“No, mamma, dear, I cannot; but some day some visitor will innocently ask me some straightforward, plain question, which will require an answer, involving a confession of my real position. Oh! what shall I do in such a case?”
“My dear child, wait until that day comes and that question is asked. That will be time enough to worry about it. Jennie! the secret of peace is the practice of faith. Do your present duty, bear your present burden, enjoy your present blessings, and leave the future to the Lord. You have nothing to do with it. For you it has not even an existence,” said Hetty.
Early in December news came in a letter from Mr. Randolph Hay, in Paris, to his bailiff, Mr. John Prowt, announcing the return of the squire, with his wife and a party of friends, to spend the Christmas holidays at the Hall. The house was to be made ready for them by the fifteenth of the month.
Again all the estate, all the village and all the surrounding country were agog with anticipations of the free festivities that should glorify the triumphal entry of the new squire upon his paternal estate.
Every one who came to call at the rectory talked of nothing but the expected event.
On the next Sunday morning the Rev. Mr. Campbell preached an awful warning from the text:
“Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.”
And in the afternoon he preached a similar jeremiad from another text:
“I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree.
“Yet he passed away, and lo! he was not; yea, I sought him, but he could not be found.”