"Catholics, eh! I never thought of that," said Mrs. Deborah, looking rather annoyed. "It has always been the rule in our family that the girls should follow their mother's religion; but my nephew, it seems, has found means to evade it. I don't know what my sisters will say. But never mind, now, your consciences shan't be interfered with, if I can help it. Well, then we will consider matters settled, and that you are to stay here. I will talk to Mrs. Thorpe about a proper companion for you. Meantime, here is a token for each of you!" and she laid down two guineas upon the table. "Oh, by the way, niece, have you heard from your father?"
"No, aunt!" answered Amabel. "I had hoped for a letter, or perhaps a sight of him before long."
"I do not believe he will come north at present—and perhaps it is just as well on the whole, that he should not!" answered Mrs. Deborah. "His wife has great influence with him, and from all I hear, she is not likely to let him burn his fingers; not that I believe these tales of the Prince's landing. Well, there! Good-bye. Be good girls, and God bless you."
We looked at each other, as the door closed on Mrs. Deborah.
"Well, how do you like her?" said I.
"Very much!" answered Amabel, with decision, as usual. "I think she is rather rough, but I am sure she is good. How very kindly she spoke to you. Do you not like her?"
"Yes! Very much," I answered.
And indeed, Mrs. Deborah's way of putting me on an equality with Amabel, had extracted from my mind a root of bitterness which had vegetated there for a long time. Ever since our last talk with Mother Superior about returning to England, I had fully made up my mind never to leave Amabel, whatever happened. But I had shed some proud tears in secret, at the thought of being degraded from an equal and companion, to a mere waiting-woman. That trial was not to come upon me, at least for the present.
That same afternoon, a messenger came from Lady Throckmorton, bringing back the aprons that we had worn at the theatre, with the following note.
"Girls:
"You may tell your aunt, that I might easily enough repay the affront she has seen fit to put upon me, but I scorn such paltry revenge. As to you, I meant to do you a kindness which you might have taken for such; but of course, such chits as you have to do as you are bid. I am not in the habit of taking back my gifts, for such I meant 'em. You can either keep the things, or put 'em in the fire.
"CLARISSA THROCKMORTON."