"Poor mamma--but she _can not_ help it--indeed she can not. She is all love, and is gentleness itself. The blessed one 'who thinketh no evil.' How can that Randall find the heart to tease her! as I am sure she does--though mamma never complains. And then, I am afraid, indeed, I feel certain, when I am gone the evil will very greatly increase. You, perhaps, have observed," added she, lowering her voice, "that poor papa makes it particularly difficult in our family--doubly difficult. His old wounds, his injured arm, his age and infirmities, make all sorts of little comforts indispensable to him. He suffers so much bodily, and he suffers, too, so much from little inconveniences, that he can not bear to have any thing done for him in an unaccustomed way. Randall and Williams have lived with us ever since I was five years old--when poor papa came back from Waterloo almost cut to pieces. And he is so fond of them he will not hear a complaint against them--not even from mamma. Oh! it is not her fault--poor, dear mamma!" "No, my love, such a dreadful sufferer as the poor general too often is, makes things very difficult at times. I understand all that quite well; but we are still only on the preamble of your discourse, my Catherine; something more than vain lamentation is to come of it, I feel sure." "Yes, indeed. Dear generous mamma! She would not hear of my staying with her and giving up Edgar; nor would she listen to what he was noble enough to propose, that he should abandon his profession and come and live at the Hazels, rather than that I should feel I was tampering with my duty, for his sake, dear fellow!" And the tears stood in Catherine's eyes. "Nothing I could say would make her listen to it. I could hardly be sorry for Edgar's sake. I knew what a sacrifice it would be upon his part--more than a woman ought to accept from a _lover_, I think--a man in his dotage, as one may say. Don't you think so, too, ma'am?" "Yes, my dear, indeed I do. Well, go on." "I have been so perplexed, so unhappy, so undecided what to do--so sorry to leave this dear, generous mother to the mercy of those servants of hers--whose influence, when she is alone, and with nobody to hearten her up a little, will be so terribly upon the increase--that I have not known what to do. But to-day, while I was dressing for dinner, a sudden, blessed thought came into my mind--really, just like a flash of light that seemed to put every thing clear at once--and it is about that I want to consult you, if you will let me. That dear Lettice Arnold!--I knew her from a child. You can not think what a creature she is. So sensible, so cheerful, so sweet-tempered, so self-sacrificing, yet so clever, and firm, and steady, when necessary. Mamma wants a daughter, and papa wants a reader and a backgammon prayer. Lettice Arnold is the very thing." Mrs. Danvers made no answer. "Don't you think so? Are you not sure? Don't you see it?" asked poor Catherine, anxiously.