“Oh, that’s for you maids, not for her. She is not a good forgiver,” said my Uncle Charles, more gravely. “She takes after her mother, my Lady Sophia. Don’t I remember my Lady Sophia!”
And I should say, from the expression of my Uncle Charles’s face, that his recollections of my Lady Sophia Carlingford were not among the pleasantest he had.
Hatty is growing much more like herself, with the pertness left out. She looks a great deal better, and can smile and laugh now; but her old sharp, bright ways are gone, and only show now and then, in a little flash, what she was once.
The Crosslands have disappeared—nobody knows where. But I do not think Miss Marianne Newton has broken her heart; indeed, I am not quite sure that she has one.
In the afternoon, Ephraim came, and I went in a chair under his escort to Mr Raymond’s house. Hatty declined to come; she seemed to have a dislike to go out of doors, further than just to take the air in the square, with Dobson behind her. I should not like that at all. It would make me feel as if the constable had me in custody. But Grandmamma insists on it; and Hatty does not seem to feel safe without somebody.
In Mr Raymond’s parlour, I found Annas and Flora, alone. I do not know what to say they looked like. Both are white and worn, as if a great strain had been on their hearts: but Flora is much the more broken-down of the two. Annas is more queenly than ever, with a strange, far-away look in the dear grey eyes, that I can hardly bear to see. I ran up to her first thing.
“O Annas, tell me!” I cried, amidst my kisses, “tell me, did I do right or wrong?”
I felt sure she would need no explanation.
“You did right, Cary,”—and the dark grey eyes looked full into mine. “Who are we, to refuse our best to the Master when He calls? But it is hard, hard to bear it!”
“Is there any hope of escape?” I asked.