The foster-sisters

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

But Elsie persuaded him to "bide a wee," as she said, seeing it was not likely that Mary would see him unless she had notice beforehand of his coming, which she (Elsie) would try to send her. They were still arguing the point, when who should appear but Mary herself, with my bundles and some of her own, escorted and assisted by Harry, who, I fancy, would gladly have cut out the handsome young borderer, had it been in his power. I left the two glaring at each other like two dogs, whom prudence or politeness restrains from fighting in the house, and took Mary in to Mrs. Deborah to learn her news.

"My lady has sent me away, miss!" sobbed Mary, bursting into tears. "And without a bit of a character, and she called me a thief to my face, me that never touched so much as a pin that did not belong to me, and though Mrs. Wilson herself said she wished every one in the house was as honest as I was."

I soothed and comforted Mary as well as I could, and Mrs. Deborah told her she would give her the best of characters, which seemed to afford her a little consolation.

"And what of Miss Leighton?" I asked, when Mary had recovered her composure. "How is she?"

"Well enough in health, miss, but sad enough in her spirits, as well she may be. My lady taunts and sneers at her from morning till night, and then, there is Lord Bulmer hanging round, and giving orders in the house—who but he?—as though he were its master and more. It's my belief as they mean to compel my poor young lady into a marriage whether or no."

"But how can they?" I asked. "Mr. Lethbridge would never lend himself to such business."

"No, miss, but there's that Mr. Trimble—chaplain as they call him—he is none too good at the best, and when he is half seas over, as he is about half the time, he will do any thing for more liquor. By what my lord's man let out one day, I believe he was brought to the hall for this very job."

I looked at Mrs. Deborah and wrung my hands with impatience and anxiety.

"Take care, Mary Lee! Say no more than you know to be true," said Mrs. Deborah, gravely.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon, Mrs. Deborah, ma'am, if I spoke disrespectful," said Mary. "But oh, Mrs. Deborah! Oh, ladies! Do save my poor young lady! They will kill her among them. They have shut her up alone in her room with no one near her, only that wicked French woman takes her her meals, and poor meals they are. Even Mrs. Wilson is not allowed to go to her. And, Mrs. Deborah, the wolf howled last night! I heard him myself, and so did all of us, and Harry says it bodes some great misfortune. And worse than that—"