I can send 
 to Edinbro' for one of your non-juring sort. If you 
 do not like mice you should not take up your house 
 with the owl you ken. Mr. Craig has visited your 
 daughter many times during her illness and she has 
 found comfort in his prayers. I fancy she will not 
 object to take her husband at his hands." 
 
 " Do not let there be any needless delay ! " said 
 Mr. Cheriton, earnestly. " Amabel is so weak that 
 a little agitation may make all the difference in the 
 world." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed ! " said Lady Thornyhaugh. 
 We will manage the matter. " Nephew, is it your 
 pleasure that I send for this good man ? " 
 
 " Of course I Send at once ! " replied Sir Julius. 
 " I only trust that the fatigue of the ceremony may 
 not be too much for my daughter." 
 
 " Never fear ! She will not die from getting her 
 own way ! " answered Lady Thornyhaugh. " I will 
 send Alick, directly." 
 
 Within an hour, Walter Cheriton and Amabel 
 Leighton were wedded. 
 
 " Thank you, dear father ! " said Amabel, sinking 
 back, when we had all kissed her. i 
 
 " Now, I am ready to go ! " 
 
 " Hoot, toot, bairn ! You are just ready to stay ! " 
 said the old lady. " Would you go and leave your 
 good man so soon, after you have had all this fash 
 to get him ? Go down now all of you, and leave 
 this child to Alice and me for awhile. She will be 
 the better of rest and quiqjb, and you will be muckle 
 the better of your dinners." 
 
5o8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 " But I fear I must return to Edinburgh, to-night, 
 aunt ! " said Sir Julius, hesitating." 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind ! " said Lady 
 Thornyhaugh, positively. " Would you leave the 
 bairn before she is able to talk five minutes with 
 you ? Na, na ! Your place is here just now. Yon 
 lad at Edinbro' can want you well enough, and 
 maybe you will think better of it and go home." 
 
 I do not think the prospect of going home was 
 very enticing to Sir Julius, after all that had hap- 
 pened, but he readily agreed to stay a few days till 
 it should be seen what turn Amabel would take. 
 Now that the thing was done, I believe he was 
 glad to have her made happy in her own way. He 
 was not altogether a bad man. He might even 
 have been a good one if he had always lived with 
 good people. The trouble was that he had abso- 
 lutely no mind of his own. 
 
 The next day Amabel was decidedly better, and 
 on the third she was able to sit up. Sir Julius be- 
 gan to talk of returning to Edinburgh, though, as I 
 thought, not with any particular enthusiasm, when 
 news arrived which changed all his plans. Old 
 Robert came riding posthaste with letters from Mrs. 
 Deborah, and startling letters they were. The Hall 
 had taken fire a few days after we left it and was 
 almost entirely destroyed. No one had been hurt, 
 but my lady had disappeared, and it was believed 
 that she had perished in the flames. 
 
r***1 
 
 %:m\ 
 
 ^..^-^m.\ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 RS. DEBORAH'S letters contained a de- 
 tailed account of the catastrophe. 
 
 " Wilson, who has been here since the 
 fire, says that her lady was like a distracted 
 woman when she missed her step-daughter and dis- 
 covered that she was nowhere concealed in the house. 
 No one could imagine how she had escaped, as there 
 was no door left unfastened to Amabel's room. Even 
 when they discovered the door of communication 
 with the haunted room, they had no thought of her 
 escaping in that way, as both it and that leading to 
 the secret stairs were fastened on the other side 
 and could hardly be broken open. The servants 
 did not scruple to declare that their young lady had 
 been spirited away, and they so threatened the 
 French waiting-woman that she was glad to take 
 refuge in her mistress' apartment. There had been 
 a terrible scene between Lord Bulmer and Lady 
 Leighton when it was at last made certain that 
 Amabel was neither at Highbeck nor at the Little 
 House. He accused Lady Leighton of playing him 
 false and conniviag at the young lady's escape, and 
 
 (509) 
 
510 The Fjster-Sisters. 
 
 she wept and declared her innocence and begged 
 him to have pity on her ; but he at last flung away 
 from her, leaving her grovelling on the ground, 
 mounted his horse and followed by his servants 
 rode away to Newcastle." This was Wilson's ac- 
 count. How she gained her knowledge I don't 
 know, but she was not likely to lack any which 
 could be got by eavesdropping or peeping through 
 key-holes. "My lady was very ill for two or three 
 days, and Wilson waited on her, the other woman 
 not daring to come in the way of her fellow-serv- 
 ants. At last Lady Leighton received a letter 
 which seemed to calm her spirits a little, and she 
 told Wilson in the evening to go to bed and leave 
 her, as she felt like having a quiet night. At about 
 two o'clock, Wilson was awakened by the smoke 
 and heat, and hurrying down found her lady's room 
 wrapped in flames. She searched it at the risk of 
 her life, and at the expense of some terrible burns, 
 but could find nothing of her mistress. The serv- 
 ants and such men as were left about the place 
 worked like heroes, and Mr. Lethbridge specially 
 distinguished himself by his coolness and daring, 
 but a high wind was blowing and the flames defied 
 all their efforts. The servants all escaped except 
 the French woman, who, like her mistress, could not 
 be found. No bodies had been discovered, but the 
 east wing had fallen in, and they might be buried 
 under the ruins." 
 
