“That term I repudiate,” answered the lady. “I am a daughter of the Anglican Church, and as such I wish to bring up all my pupils.”
“You may act according to your conscience, but parents may differ from you as to whether you are right in compelling growing children to fast, as also in allowing them to confess to a person whom you call a priest,” answered the general. “I regret having to act in any way which is disagreeable to you, but I must insist, madam, with the authority given me by Mr Lennard, on seeing his daughter alone, and judging what steps I shall take.”
The lady hesitated; the general put Mr Lennard’s letter into her hand. She still hesitated.
“Have you any reason for wishing me not to see Mary?” he asked.
“She may appear worse than she really is,” said Mrs Barnett. “Our medical attendant has visited her daily.”
“That makes it more necessary for me to see her and judge for myself,” said the general, in a firm tone.
Mrs Barnett rang the bell, and a servant appearing, she told her to inform Miss Lennard that a friend of her father wished to see her.
“She isn’t able to get up, marm, I’m afraid,” was the answer.
“Then show me her room,” said the general, rising; and without waiting to hear Mrs Barnett’s remarks, he followed the servant, who led the way upstairs to a room containing four beds. A cough struck his ears as he entered. On one of the beds lay poor Mary; her once rosy cheek was pale and thin, and her large eyes unusually bright. She knew him at once, and stretching out both her hands, said, “I am glad to see you; but I thought papa would come.”
The general explained that Mr Lennard was prevented from doing what he wished.