When they reached home, they found only Betsy, waiting up for them, and Mabel begged Lucy to go as quietly as possible to her room, for fear of waking Amy—but she insisted on following her, without stopping to remark the expression of unusual paleness and fatigue, which was visible in her countenance, and compelled her to listen to the story of her evening's adventures.
"You know," said she, blushing, "when I was up in that high poky place, at the top of the long ladder, Captain Clair said he would not let me go down till I gave him some reward; of course I knew he wanted a kiss, but I was not going to give it him, and so I stood still, till I was so tired, that I compromised the matter by giving him my hand to kiss; so then he let me go, saying, he supposed he must be contented."
"Oh! Lucy," cried Mabel, "how could you be so imprudent as to go up there alone—how impertinent of him—why did you let him take such a liberty."
"Come, nonsense, now sweetest, do not be a prude, it does not become you to look like an old maid. What is the harm of having a kiss on one's hand, one's cheek would be different, and, of course, I would not allow him to do that."
"But, Lucy, dear, is it not imprudent to place yourself in a position which would allow him to ask such a thing—will it not make you appear a flirt—does it not lower you to allow him to be so free, after seeing him only for a few hours. Do consider."
"Why, one would think I was a grandmother. I hate being cross at every little thing. I am sure it is more wicked to quarrel, after all."
"Yes, but if you would only understand me," said Mabel, "you would know, I would not have you quarrel, either. But if you will let me, we will talk of it again to-morrow, for now poor Amy is waking. You know," said she, gently putting her arm round her pretty cousin, and kissing her forehead softly; "you know you promised to let me talk to you in this way, and you half promised to listen."
"Well, sweet cousin, I think you may be speaking the truth, after all. It was very naughty of me, perhaps," she added, with a smile, "to go up in the loft, and so I will try and be better in future. Oh dear! dear! Amy is awake; well, I am very sorry. Go to sleep, child, Mabel is tired," and off she ran to her own room, leaving her cousin to soothe the restless child as she could.
Perhaps it was as well that Mabel was thus prevented from following the train of depressing thought into which she seemed to have fallen on her return from the rectory, for, as she sunk to rest, with Amy's head upon her arm, she remembered, that if sorrow had ever laid its heavy hand upon her life, the treasure of a sister's love had yet been given her—a sister rendered more dear by sickness and weakness. And in these thoughts the unselfish girl soon forgot all other feelings.