 "I cannot help thinking there may be another 
 solution of the matter," Mrs. Deborah wrote in a 
 
The End, . 51 1 
 
 private note to me; "but I have never hinted at 
 such a thing to my brother in the letters I have sent 
 him, nor have I mentioned it to Wilson, who, poor 
 creature, is about distracted with grief for her mis- 
 tress, for whom she risked her life. She rushed into 
 the building again and again, and Mr. Lethbridge 
 hardly rescued her just before the walls fell in. The 
 silver, the family paper-chest, and some few other 
 things, were saved by Richard and the other men. 
 A part of the west wing is all that is left of 
 Highbeck." 
 
 There was no more talk of returning to Edinburgh 
 Sir Julius at once took horse for Northumberland, 
 accompanied, at Amabel's own desire, by Mr. Cheri- 
 ton. She was now out of all danger, and gaining 
 every day. Sir Julius thought of nothing but that 
 his wife had indeed perished, and no one was so 
 cruel as to suggest any thing else to him, especially 
 as, the ruins being explored, the charred remains of 
 a skeleton were indeed found beneath them. Mr. 
 Cheriton, who was not quite so certain, made inqui- 
 ries of his own, but could learn nothing beyond the 
 fact that Lord Bulmer had gone abroad, intending, 
 it was said, to remain some years, and taking no one 
 with him but a young French servant whom he had 
 hired in London. Sir Julius put his family into the 
 deepest mourning, and buried the poor remains with 
 every solemnity. Then, putting all his business into 
 Mr. Thirlwall's hands, he also went over to Holland, 
 thinking, I imagine, that he was best out of the 
 way till the matter of his little journey north was 
 forgotten. 
 
512 The Foster- Sisters, 
 
 Amabel recovered rapidly, and by the time the 
 snow-drops were in blossom she was able to return 
 with her husband to Newcastle. They were very 
 earnest to have me take up my abode with them, 
 and I consented to make them a visit, though I had 
 no mind it should be a very long one. I think young 
 married people are best left to themselves to shake 
 down together. But I could not refuse to help her 
 settle in her new home. 
 
 We found every thing in the best of order — thanks 
 to the old house-keeper and Mrs. Thorpe — and the 
 house was over-running with the gifts brought in by 
 Mr. Cheriton's parishioners. Mrs. Thorpe was the 
 same, and yet not the same. There was an odd sort 
 of consciousness and shyness about her, especially 
 when she told me that she had thoughts of giving 
 up her shop. 
 
 "You see I can live well enough without it," said 
 she, " and I am tired of being at every one's beck 
 and call." 
 
 "And have you met Father Brousseau lately?" 
 asked Amabel. "You wrote us last winter that he 
 had been to see you two or three times." 
 
 Mrs. Thorpe blushed like a young girl. "Oh, yes. 
 Have you not heard ? He has a parish in London, 
 among the French weavers, where he is doing a great 
 deal of good." 
 
 " I am right glad to hear it," said Amabel. " He 
 is an excellent man." 
 
 " Then, perhaps, you will not be sorry to hear that 
 he — ^that I — in short, we are going to be married!" 
 
The End, 513 
 
 said Mrs. Thorpe, smiling, in the midst of her con- 
 fusion, at our astonishment. "You see he is such a 
 babe in the woods in respect of English ways, and 
 needs some one to care for him, and I thought I 
 could do as much good in that way as any other. 
 And I always did like the good gentleman ever since 
 I took care of him when he was so sea-sick coming 
 over on my brother's vessel." 
 
