“Old Mrs. Fennell was very rude to me,” said Mrs. Preston. “I fear you have not a very comfortable place, Nancy Christian; but we can soon change that. You that were so faithful to my poor mother, you may be sure you’ll not be forgotten. You are not to think of walking back to Masterton. If I had known you were coming I would have spoken to Hobson the carrier. I never was fond of the Fennells from the earliest I remember; though Tom, you know, poor fellow--but he was a great deal older than me.” “He was nigh as old as your mother,” said Nancy; “many’s the time I’ve heard her say it. ‘He wanted my daughter,’ she would say; ‘her a slip of a girl, and him none so much younger than I am myself; but now he’s catched a tartar;’ and she would laugh, poor old dear; but when she knew as they were after what she had--that’s what drove her wild you may say--” “Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Preston; “yes, yes; you need say no more Nancy; I see it all--I see it all. Wherever there’s money it’s a snare, and no mortal that I can see escapes. If I had but known a month ago! but after this they shall see they can’t do what they please with me. No; though it may be hard upon us--hard upon us. Oh, Nancy Christian,” she said, flinging up her arms into the air, “if you had but come to tell me a month ago!” Pamela listened to this conversation with gradually increasing dismay. She did not know what it meant; but yet by some instinctive sense, she knew that it concerned herself--and Jack. She rose up and went to her mother with vague terrors in her heart. “Mamma, what is it? tell me what it is,” she said, putting two clinging hands around her arm. At these words Mrs. Preston suddenly came to herself. “What is what?” she said. “Sit down, Pamela, and don’t ask foolish questions; or rather go and see after the tea. It has never come, though I told you Nancy was tired. If you left it by Mrs. Swayne’s fire it will be boiled by this time; and you know when it stands too long I can’t bear it. Go, dear, and get the tea.” “But, mamma,” said Pamela, still clinging to her, and speaking in her ear, “mamma! I know there must be something. Why did you send him away?” Mrs. Preston gave her child a look which Pamela, driven to her wits’ end, could not interpret. There was pity in it and there was defiance, and a certain fierce gleam as of indignation. “Child, you know nothing about it,” she said, with suppressed passion; “nothing; and I can’t tell you now. Go and get us the tea.”