“And will He keep away my Lord Polesworth?” asked the girl, earnestly.
“He will keep away everything that can hurt you. Not, maybe, everything you don’t like. Sometimes ’tis just the contrary. The sweet cake that you like might harm you, and the physic you hate might heal you. If so, He will give you the physic. But, child, if you are His own, He will put the cup into your had with a smite which will make it easy to take.”
“I should like that,” said Gatty, wistfully. “But could it be right to wed with my Lord Polesworth, when I could not love nor honour him in my heart at all?”
“It can never be right to lie. Ask God to make you a way of escape, if so it be.”
“What way?”
“Leave that to Him.”
Mrs Dorothy’s little clock struck four.
“I think, if you please, Mrs Gatty,” said Phoebe’s hitherto silent voice, “that Madam will be looking for us.”
“Yes, I guess she will,” answered Gatty, rising, and courtesying. “I thank you, Mrs Dolly. You have given me a ray of hope—if ’twill not die away.”
Mrs Dorothy drew the girl to her, and kissed her cheek.