Mrs. Gaunt was on her guard in a moment. "Why, Betty," said she, "for shame! 'tis some penitent hath left her glove after confession. Would you belie a good man for that? Oh, lie!" "Humph!" said Betty, doubtfully. "Then why keep it under cover? Now you can read, dame; let us see if there isn't a letter or so writ by the hand as owns this very glove." Mrs. Gaunt declined, with cold dignity, to pry into Brother Leonard's manuscripts. Her eye, however, darted sidelong at them, and told another tale; and, if she had been there alone, perhaps the daughter of Eve would have predominated. Betty, inflamed by the glove, rummaged the papers in search of female handwriting. She could tell that from a man's, though she could not read either. But there is a handwriting that the most ignorant can read at sight; and so Betty's researches were not in vain: hidden under several sheets of paper, she found a picture. She gave but one glance at it, and screamed out--"There, didn't I tell you? Here she is! the brazen, red-haired--Lawk a daisy! why, 'tis yourself." CHAPTER III "Me!" cried Mrs. Gaunt, in amazement: then she ran to the picture, and at sight of it every other sentiment gave way for a moment to gratified vanity. "Nay," said she, beaming and blushing, "I was never half so beautiful. What heavenly eyes!" "The fellows to 'em be in your own head, dame, this moment." "Seeing is believing," said Mrs. Gaunt, gaily, and in a moment she was at the priest's mirror, and inspected her eyes minutely, cocking her head this way and that. She ended by shaking it, and saying, "Nay. He has flattered them prodigiously." "Not a jot," said Betty. "If you could see yourself in chapel, you do turn 'em up just so, and the white shows all round." Then she tapped the picture with her finger: "Oh them eyes! they were never made for the good of his soul; poor simple man." Betty said this with sudden gravity: and now Mrs. Gaunt began to feel very awkward. "Mr. Gaunt would give fifty pounds for this," said she, to gain time: and, while she uttered that sentence, she whipped on her armour. "I'll tell you what I think," said she, calmly: "he wished to paint a Madonna; and he must take some woman's face to aid his fancy. All the painters are driven to that. So he just took the best that came to hand, and that is not saying much, for this is a rare ill-favoured parish: and he has made an angel of her, a very angel. There, hide Me away again, or I shall long for Me--to show to my husband. I must be going; I wouldn't be caught here now for a pension." "Well, if ye must," said Betty; "but when will ye come again?" (She hadn't got the petticoat yet.) "Humph!" said Mrs. Gaunt, "I have done all I can for him; and perhaps more than I ought. But there's nothing to hinder you from coming to me. I'll be as good as my word; and I have an old Paduasoy, besides; you can do something with it perhaps." "You are very good, dame," said Betty, curtsying.