 I saw Amabel nicely settled in her new house, and 
 then went back to Mrs. Deborah. I tried not to be 
 selfish, but 1 must confess I felt rather forlorn. 
 However, I knew there was no use in repining, and 
 no sense in it either, seeing that my fate had been 
 ordered by One wiser than myself, who knew just 
 what was best for me. So I set to work with all my 
 might nursing Mrs. Deborah, who was growing very 
 feeble and helpless from rheumatism, and attending 
 to the poor folks and teaching in the school, whereby 
 I got into some trouble with Mr. Lethbridge from 
 teaching the children one of Mr. Charles Wesley's 
 hymns. He forgave me afterward, however, and 
 grew somewhat inconveniently friendly. However, 
 he got over it, and married a very nice young lady. 
 I helped Mary Lee prepare her wedding set-out, and 
 saw her married to Alick, who made her an excellent 
 husband. I spun a great deal of fine thread, and 
 made baby-linen for Amabel, whose first child was 
 named for me. I was quite rich for the time and 
 place. Sir Julius had directed Mr. Thirlwall to pay 
 me the rents of the Black Lees, which was in the 
 hands of an excellent tenant, and I asked no ques- 
 
514 The Foster-Sisters. 
 
 tions about the past profits which had gone into Sir 
 Julius' pockets. Besides, I had a hundred a year 
 from Mr. Carey. I finished Mrs. Chloe's knitted 
 quilt, and made one of silk patch-work for Amabel, 
 vhich was much admired. I will not say that I was 
 not somewhat sad and lonely at times, but generally 
 I was content enough. Amabel was happy as a 
 woman could well be in this world, with an excellent 
 husband and lovely, healthy children, and I saw her 
 two or three times a year. I knew that I was a 
 great comfort to Mrs. Deborah in her lonely old age, 
 and that I was useful in the village. 
 
 I staid several years with Mrs. Deborah, and laid 
 her honored head in the grave beside Mrs. Chloe's. 
 Then, being over five and twenty, and my presence 
 being needful in Exeter to settle certain business 
 matters, I made the long journey thither, and staid 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Carey several months, after 
 which I came to my present home. It is a very 
 neat and pretty old house, not large, but convenient 
 and sunny, in a little valley or coombe opening to 
 the sea. After I had lived here a year, I put in 
 practise a plan which had been brewing in my head 
 for some time. I took into my family five or six 
 orphan maidens, children of sailors, and with the help 
 of an excellent worthy woman I made a home for 
 them; teaching them to read and write, to knit, 
 spin, and sew, and giving them other learning suita- 
 ble for their condition, preparing them either for 
 service or for ruling families of their own. I never 
 have more than six at one time, and though they 
 
The E7td. 515 
 
 have all sorts of dispositions among them, and are 
 naughty and troublesome at times like all children, 
 I have been very happy with them. 1 have only 
 one of my original flock left, and she is sister, child, 
 and servant all in one. I fear that I shall soon lose 
 her, for Simon Sablot, a fine young man of French 
 protestant descent, and a ship's carpenter in good 
 business is looking after her, and I do not think she 
 is at all averse to him. 
 
 Mr. Cheriton in course of time succeeded to the 
 Carew estate and title, and came to live upon his 
 lands. This was a great joy to me, as it brought 
 Amabel once more within my reach. She often 
 comes to see me, and I have one or other of her 
 daughters with me for weeks at a time. She has 
 been a happy woman, though she has had her trou- 
 bles, particularly in the loss of several of her chil- 
 dren. 
 
 When peace was proclaimed, Walter and Amabel 
 went abroad and visited our old home in France- 
 They found the convent quite deserted, save by an 
 old priest who did duty in the church, and the 
 court-yard and cemetery so overgrown tliat they 
 could hardly find the place where dear Mother Supe- 
 rior was buried. The community were living and 
 flourishing in the new house at Fleurs, having re- 
 ceived several accessions to their numbers. Mother 
 Prudentia was still superior, and received Amabel 
 with great affection, though she mourned greatly 
 over her desertion of the true church. The dear 
 lady sent me some beautiful lace, and a book of His 
 
5i6 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 Grace the Archbishop of Cambrais' writings, which 
 are good reading for any one, whether Catholic or 
 Protestant. There is, it seems, little or no persecu- 
 tion for the sake of religion in France at present, 
 though the Jesuits still hold up their heads, and 
 have whatever education there is for the common 
 people wholly in their own hands. But there is 
 great distress among the people, especially among 
 the peasantry, and many ominous mutterings of 
 discontent. If the poor beast of burden does once 
 get loose, I pity his former keepers. 
 
 My Lord Carew is an excellent landlord, and has 
 greatly improved the condition both of his estate 
 and the people living upon it. He and Mr. Wesley 
 are as great friends as ever. Mr. Wesley always 
 visits me when he comes into these parts, and 
 approves my management of the children in gen- 
 eral, though he thinks I allow them too much play, * 
 and shakes his head over the baby-house and story- 
 books in the girls' sitting-room. However, he ad- 
 mits now-a-days that fiction may have its uses, and 
 has himself edited an edition of Mr. Brooke's " Fool 
 of Quality " under the name of " The life of Henry, 
 Earl of Morland," and he has also written some 
 notes upon Shakespeare, f as he tells me. He is 
 still hale and hearty, and preaches with all the fire 
 
 * It is well known that Mr. Wesley forbade play entir^y in 
 his own school at Bangswood — a strange mistake to be made by 
 such a sensible, practical man. No wonder the school was not 
 a success. 
 
