For all her aspirations and longings, and for all her secret misgivings and fears for the future, for all her dreams of beauty and love of the good and true, she found the right expression and the right word. 'How wonderful,' she thought, 'that he should know everything I feel.' The master's hand was recognised, and the recognition quickened her sympathy for poor Chatterton, who at this time--this Eastertide of 1770--was so greatly in need of it. The storm that had long been in the air now broke over the head of Mr Lambert's apprentice. Bryda heard angry voices in Mr Lambert's study before he went to his office one morning, and presently Madam Lambert came out bridling with rage, and declaring she would not sleep another night under the same roof with 'the young rascal.' 'No, no, I will not run the risk. What are you standing there for, Miss Palmer?' she said as, trembling with suppressed indignation, she put out her hand to Bryda to support her into her own parlour. 'Take care of my mother, Miss Palmer,' the lawyer said. 'Give her a glass of wine. She is too old to work herself into a frenzy like this.' Bryda, frightened at the old lady's pale face and trembling lips, hastened to get something to revive her, and placing her in her chair in the parlour, held a glass of port wine to her mouth, and fanned her with a large green fan lying on her little table. 'What has he done? What has Mr Chatterton done?' 'Tried to kill himself. Why, we might have had the house streaming with blood, and the crowner's inquest held here.' 'He threatened to kill himself, in a letter which Mr Barrett put into my hands,' Mr Lambert said, as he stood at the parlour door looking anxiously at his mother. 'Come, come, mother, no harm is done. The boy is mad, and a lot of people here have turned his head by flattering him till he is puffed up, and, like the frog in the fable, is all but bursting with conceit. I'll soon settle matters. He must take away what belongs to him; there's not much, I'll warrant, except his manuscripts in their outlandish trashy language. Now, keep her quiet, Miss Palmer, and don't let her fume and fret.' Madam Lambert took her son's advice, and Bryda, seeing her inclined to take a nap, quietly left the room, and went downstairs to pursue her usual domestic duties. Mrs Symes was gone to market, and the footboy had been sent with her to carry the basket of purchases, so that Bryda was alone in the kitchen regions. Presently a quick step was heard coming down the stairs, and Chatterton appeared. 'I am free,' he said, 'Miss Palmer, I am free, and Bristol chains will hold me no longer. Do they think I am sorry? Not I! And yet'--the boy paused--'there is my mother. Poor soul, it will vex her sorely--and poor sister also. Well, I shall be off to London, and then--why, Miss Palmer, _then_ you may live to hear of me as famous.' Bryda raised her eyes to the boy's glowing face as he repeated the word _famous_, and said gently,--