"What is your rule of action, my dear?"
"My rule?" said Rotha, growing grave again. "I think, Mrs. Mowbray, I want to do what is right."
"There is a further question. Do you want to do what I think right, or what you think right, or—what God thinks right?"
"I want to do that," said Rotha, with her heart beating very disagreeably. "I want to do what God thinks right."
"Then I advise you, my dear, to ask him."
"Ask him what, madame?"
"Ask what you ought to do in the circumstances. I confess I am not ready with the answer. My first feeling is with you, that your aunt has no right to take such a step; but, my dear, it is sometimes our duty to suffer wrong. And you are under her care; she is the nearest relative you have; you must consider what is due to her in that connection. She stands to you in the place of your parents—"
"O no, ma'am!" Rotha exclaimed. "Never! Not the least bit."
"Not as entitled to affection, but as having a right to respect and observance. You cannot change that fact, my dear. Whether you love her or not, you owe her observance; and within certain limits, obedience. She stands in that place with regard to you."
"But my own mother gave me to Mr. Southwode."