 \ Which were unhappily destroyed. 
 
The End. 517 
 
 and vigor of his early days, when I heard him in 
 tha church-yard of St. Anne's. It is most wonder- 
 ful to see the changes he has worked in these parts, 
 among the tinners, fishermen, and other wild peo- 
 ple. He has greatly lessened by his influence the 
 horrible practise of wrecking, that is, decoying vessels 
 on shore by means of false lights that they may be 
 wrecked and plundered. There are wrecks enough 
 as it is on this dangerous shore. I hope we shall 
 hear of none to-morrow, but it promises a wild 
 night, and there are two or three ships in the 
 offing. # « ♦ * * 
 
 Word has been brought to me that several bod- 
 ies have come ashore, and that the fishermen have 
 saved alive two persons who were floating on a spar. 
 One, they tell me, says he is from Newcastle, and 
 has been a prisoner among the Moors for many 
 years. I must go down and see if I can do any- 
 thing for them. I am so silly, that such a story 
 sets my heart to beating as though Harry had not 
 been dead this many a year. If it should be he ! 
 Well, if it were, I am growing an old woman, and 
 very likely he would not know me, or he may be 
 married. How silly I am. As if there were one 
 chance in ten thousand. 
 
 But it wm Harry, and we knew each other before 
 a word was spoken. He was shipwrecked in the 
 Indian Ocean as we heard, but was saved by a 
 Moorish vessel after he had floated on some pieces 
 of tb^ vessel for two or three days, and was a slave 
 
5i8 The Foster-Sisters, 
 
 to the Moors for many a long year. Being thus 
 forced to serve on board a pirate vessel, he had the 
 luck to be taken by an English Indiaman, and car- 
 ried to Bombay, from whence he had come home at 
 last. He said he might have returned before, but 
 hearing from some Newcastle man that I was mar- 
 ried, he lost all heart or wish to see his native place 
 again. So he staid in India, where he got good 
 employment under the company and made a fair 
 fortune. At last he conceived a desire to see Eng- 
 land again. Coming to London he met Wilson, 
 who is comfortably established there in a hair-dress- 
 ing business, and having formerly had some slight 
 acquaintance with her he made himself known to 
 her, and heard the truth about me. He was com- 
 ing to seek me out, when his ship, which was bound 
 for Bristol, was wrecked and threw him as it were 
 at my very door. 
 
 Harry is very earnest with me to marry him at 
 once, saying that we have been separated long 
 enough, and if we have not many years to live there 
 is so much the more reason why we should spend 
 them together. I have told him that I must consult 
 my Lord and Amabel, and he makes no objection, 
 because, as he says, he knows well enough what thej^ 
 will say. ^ 
 
 Harry told me that while in London he lodged 
 with Mrs. Wilson, who is quite a changed woman 
 and as devout and serious as she used to be the 
 contrary. He found her caring foi a poor demented 
 sullen creature who never spoke, but spent her 
 
The End, 519 
 
 whole time in twisting and untwisting a ribbon in 
 her wasted hands. Mrs. Wilson was as tender of 
 her as though she were her own child, serving her 
 with the best of everything, and treating her with 
 the greatest respect, though the poor thing hardly 
 seemed to take a sense of anything. It was only 
 just before he came away that Wilson told him this 
 wretched spectre was once the proud and beautiful 
 Lady Throckmorton. She had found her former 
 mistress sustained by the charity of some poor 
 fallen creatures in a wretched garret (for it seems 
 Wilson spends much time and money in visiting 
 and helping the poor) and had brought her home 
 to spend her last days in peace. The poor thing 
 has a heart disease, and was like to die at any time. 
 Never was a woman who had more advantages, or 
 one who more wantonly threw them all away. She 
 chose the world for her portion. She would have 
 her good things in this life. But the world slipped 
 from her grasp, and its fruits turned to dust and 
 ashes on her lips. She did not sin in ignorance. 
 She heard times enough, the voice which said: 
 " This is the way, walk ye in it." But she chose 
 her own way and it led her down to utter destructio:^ 
 Poor thing, poor thing ! ; 
 
 I shall go to see Amabel to-morrow, but I know 
 very well what she will say. 
 
 The End. 
 
^t^ ""