"No person is to be trusted whose mind and conscience are wholly in the keeping of another," said Master Lucas. "I pray you, let me manage the matter my own way."
"So Madam Barbara is going to leave us," said Cicely, a few days afterward. "Father William has discovered some friends of hers off among the hills who desire a visit from her, and she is to go to them. We shall miss her more than a little."
"I hope to return, one of these days," said Madam Barbara. "I am sure I shall never find a happier home than this or a kinder friend than you are, dear Cicely, if I go over the world to look for them; but this lady is very lonely, and she has daughters to educate, and, moreover, there are other reasons which make my going desirable."
"Well, well; every one knows his own business best, and blood is blood—I don't deny that," said Cicely, "and I can't but think one's own relations were meant to be nearer than other folks, for all Anne says about it. But it must be a wild, dreary place—especially in winter."
"The more need for sunshine in the house, and I am sure Madam Barbara carries that with her wherever she goes," said Jack.
Anne heard of the intended departure of Sister Barbara with little regret. There had, of late, been no sympathy between them. Anne felt that Sister Barbara wholly disapproved of her conduct to her father and brother; and dead as she believed herself to be to all earthly things, she could not endure even an intimation of that blame she was so ready at all times to bestow on others. Moreover, she was jealous. It was impossible to live with Sister Barbara and not love her, and though Anne did not and would not take any pains to make herself agreeable or beloved, yet it angered her to the soul, to see another taking the place which belonged of right to herself.
Anne's life, at this time, was one of sheer inconsistency. She was fighting in behalf of a faith in which she, in her heart, scarcely preserved a shadow of belief; she was determined to crush out all earthly ties, and at the same time she was able to endure the thought of not being first in her father's house; and though she had told her brother that she should feel perfectly justified in betraying him, she was yet fiercely indignant at him for withholding his confidence from her. All this inward conflict did not tend to make her the more amiable, and while she revenged upon herself by renewed penances any failure in "holy humility," she was deeply hurt and indignant if any one in the least degree reproved or resented her bursts of temper.
She asked no questions as to Sister Barbara's plans, and hardly returned her expressions of affection at parting, yet she stood at the door watching the party as far as she could see them, and then, going up to her room, she wept long and bitterly—partly over the parting, partly over the disappointment of the hopes with which she had welcomed her former friend, and a good deal, it must be confessed, from mere hysterical fatigue consequent upon fasting and watching for sixteen or eighteen hours.
Jack and his father rode with Madam Barbara to within some ten miles of her destination, when they were met by Mr. Hendley, who gave the lady a hearty welcome, and to her friends an equally hearty invitation to come and see him and his wife, and stay any number of days or months.
Then, seeing the lady mounted on a pillion behind her protector, they took their leave of her, and turned their faces homeward. Taking advantage of a late moon, they had set out long before day to avoid any prying observations or questions from the neighbors, and it was still early when they returned home. As they turned into their own street, Jack uttered a vehement exclamation of surprise, at the sight of a stout elderly gentleman, in a cassock, descending with apparent pain and difficulty from his mule.