Hungering for some one whom she could trust, Lucilla took an early breakfast in her own room, and walked to Wrapworth, hoping to catch the curate lingering over his coffee and letters. From a distance, however, she espied his form disappearing in the school-porch, and approaching, heard his voice reading prayers, and the children's chanted response. Coming to the oriel, she looked in. There were the rows of shiny heads, fair, brown, and black; there were the long sable back and chopped-hay locks of the curate; but where a queen-like figure had of old been wont to preside, she beheld a tallow face, with sandy hair under the most precise of net caps, and a straight thread-paper shape in scanty gray stuff and white apron. Dizzy with wrathful consternation, Cilla threw herself on one of the seats of the porch, shaking her foot, and biting her lip, frantic to know the truth, yet too much incensed to enter, even when the hum of united voices ceased, the rushing sound of rising was over, and measured footsteps pattered to the classes, where the manly interrogations sounded alternately with the shrill little answers. Clump, clump, came the heavy feet of a laggard, her head bent over her book, her thick lips vainly conning the unlearned task, unaware of the presence of the young lady, till Lucilla touched her, saying, 'What, Martha, a ten o'clock scholar?' She gave a little cry, opened her staring eyes, and dropped a curtsey. 'Whom have you here for mistress?' asked Lucilla. 'Please, ma'am, governess is runned away.' 'What do you mean?' 'Yes, ma'am,' replied the girl, developing powers of volubility such as scholastic relations with her had left unsuspected. 'She ran away last Saturday was a week, and there was nobody to open the school when we came to it a Sunday morning; and we had holidays all last week, ma'am; and mother was terrified {225} out of her life; and father, he said he wouldn't have me never go for to do no such thing, and that he didn't want no fine ladies, as was always spiting of me.' 'Every one will seem to spite you, if you keep no better hours,' said Lucy, little edified by Martha's virtuous indignation. The girl had scarcely entered the school before the clergyman stood on the threshold, and was seized by both hands, with the words, 'Oh, Mr. Prendergast, what is this?' 'You here, Cilla? What's the matter? What has brought you back?' 'Had you not heard? A sprain of Ratia's, and other things. Never mind. What's all this?' 'Ah! I knew you would be sadly grieved!' 'So you did frighten her away!' 'I never meant it. I tried to act for the best. She was spoken to, by myself and others, but nobody could make any impression, and we could only give her notice to go at the harvest holidays. She took it with her usual grand air--' 'Which is really misery and despair. Oh, why did I go? Go on!'