Eppie looked at her, but did not answer. The shrewd old woman had seldom been so utterly at a loss before. "My dear," said she, "it might have happened to anybody." "And we have been living on charity--Tessie and I?" "Hoot, lassie! dinna speak nonsense. It is all to the fore. And it is a good thing, for it might have been spent, and now it is waiting for Miss Robina to do what she likes with; to go and see her sister, maybe. It's a good thing that it's to the fore." Frederica looked at her without a word. "I would advise you no' to meddle in the matter. It will be all settled as it ought to be, and Miss Robina would be ill pleased that you should ken. And it will be all right, you may be sure," said Eppie cheerfully. "It would do no good to go to-day, because papa Is away, and mama is not to be troubled. But to-morrow--Has Mrs Glencairn been very much in need of it; Eppie? Why did they not send us away?" "My dear, that's nonsense! What difference would one, or even two, make in a family like this? She would rather have you here than not, though she were never to see the colour of your father's money. And as for Miss Robina! But the money is safe enough; so just you sit down, and put the thought of it out of your head." There was not another word said about it, and Mistress Campbell rejoiced in the readiness with which her counsel had been taken. But Frederica had no thought of "putting it out of her head" in the sense that Eppie hoped. The first sudden shock of anger and shame passed, but it was followed by a pain and doubt not more easily borne. She had only just been able to shut her lips closely, when the name of Mrs Ascot had risen to them; but as she sat there in silence, seeming to read quietly, her thoughts went beyond Mrs Ascot. They followed her father and his gay friends; away into the sunshine of the pleasant fields, and they went to her mother left solitary and suffering, with only Selina to comfort her, and with Mrs Ascot to vex her with cares which she ought never to know. "It is not kind of papa," she said, over and over again. She did not get further than this; for hitherto she had looked at their life and their household ways and cares with the unreasoning eyes of a child. Her father was gay and careless, and apt to forget about things that did not specially concern himself, even a child could see that; but she had never regarded all this as worthy of blame. She had not thought about it in that way at all. But she thought about a great many painful things as she sat with her head bent over her book in Eppie's garret that night.