"It is not the meeting her, but the doing what she would not like, that I am afraid of; but it will do, perhaps, if I ring the bell in the schoolroom, and then I can ask for it."
"Yes; only run off and be quick, for we have not much time to spare."
And in a moment Amy disappeared; and with the best speed she could make, found her way to the schoolroom, and seizing the bell-rope, without remembering how easily it rang, gave it such a pull that the sound was heard through the whole house. The last tone had but just died away when another was heard, to Amy's ear much more awful. It was her aunt's harsh voice in the passage, exclaiming against such a noise being made, and declaring that Dora or Margaret, whichever it was, should be severely reprimanded. Poor Amy actually trembled, and stood with the bell-rope in her hand, unable to move, when Mrs Harrington entered.
"What, Amy! Amy Herbert! A most extraordinary liberty, I must say! I must beg you to recollect that you are not at home. Pray, did any one give you permission to ring?"
Amy could hardly say "yes," because it was her own proposition; but she stammered out "that Margaret wanted the key of the chapel, and she did not like to go amongst the servants, for fear of displeasing her aunt."
"Then Margaret should have come herself to ask for what she wants; I will have no one but my own family ringing the bell and giving orders in my house. And such a noise!" continued Mrs Harrington, her anger increasing as she remembered how her nerves had been affected by the loud peal.
Amy could only look humble and distressed; and, forgetting the key and everything but her desire to escape from her aunt, she moved as quickly towards the door as she dared. But she had scarcely reached it when a second fright awaited her—a grasp, which seemed almost like that of a giant, stopped her, and the quick, good-humoured voice of a stranger exclaimed, "Why, what's the matter? Who have we got here—a third daughter, Mrs Harrington?"
Amy ventured to look in the face of the speaker, and felt reassured by the kind, open countenance that met her view. She guessed in an instant it must be Lord Rochford.
"Not a daughter," replied Mrs Harrington, in a constrained voice; "Mr
Harrington's niece, Amy Herbert."
"Ah! well," said Lord Rochford, "it is very nearly a daughter, though. Then this must be the child of my friend Harrington's second sister, Ellen. I could almost have guessed it from the likeness; those black eyes are the very image of her mother's. And what has become of the colonel? any news of him lately?"