Lizzie told her "no," indignantly: she would enter into no engagement with anyone whose family objected to her. The dowager was very much pleased at her pride in not holding Tom to his word when she had related the affair, and she probed Lizzie's heart further by enquiring whether she loved Tom still. She did not care for him, if it would harm his prospects that is, and-- and--The dowager looked very kind and cheerful and not stern at all, and all Lizzie's love for the graceless Tom who had abandoned her in his senseless anger for her strict regard for duty, was poured out again into very sympathising ears, the dowager told her to cheer up--and "all would yet be well." After this many were the dialogues between the old lady and the young girl about the absent warrior, and suggestions made about the probable time of his return, and surmises--on the older lady's part--the junior only blushed and said nothing--as to what would happen when Tom did come back. The young man's letters home to his mother were read out by Miss Lizzie. She took no interest in them at all, of course; but the old lady's sight being somewhat defective and Tom's calligraphy none of the clearest, it was absolutely necessary that the old lady's companion should read them out for her. You may be quite certain that Lizzie did not peruse them afterwards quietly to herself, and enter with deep interest into all the young man's deeds and doings. How the army was getting on satisfactorily towards Magdala: how splendid the scenery was: how he had had a monkey hunt, and had not caught one; and what fine figures the Abyssinian girls had. Of course Miss Lizzie did not toss her head at this, and say "Well, to be sure, sir; I wonder what next!" Whether she did or did not, Master Tom's doings seemed to have great interest for the two. When they were talking about him, the old lady would recount with a maternal pride, which from a former knowledge of her character you might never have dreamt she possessed, incidents connected with the childhood of the warrior, to which Lizzie would listen with spell-bound attention. The dowager would relate how gentle Tom was when teething; how wonderfully he had borne that infantile malady, the measles; what marvellous escape he had had from breaking his neck when he tumbled down the back staircase. And then she would glide on to later experiences, and tell how well Tom got on at school; and how the old colonel of his regiment liked him, as indeed all did with whom the Saxon youngster came in contact. Lizzie would drink in all this with greedy ears; and never tire of hearing of the deeds and doings of this most extraordinary young man. So the time passed on, and Lizzie became even more domesticated at The Poplars than she was at the parsonage. Tom's mother got to love her; and the young incumbent's sister, much as she loved her brother, took a deeper interest in the big house and its belongings than she did in Herbert Pringle's mansion.