A feeling of indignation swelled the heart of Isa, and it cost her an effort to give it no outward expression. Isa was not one of those who regard the humbler members of a household as mere pieces of furniture, to be discarded when faulty, or neglected when worn out, without a thought or a care. She looked upon them as fellow-Christians and fellow-immortals, over whom the position of master or mistress gives an influence for which an account must one day be rendered. Added to this, Lottie’s simplicity, warmth of heart, and the knowledge of her early trials, had engaged in her behalf the kindly interest of her young mistress. Isa’s anxiety on account of her run-away servant was not only a matter of conscience, but a matter of feeling also.
After some minutes of silence, Isa exclaimed, as if she had suddenly found a clue for which she had been searching, “It must have been your words to her yesterday evening.”
“What words do you mean?” asked Gaspar.
“You said that she must have been drinking. Such a sentence, though lightly spoken, would wound her deeply, for she would think it an allusion to the well-known vice of her father, whom, poor child, she loves so dearly.”
“Really,” observed Mr. Gritton, with a short, harsh laugh, “we must be careful now-a-days where we blow thistle-down, lest it should wound some sensitive maid-of-all-work!” He was not sorry that Isa should suggest some cause for Lottie’s sudden flight that was remote from the real one.
“I cannot rest till I know all, and have seen the poor girl,” thought Isa; “I will go over to the Castle at once, and ask Edith to take me in the carriage to Axe.”
