"But what will you say!" I asked, detaining her, as she bent to kiss me.
"I shall see, when the time comes. There is no use in planning before hand. Let me go, dear. I must not keep them waiting, and since it must come, the sooner it is over, the better."
This was just the difference between Amabel and me. She, as I have said before, hardly ever made a plan, and I was always making them, and then finding out that they were of no avail, and that I had after all to depend on the impulse or direction of the minute.
I threw myself on my knees and prayed most earnestly, that my darling might be supported and stayed up in the deep waters through which she was called to pass, and then feeling somewhat comforted, I set myself to cheat the moments of anxiety by planning and cutting a little coat out of an old gown of Mrs. Philippa's for Mary Thornaby, who was just about short-coating her first baby. I had the little garment well under way before Amabel's step was heard in the gallery.
I sprang up to meet her.
She was very pale and looked ready to drop with fatigue, and as I caught her in my arms she laid her head on my neck, and wept long and bitterly. I let the tears have their way, thinking they would relieve her oppressed spirits. At last she quieted herself and then told me all about it.
"I found my father and his wife sitting in the library, and Lord Bulmer standing behind my lady's chair. He made me a deep reverence as he came in, but I only curtsied in general and would not look at him."
"Amabel!" my father began, and then he hesitated and looked at his wife.
Then as she declined to help him out, he began again: "Amabel, your father and mother have sent for you to inform you of something which will be greatly to your advantage, and they hope to find in you an obedient and grateful daughter."
I did not see anything in this which called for an answer, so I curtsied again, whereat my father said—I would say peevishly, but that he is my father—"Oh, curtsying is all very well, but we want an answer in words!"